like kissing an atomic bomb
Trevor Bailey was used to the buzzing. He’d been working at Village Petrol ever since he started college and unless he was straining to hear a soft-talker, the obnoxious static the overhead lights hummed never bothered him. Most of the regulars were used to it too, but at least once a night, some prick customer would demand that Trevor’s bosses have someone look at them. Trevor would agree (it was easier than to tell the truth than to say his bosses didn’t give a donkey’s cock if the whole station burned to the ground) and thank them for their concern.
No, Trevor Bailey was used to the buzzing. In fact, the only time he even noticed was when he’d switch the lights off for the night. Then an eerie silence would smother the lot and Trevor would stand outside and listen to the flame crackling on the tip of his Parliament.
Trevor sucked until the stick fizzled down to his fingertips and then flicked the butt at the graffiti-covered garage door. It bounced off one of the windows and landed in the tiny oil spill streaming under the door. There were plenty of environmental regulations against disposing of hazardous chemicals like oil, but Trevor’s bosses decided it would be more cost-effective if they waited till after dark, and had one of their off-the-books employees (i.e. Trevor) handle it. So after every shift, it was Trevor’s responsibility to dump over the designated drum and let the used oil drained a path down to the sewer.
As usual, Trevor took his time locking the pumps and shutting down. Rushing wasn’t going to get him home any faster. No matter how ghost the night was, he couldn’t punch till midnight, even though the odds of seeing as much as a headlight past ten was about the same as him getting a raise.
“Ten minutes, Kitty,” he shouted at the row of cars lined up by the fence. The Village Petrol mechanics were always overworked and kept about a dozen cars parked outside. Several oak trees dangled their branches over the tin roofs, keeping the interiors blacked out once the sun set. This made it the perfect spot to bring a piece and Trevor pulled ten bucks for every slob Kitty brought back there.
A Lexus door squeaked open and Kitty stepped out. After adjusting a zebra-print skirt, she immediately lit a cigarette. She inhaled and coughed a trail of dust. Behind her, a man limped out, covering the crotch of his sweatpants with both hands. Kitty blew Trevor a kiss and disappeared into the night.
As long as she didn’t leave behind any evidence, the cars were all fair game. Kitty and Trevor had this deal for almost three months now, but he still didn’t trust her. He tapped on his flashlight and scanned the backseat for love stains.
“Whore,” he spit, pulling a Trojan wrapper out of the ashtray. No matter how often he warned her, she was often too garbaged out of her skull to listen. Still, Trevor cleared an extra fifty a night and as long as her sex puddle wasn’t absorbed into the fabric, it wasn’t worth the breath. He frisbeed the wrapper over the fence and locked the Lexus door behind him.
Trevor stepped back into the attendant’s booth and counted the stack of bills in the safe. The stool scraped against the concrete floor as he sat down, the cushion exhaling air through the split fabric. Tonight, his drawer ended up eight dollars over. He folded the extra singles and shoved them in his back pocket. When he was short the cash came out of his check, so he didn’t think twice about pocketing any overages. Besides, his bosses were “douchebag, Jew cocksuckers.” Trevor’s words, not mine.
The digital display on the credit card machine read 11:24. Trevor still had another thirty-six to kill before he could skateboard home to his mom’s basement. He sighed, tapped a ketamine bump on his wrist, and chased it up his left nostril. After the initial rush he spit pinkish phlegm onto the floor. He spread it out with his foot until it was nothing more than a dark spot on the concrete.
When he was faded, sometimes Trevor would stack the cigarette packs into colored mosaic patterns. Tonight he designed them into a red-faced devil. Marlboro packs for the flesh, Green Newports for the eyes and Blue Parliaments for the mouth.
Starting to doze, so he dismantled his creation and slipped the packs back into their designated sections. With the door shut there was zero ventilation in the booth. The gas fumes soaked into his clothes permeated the thick air and triggered his gag reflex. Trevor had to concentrate to keep from vomiting all over the countertop. He shoved the collection tray out and inhaled a light breeze of fresh air.
Resting his chin on his palms, Trevor stared through the plexi-glass. A bright light cut circles through the darkness. Thinking he was hallucinating, Trevor rubbed his eyes, but the light only grew brighter. He blinked and leapt off the stool.
The walls shook as a pale blue Cadillac raced through the parking lot, missing the booth by half a foot. Trevor fumbled with the locks and made it outside in just enough time to witness the car slam into the rear bumper of a parked Toyota.
The crushing impact echoed through the stillness. A frightened flock of bats scampered from their tree branches, their wings flapping ferociously as they painted a moving arrow across the sky.
Trevor rushed over to check the damage. Blond hair peeked out from behind the ballooning airbag. The door was stuck and Trevor had to reach in through the smashed driver’s side window to open it. He grabbed the body by the shoulders and dragged it out of the vehicle.
The girl shoved at him and stumbled over towards a parked minivan. She coughed blood into the air, the thick specks spotting the front of her lime-colored tank-top. The girl fell to a crouched position, almost toppling over. Trevor cupped his hand behind her head and guided her up against the tire.
“My brakes,” she stuttered. “They stopped working.”
Blood bubbled from an open slice on her forehead. She rubbed her hand from the bottom of the wound to the back of her head, highlighting large sections of her yellow hair with red. Under the moonlight the painted parts glowed black.
“Shit,” she moaned, leaning over. She grabbed onto her jeans and dry heaved onto the pavement. She wiped at her lips with her fist, coloring her face with more darkness. “That was gross. I’m sorry.”
“No worries. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”
Trevor grabbed a roll of paper towels and an open Snapple from the booth. He tore open the package and tossed the wrapper behind him. He wound a few sheets around his hand and held them to the gash on her forehead.
“I can do it,” she grunted, snatching the paper towels from him. Within seconds they were completely saturated. She crumpled them into a ball and tossed it away.
“Here,” Trevor offered, handing her the rest of the roll. “There’s a bathroom around back. The water stinks of sulfur, but it’s clean. Wretched, but clean.”
“Thanks, Trevor,” she said, her eyes squinting at the name on his work-shirt. “I need to sit for a few minutes. I’m so fucking dizzy.”
“You want? It’s peach.”
Trevor motioned the half empty Snapple bottle towards her. She scowled and waved him away. “No thanks. Got any whiskey?”
“Sorry,” he shrugged. “I don’t drink.”
“Perfect. You’re one of those types.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re one of those pretentious, judgmental preachy types, who think every one who likes to drink is an alcoholic.”
“Seriously? I assure you, I’m nothing like that. I smoke. Take pills, drop bombs, whatever. I just don’t drink. I’ve woken up too many afternoons with hangover knives behind my eyes. I could care fuck all what you or anyone else does.”
“Then you wouldn’t mind grabbing the bottle from my backseat, right? It’s on the floor.”
Trevor was used to being ordered around by females. His mother and older sister were always screeching at him to do one thing or another. Usually he ignored them and let their shrills dissolve into the darkness. But for some cosmic reason, Trevor felt like he owed the girl on the ground something.
While tonight she was a total train wreck, last week when he sold her cigarettes she was a knockout. Every Wednesday night her tires would screech through the parking lot as she swerved next to his booth. Always rocking gym clothes, with her bleached hair tailed behind her, Trevor was often mesmerized by the butterfly pattern of fresh sweat between her breasts. Each night, Trevor spent the rest of his shift squeezing his hard-on under the counter, imagining her ass bouncing on an elliptical. Fetching her whiskey bottle was the least he could do.
There were three bottles on the backseat floor. Trevor grabbed the one that was the most full and stood it on the ground beside her. The girl crumpled up another handful of reddened paper towels and tossed them as far away as she could.
“Thanks,” she said. She brought the bottle to her lips and leaned back. She swallowed with a grimace and a drop of drool dangled from her lower lip. “I’m Sayra,” she said, tapping the bottle to her chest.
With her mouth closed, Sayra was beyond attractive, an exotic mix of Dominican and Chinese, but when she smiled her overbite pushed her teeth past her lips and it was hard not to stare. Luckily she didn’t grin often and her lips were usually sucked in a vicious scowl.
“Nice to meet you.” Trevor held out his hand to shake hers. When he noticed the filth caked on his palm, he quickly jerked it away. Sayra smirked and took another gulp of whiskey.
“Sorry, didn’t have a chance to wash them.”
“Not a big deal. I like things that are a little dirty.”
Trevor nervously shoved his hands in his pockets. They grazed against his shaft and he panicked. He prayed that the parking lot was too dark for her to notice his erection pushing against his work pants.
Trevor hadn’t been with a girl since Sheila Thompson crushed his heart in the tenth grade. Correction- Trevor hadn’t been able to get hard around a girl since Sheila Thompson crushed his heart in the tenth grade. His therapist blamed the painkillers, but Trevor blamed the girls. Even Gina Hellian, the redhead who cage-danced at Poppy’s, was a bitch. Her only mistake… she attempted to give him a pity hand job after her shift.
“You can bounce if you want,” she said. “You don’t need to babysit.”
“It’s no bother. I can’t leave till midnight anyway.”
“What time’s it now?”
“Twelve thirty.”
“And you’re sticking around to watch me drink? I’m touched.”
Sayra finished off the last of the whiskey and threw the bottle into the trees. The leaves rattled, shaking loose the remaining bats, leaving the two of them alone for the first time.
“My boss is gonna blow his colon over this,” Trevor said, pointing to the mangled front end of the smashed Toyota.
“What you gonna tell him?”
“Not a damn thing. If he asks, I’ll say it must’ve happened after I left. He really should install cameras anyway. I’m surprised these rides don’t get trashed more often with all the degenerates living around here.”
“Good answer. I was shook you were going to want to phone the police or something. Then I was going to have to kill you.”
Sayra raised her fists jokingly. Her arms, skinny sticks attached to her torso, dangled in front of her. “Damn,” she moaned, her arms falling abruptly to her sides. “I’m more destroyed than I thought.
“As long as we can move your car out of here, you’re straight. Unless, of course, you want some pig sniffing around your shit.”
“No thanks,” she said, laughing for the first time. She moaned again and clutched her ribcage. “I’m sure it’ll drive. Any chance you can take a girl home? I can hardly see straight let alone navigate a vehicle.”
“I’m embarrassed to say, I don’t have a license. I know, I’m a loser.”
“You’ve played video games before, right? Same shit. Besides my car’s already dented all to hell. It’s not like you’re gonna fuck it up any more. And you’re not a loser. You’re way too cute to be a loser.”
“Thanks,” he said, his eyes nervously wandering down to her ragged Converse. “As long as we don’t have to drive too far, I guess it’s cool.”
“That’s the spirit,” she cheered, struggling to stand. “Now if you’ll just help me not fall on my grill, we can start our journey.”
Sayra tripped forward into Trevor. She probably weighed less than a hundred, but gravity knocked them both into the car behind them. Trevor grimaced as the door handle jagged into his back.
“Nice catch, tiger,” she flirted. Her head wound was no longer bleeding, but scattered splotches still stained large areas of her face. Up close, Trevor noticed a red pool swirling next to her right iris. The damage to her Cadillac was minimal, but Sayra looked like she had survived a suicide bombing. But underneath all the scratches and clotted blood scabs, she was still the girl who’d been stuck in his head for the past year.
Sayra smiled but Trevor was too distracted to stare at her overbite. He was too preoccupied over whether or not he’d be able to keep his pecker hard if she gave him the green light to pounce. She pushed her fingertips under his chin and raised his head so he had no choice but to stare into her eyes. Trevor sucked in the burning stink of whiskey as she exhaled.
“I have to come clean,” Sayra whispered. “My brakes didn’t fail, I just didn’t feel like stepping on them.”
“You wanted to crash? Why? You stuck on a death wish?”
“No, nothing like that.” Sayra tugged on her belt. Trevor’s eyes shot downward, but all he caught was a glimpse of darkness. “Truth is, I wanted to grab your attention.”
“My attention?”
“A gentle tap on the shoulder pales in comparison to a sledgehammer across the face.”
“I don’t understand.”
Sayra’s finger traced a circle around his lips. She blew soft breaths and Trevor’s flesh tingled.
“I’ve wanted to get you alone since the moment I saw you. You were reading a book about the Zodiac killer. I read that book a dozen times just to have something to talk to you about. But every time I had the chance, I’d freeze.”
“Stop jerking me off.” Trevor squirmed back, the door handle sticking deeper into his lower spine. “If this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny.”
“I’m serious like swine flu.” Grabbing the belt loops of his work pants and pulled him forward, Sayra leaned in for a kiss. She stepped in between his legs so that their thighs pressed against each other. “I’m completely mental, but I’m not joking. I’m a psychopath who’ll drown your pet bunnies in a pot of boiling water if you cross me. I’ll start fires, crash cars, burn buildings, whatever it takes to get what I want. And right now, I want you.”
“That’s intense.” Trevor closed his fist around a crease in her jeans. He was terrified, but he wasn’t going anywhere. “Are you for real? You don’t know how many times I’ve drifted off into a daydream about something like this happening.”
“I think I’m real. I’ve often felt that I was living stuck in a dream, but I’m pretty sure I’m part of this world. If not, fuck it.”
Trevor surprised her with a kiss. It was sloppy and wet; the kind of kiss that you’d see in cartoons, when the boy ends up with lipstick smeared all over his face and birds dancing around his skull.
“Trust me, you are definitely part of this world.”
Trevor ran his hands up the back of her shirt. Her flesh was cold, but so were his palms. Sayra shivered but didn’t stop him. His staff throbbed against his jeans. If her weight wasn’t crushing him against the car behind him, he would’ve shoved his hand down his pants to adjust it. But he wasn’t going to ask for a time out. He had his whole life to be uncomfortable.
“So, you’re not creeped out?” she asked.
“No. I should be, I guess, but to be honest, I’m too turned on to be creeped out.”
“That’s too bad,” she said, her eyes wandering around the car.
“Too bad?”
“Sex is always better when you’re a little frightened.”
“Sorry to disappoint. Now if you told me something like I reminded you of your father, than I’d be afraid.”
“You’re nothing like my father,” she said, playfully dragging her index finger down the side of his cheek. “He was a much better kisser.”
Trevor recoiled back as far as he could slither. Sayra threw her head to the side and laughed at the starless sky. When she swung her head forward her hair tickled his nose. “I’m joking,” she said, breathing heat into his open mouth. “Or am I?”
“You’re twisted.”
“Then twist me.”
Sayra shoved her lips against his and forced her tongue into his mouth. Within seconds, Trevor forgot all about Gina Hellian and the short-list of girls that left him for dead. Sayra’s kiss shot electric currents through his bloodstream. It was like kissing an atomic bomb; a mushroom cloud filling his lungs and rupturing a tidal wave of saliva into his mouth. Typically at a time like this Trevor would panic and try to conjure up the most depraved scenarios involving Sayra to keep himself thick. This time all he had to do was open his eyes.
Safety words and banana splits 