Between Better and Worse

Author's note: This is not a sexy story. If you want to read a sexy story I beg you to read "Between Love and Hate". This story is about the same people but it is a stand-alone story and something quite different from the other. An experiment in story-telling; I hope you like it.

*****

It was only by chance that Kent was at the party. A coworker called in sick that night so he had to cover her shift. He dropped by the gym afterward to see his girlfriend but he skipped the workout. Just not feeling it. There was an accident on Main Street so he detoured through the tree-shrouded neighborhoods along the river. And there among a dozen or so cars parked in front of an old red brick house was Martha's yellow convertible. Martha, who just twelve hours ago was so sick she could not possibly come into work. Fuck. Ing. Bitch.

He remembered parties at this house years before, back when getting wasted and driving home seemed like a good idea. Who's house? Dillon? He could hear muffled rock music throbbing through the door when he stepped up on the porch and rapped lightly, then let himself in. The first thing he noticed was there were fewer people inside than cars outside. They were mostly women, too, which was not how he remembered parties here shaping up. Dillon must have improved his game.

He came face to face with the host himself and Dillon's eyes went wide with surprise. "Dude, what are you doing here?"

Kent thought that was uncalled for. They had been friends once. Still were, as far as he knew. But whatever. He put up his hand and didn't slow his stride. "Don't worry. I won't be here long."

Martha was sitting at the dining room table with three other girls. They were playing some sort of game and the table was littered with plastic cups and overflowing ashtrays. Martha looked up at him with bloodshot eyes and smiled broadly. She wasn't the slightest bit embarrassed to see him. In fact she seemed glad of it. She leaned back in her chair, trying to act casual. "You're just in time to see your girlfriend."

"Christina's at work. I just saw her."

"I'm talking about Paula."

"Yeah, well, screw Paula."

"Go upstairs and you can do just that."

"The fuck you talking about?"

"Go upstairs, it's wild." She began laughing drunkenly and her companions joined in, cackling like hyenas.

Kent turned on his heels and saw Dillon standing awkwardly at the foot of the staircase. He began waving his hands as Kent approached but he stepped aside at the last moment, saving himself a smack.

At the top of the stairs Kent found the hallway crowded with people, crowded with men. This is where everybody was. He followed the line of them to the end of the hall, the master bedroom. Some of them complained as he passed. He felt a hand grab his sleeve and slapped it away without even looking back. He pushed through the men filling the open doorway and confirmed his worst suspicion.

Paula was on the corner of the bed, lying on her side. Her blouse gaped open and her skirt was bunched around her waist. There was a guy standing between her legs, holding one of them against his chest. Another one was cradling her head in his hands. Both of them had their pants pulled down. Kent turned away in disgust. Is this what it comes to? Is this the final degradation of a slut? Or is it just another milestone on the way to even greater depravity. He hated her. He pitied her. But most of all he felt ashamed that he ever loved her.

"Hey wait your fucking turn," one of the guys shouted at him, but didn't make a move toward him. Good thing, too.

Kent clenched his fists and looked down at the floor to gather his thoughts. He was just about to walk out of Paula's life, hopefully forever, when he heard her gagging. That got his attention. She never gagged, doing that. The bitch could swallow a summer sausage. He turned to look and the guy had her by the hair and was trying to push himself into her face. She held her arms up weakly and he was swatting them aside with his free hand. The look in his eyes, the glee with which he did this, made Kent's blood boil.

"What the fuck?" Kent said aloud. If either man heard him, neither acknowledged it. They were focused solely on the half naked woman between them.

Then he heard it, the soft slurring whine of protest, abruptly cut off as the guy managed to find his mark. Kent sprang faster than thought, swiveling into a side snap kick that slammed the guy into the wall. Paula's head slumped over without hands to hold her up. Kent turned on the other guy but he had already pulled away from her and was desperately trying to get his pants up. Kent was prepared to fight every fucking one of them but there was no need. At the first sign of trouble the party-goers were scattering.

He went to the bedside and looked into Paula's eyes, checked her pulse. She was either falling down drunk or she was drugged. He had to get her out of here and to a hospital. He got her clothes done up the best he could and pulled her to her feet with her arm over his shoulders. She was starting to respond and seemed to realize he was there to help her. They made their way downstairs where Dillon was waiting, wringing his hands and protesting his innocence. The women in the dining room just sat there grinning, enjoying the show.

They were in the darkness of the lawn, almost to his pickup truck, when something hit him in the side of his head, sending a spray of stars before his eyes.

*****

The police sergeant was sympathetic but not a lot of help. Kent sat in an exam room at the hospital holding an ice pack to his head with a handful of bruised knuckles. Across the hall, behind a curtain, Paula was undergoing a very intimate examination. How does a person come back from this? How do you go on with your life with those memories? Would she even remember? He knew some of those drugs, the kind that guys would slip in a girl's drink, would leave the victim with gaps in her memory. Not knowing... that would be even worse, he decided.

"It's not that I don't believe you. I do. It's a matter of what we can prove in court. The prosecutor won't even take it to trial unless there's a good chance of proving the case. And I tell you it doesn't look good."

The sergeant had given him his business card and detailed the steps they were taking to gather evidence and build some kind of case. They were taking samples from Paula's body and clothes. But with multiple attackers it would be a complicated process to identify who belonged to what. And until they had someone to charge, what would be the point? Everyone at the party said they thought it was consensual. Paula insisted it wasn't but couldn't really recall consenting or not consenting.

There wasn't a high level of alcohol in her blood which didn't surprise him. She wasn't a drinker. That suggested some sort of drug. They would have her blood tested but, again, some of those drugs dissipate quickly and leave little trace. Things weren't looking good. Kent had never felt so helpless.

"What about the guy who hit me? Can he be charged with assault?"

"He says you hit him first. You were both swinging when I pulled up."

"If I was half carrying her, how and why would I have swung on him?"

"I get it. Like I said, I believe you. But if we arrested one of you we'd have to arrest both. And you need your liberty right now. Your girlfriend needs you right now."

Kent went numb. Why would this asshole assume she was his girlfriend?

Still, he took her home, his home, to sleep off the night. She still had a drawer of things in his dresser though it was years since she stayed with him. Most of her clothes in there were sexy, revealing. He didn't want to see her that way. And the clothes she was wearing? He didn't want to see those again, ever. He laid out a pair of sweats for when she got out of the shower along with a fresh toothbrush. He didn't wait for her to get out. He just left the light on for her in the guest room and went to bed.

For the next few hours he drifted in and out of sleep, dreams alternating with nightmares.

*****

The next day he drove her to visit Daniel, her boyfriend. She was certain he was the one who set her up and wanted to cut it short with him as quickly as possible. Despite the warm weather, Kent wore a leather jacket to conceal his 9mm, just in case, and he carried a folding knife in his back pocket. He knocked on the door and when it opened he knew by the man's swollen jaw and blackened eye who he had fought with in the dark of the night before.

"The fuck you want?"

"She's here to get her things," Kent replied, stepping forward and pushing just hard enough on the door to make his intention clear. "And I'm here to make sure she gets them all right."

Daniel turned and walked back into the apartment and Kent followed him in. Paula scurried past them like a scared cat. Daniel sprawled on the couch like he didn't have a care in the world. Kent sat on a chair, perched on the edge like he was waiting for a job interview. The two men regarded each other for a while, smiling coldly.

"I don't why you're sticking up for her," Daniel began. When Kent didn't reply, he continued, "She made a fool of us for years, fucking you when she's supposed to be with me, fucking me when... I don't have to tell you, right?"

"Is that why you doped her, took her to that party to be raped?"

Daniel laughed, making Kent's teeth grit. "She doesn't need to be doped to act like a whore. I figured she was going fuck every guy in town eventually. Might as well be all in one night."

Kent pictured the smile draining from this moron's face, a smoking hole between his eyes. But he kept his cool. "You know what, mother fucker? I'm a firm believer that everyone gets what's coming to them. Justice isn't mine to give or to take away. But someday you will get what's coming to you. I truly hope that I am there to see it when the day comes."

If Daniel had a comeback it was interrupted by Paula emerging from the bedroom carrying an overnight bag stuffed to capacity. Kent stood and waited until she was out the door before he turned to go.

"Enjoy that used-up pussy, cuck."

Kent stopped and spun around and took two quick steps forward. He got juvenile satisfaction from the way Daniel scrambled to get away from him. Then he followed Paula out to his old Dodge pickup truck.

*****

She ended up staying with him. He tried to take her home but she cried and begged him not to leave her alone. He smiled and took her in but behind his eyes he cursed her. Why did she have to be this way? Why did it have to be his problem?

He turned his guest room over to her, took all of his things out of the dresser and closet. He did everything he could think of to make her comfortable before he shut the door to his own room and tried to sleep. Still, it wasn't long before she crept in and slipped into bed with him.

"Just sleep, OK?"

"Thanks, Kent. I just don't want to be alone right now."

She never wanted to be alone. That was the problem, he thought. If she could only find some way to occupy her empty hours, to quell her loneliness. Then she wouldn't have to be constantly on the make. Then he wouldn't have to be constantly worried where she was and who she was with. And though he quietly raged against her he was so conscious of her scent, her warmth, the soothing rise and fall of her breathing. He slipped into sleep without realizing it and knew a few hours of peace.

He woke with Paula's hand in his pajama pants, fingers wrapped around his stiff morning poker. He grabbed her wrist and gasped, "Would you please?"

"Would I please... what?" She whispered, expectantly.

"Would you please not do that?"

"I just want to show you my gratitude."

"You've just been through a trauma. I don't think this is the right time for it."

"Well, maybe I could just give you a kiss, you know." She still had her hand on his member and he gently but firmly removed it.

"I don't want that, OK? Just fucking stop already."

She turned her back to him. "You think I'm dirty now."

"I've always thought you were dirty. It never stopped me before."

She sprang out of bed and her eyes blazed at him. "Fuck you. You piece of shit."

"Oh, where's your gratitude now?"

Her demeanor softened with an ease that unsettled him. Her eyes glittered and with a sly smile she crawled back under the sheets with him.

"I'm sorry, baby. You'll forgive me won't you." Her voice was a shiny candy coating over a seductive purr. "It can wait. And when you're ready, when we're ready, you can tell me what you want me to do."

"I can tell you right now." He took a deep breath and prepared to say the stupidest thing ever. "How about if you show your gratitude by not having sex at all?"

"Uh, you want me to NOT have sex with you?"

"To be clear, I don't want you to have sex with anyone."

Her eyes flashed anger again, "Yeah, I get that."

"Well, you know why I have to say it."

"Yesss," she hissed, then went quiet for a minute. "It's usually the girl trying to convince the guy of this."

"That mean you'll try?"

"Yeah, I guess if you can keep it in your pants then so can I."

That wasn't exactly what he intended. But what the hell. He could do without, if that's what it took.

*****

He dropped in on Christina that evening. She deserved to hear it in person. Formally, matter of factly, he apologized and told her they needed to take a break. That simple. She didn't take it well. Not very well at all.

"Is this because of her? Are you throwing me over for a gangbang slut?"

"First of all, it's not like that. Second, fuck you." Then he was gone.

It was a relief to make a clean break, to be honest. But he still felt like shit. Christina was a great girl, everything he wanted for himself. Maybe he could smooth things over with her some day. Or find someone like her, once you-know-who was out of his life.

His girlfriend wasn't the only thing he walked away from. Martha had spread the story all over the plant and suddenly the food safety lab, a workplace he once truly enjoyed, became unbearable. He asked her why she had it in for him. "Not you... her," Martha bluntly replied. "She slept with my boyfriend."

He found a new job at the co-op south of town. The manager was glad to find someone qualified to analyze samples but willing to help out in the elevators and warehouse. He got along with his new coworkers. They were a tough group of men with strength you didn't get in the gym, knowledge you didn't learn in school. They were the product of life lived without guarantees. If they knew about Paula they didn't let on. They could give you a savage ribbing, he observed, but they wouldn't hit you where it really hurt.

In them he found a new group of friends because, yeah, he walked away from the old ones. Which of them could he trust? Which of them raped his girlfriend, or would have done if not for his intervention. Well... she wasn't his girlfriend. But that was beside the point. It could have been any girl in there and he'd feel the same. Anyway, a long stretch of time away from them would help him sort things out.

His new work life was a big change. Instead of strolling in at four in the afternoon he was waking up at four in the morning so he could be at work before six. The crew liked to get the hardest tasks done early while the air was still cool. Paula rose when he did and made him a big smoothie for the road. She put his protein powder in there and the supplements he took on a daily basis. It definitely made sure he was ready to "go" by the time he got to the shed and kept him going until lunch.

When he got home, dirty and tired, his house would be neat as a pin. It had been a while since they lived together and he had forgotten how well she took care of the house, and of him. He'd emerge from the shower and dinner would be waiting for him. She was a good cook and he enjoyed sitting across from her at the little breakfast table, discussing the day's pointless details. The portions were a little light, though. She didn't get how many calories he was burning during the day and he didn't want to complain about it.

He made up the deficit at daily lunches when the crew walked across the intersection to Ernie's Cafe. Kent fell in the habit of ordering whatever was on special and washing it down with sweet iced tea. On Friday he indulged in a guilty pleasure, a big hot fudge sundae for dessert. The sweetest part of those meals, though, were the cutie waitresses that served them. Kent fantasized that he might like to bed them all down, eventually. His favorite was Colleen, a slender babe with green eyes and auburn hair.

"I think Colleen is hot for you," Jerry intimated one day as they walked back to the shed. "You should ask her out."

"Well, I would, except, you know, that girl living in my house."

"What's the problem? You said you weren't nailing her or anything."

"Yeah, but..." Yeah, Kent. What was the problem?

*****

Paula lost her job too. They didn't fire her or pressure her to quit but she was getting a lot of unwanted attention. So she turned her hobby into her job, selling clothes and jewelry online. She was pretty good at it, had a knack for marketing. And she definitely took advantage of her good looks while doing it. Her brand image was a very striking silhouette of her face and bare shoulder against the setting sun. You could make out the curve of her boob under her arm. Kent kept a copy of that picture in a private folder on his phone.

A lot of people make jewelry but Paula's designs were distinctive. She would come up with a new design and crank out a few dozen copies, enough to handle the initial rush. To promote the sales she had half a dozen fake accounts on social media to drum up interest. But the pictures were her secret weapon. Necklaces and pendants looked amazing draped across her chest. Her flawlessly manicured hands showed off bracelets and rings. And her earrings... All of these pictures went into Kent's private folder. He might like to look at them someday, he figured, when she was gone for good.

She would limit herself to one hundred of each design. Each piece went out with a numbered certificate. By the time she sold a hundred, she told him, competitors were already copying her design. The certificate, featuring a line drawing of her brand image and a hand-written thank you note, gave her customers assurance they were buying something genuine. Some pieces didn't sell a hundred. She kept track of how many of these she did sell, in case she felt like trying them again.

Another thing she did was paint clothing. Every week she would make the rounds of clearance racks, thrift shops and vintage clothing stores looking for shirts made from stiff fabrics like denim and canvas. After giving them a wash and press she would paint a scene across the shoulders with matching elements on the breast pocket, collars. Obviously these items were each one of a kind and when she told him how much she charged Kent found it hard to believe.

"People will pay that much for a shirt they can wear just one time?"

"Maybe two or three times, but yeah, that's pretty common for women. Doesn't make sense but I don't make the rules. In this case they're getting a work of art instead of a fancy label."

Her sales brought in good money and Paula took up paying the monthly bills. Kent's mortgage was pretty low so he found his paychecks stacking up. This got him thinking about buying a good bike or maybe a boat. He would picture himself at the helm of something fast and flashy, tearing across Grand Lake. And he pictured Paula in the seat beside him, grinning with excitement, her oiled flesh glistening in the sun. It didn't have to be Paula. It could be any girl, really.

*****

Kent canceled his membership at the Western Life Center. He was getting exercise at work and no longer had time to go to the gym. Also, he didn't need Christina's friends gawking at him. He still wanted to lift, though, so he found a rack and set of olympic weights for sale on Craigslist. Paula helped him set it up in the garage and he tried not to laugh when she struggled to lift the various pieces. It was definitely a two-person job though so he was glad for her help.