F4: Edge of Tomorrow

"The salve first; then I'll see what I can do to put the world back on its axis for you," he said, turning and grinning at me as I followed him into his bedroom.

He fucked me slowly and tenderly on his bed, stretched on his side behind me, careful not to touch the burning wounds on my back, now slathered with greasy salve. And while he fucked me, he was stroking me off with one of his hands and playing with my balls, squeezing them and distending them, making me ache to give him my load. That's why I came to Demont. I had a beautiful face and boobs, but I still had a dick and balls. It wasn't just because he had the thickest and longest cock I could imagine. It was because when he fucked me, it was more like we were making love—that he appreciated what I had. All of it.

No, he didn't pay me. But he gave me something much better than money. He gave me respect and affection, and he treated me like his special lady—not like the freak that other men got off on fucking.

After he'd done me—and done me good, with me getting off with him—we were both snapped out of our good-time feeling by the sudden pounding on the door and the sound of the muffled, "Open up, Demont. We know you're in there."

Demont bounced up from the bed, pulled his trousers on, and put a finger to his lips. "Shhh. Stay in here and keep it quiet. My supplier is out-of-this-world hyped up and trigger happy. In fact, go into the bathroom and close the door."

Pulling on my skirt and blouse, I did as he asked as he went into the living room and to the door. I barely had time to close the bathroom door when I heard the shots. That scream distinctively sounded like Demont. Instinctively, I turned to the window and started climbing up on the sink. From the size of the window and the smoothness of the drainpipe outside of it on the wall, I have no idea how I managed to make it to the ground.

And I had no idea how I made it to the ground with my heels under my arm. I would have ditched them hours earlier if I'd had something else to put on my feet, but here, in this crisis, they were what I'd decided to save. All that seemed important to me were the trappings of my fake femininity.

I didn't put the shoes on, though, until I was around the corner of the alley and onto Corcoran. I had the presence of mind not to go out of the alley at the Q Street side. Who knows who was backstopping whoever was involved in that shooting? I heard the police sirens start up as I clumped back to the corner of 18th and Q. But those might have been for almost anything in this part of the city. Probably for some dude who mattered in life—not for the likes of Demont or me.

I was heartsick at the thought of what might have happened to Demont—the only soul on earth who treated me right and gave me what I needed like I needed it. For some reason, though, I thought that all I needed to do was to get back to my corner and everything that was happening to me tonight would evaporate, go into reverse maybe—that I'd stop inching toward that edge of "who the fuck cares about anything anymore?" That the fast-approaching tomorrow would be different.

After I'd reached the corner, still the only one there, I slowly stopped hyperventilating. Josephine wasn't there. I had no idea where she could be, but she racked up johns so fast that she more likely than not was in the backseat of some guy's car in an alley somewhere close. And Geraldine wasn't there. Geraldine would never be there again. Shit, I thought. I liked Josephine even less than I'd liked Geraldine, and now it's just her and me—until some other girl showed up to take Geraldine's place. It was a three-girl corner. That had been established years before I showed up here.

It all just went on, with or without me. Who would give a fuck I ever was here after I was gone? How long would it be before I forgot Geraldine's name? I already was forgetting what color her hair was. Of course she changed the color every couple of weeks anyway—or had done so before she got cut up. A redhead or a blonde? It didn't matter much. They all were wigs anyway. I just couldn't remember what color she was tonight. Already.

Oh fuck, I suddenly thought. I didn't have my purse. Where was it? I had a flash of remembrance. I'd left it on a table in Demont's apartment. With $200 in it. With my ID in it. Telling anyone who wanted to know where I lived—that I probably was in the apartment when Demont got popped.

Fuck. Would this night ever end? Could tomorrow be any better?

The reflection of headlights bounced up into my eyes from the puddles of water in the street. The rain had stopped again, but the night being what it was, the rain surely would start up again. Why, at least, couldn't the night have been clear?

The vehicle moved past me and stopped a block ahead. Its taillights flickered a remembered signal. It was a blue van. Sky blue—when the sky was blue.

Now, as I started to walk toward the van, I knew why I hadn't told Officer O'Brien what color the van had been.