The Women of Custer City Ch. 02-03

Chapter 2

Any time we found success we liked to mix things up. Being stuck in a timeloop, monotony was always our biggest enemy, and throwing in an occasional wrench to celebrate kept us all sane.

We normally didn't get as crazy as you might imagine. Sure, our money would reset the following day, so we could do damn near whatever we wanted. In the past we'd pooled out money, took a charter jet to a private island, but at the end of the day we only had until we fell asleep, and a third of the day was logistics, another third was travelling. The sunset on a private beach where the only footsteps were our own was nice, but in the end it's just not worth it.

We've tried just about everything we could think of. We've bought lamborghinis, we've gone skydiving and tried our hand at recreational drugs. That day, however, we were in the mood for quiet.

Ginger was without a car, which always meant it was up to me to pick her up. The four of us had settled on starting our day with a nice brunch at Bouliet, then we'd figure out the day from there.

I could smell the weed from Ginger's apartment before I stepped out of my car. She shared the small space with five other girls, each of them as big a fan of pot as she was.

When I saw her, she was in a more familiar sweatshirt, and she ran a hand angrily through her hair which had returned to its usual tangled mess. She gave a nervous little wave and I helped her into the same car we rode in the night before.

"I go through all that work," she said groggily as she fumbled with the seatbelt, "And poof. All gone. They tugged and yanked at my hair for three hours, and for absolutely nothing."

"Thank you," I said. I was staring at her, but until that point all I saw was her knotted red hair. She turned to face me and I said it again.

"Of course," she said. She gave a quick little fist bump, then looked away just as quickly, "We always have fun together, don't we?"

"We do," I agreed, and started off.

Ginger was still wrestling with the hair she seemed to hate when we reached the end of the street.

"You know what I wish?" I asked just to fill the silence, "I wish I filled up on gas on June 15th. Every single morning I'm at a quarter tank."

Ginger gave a small chuckle, but kept looking straight ahead. "You know the worst part for me?" she asked, "I wake up with the same high every single day, and I'm never fully sober until like three."

The awkward silence returned to the quiet car. I wanted to answer, but anything I could think of just made the knot of guilt in my stomach grow larger.

Ginger saved the moment. "Of all the things in the world to do, why on Earth are we going to brunch?"

I shook my head and allowed a smile, "It's quiet and relaxing, the foods good.There's no stress."

"I'd rather stay home," Ginger laughed, and once more the car went quiet.

Fortunately the drive was quick. We parked the car and as we started towards the cafe we saw Chrissy and Alley, already sat by the window. We joined the two at the table. Chrissy was nursing her coffee, while Alley twirled a sugar packet between her fingers.

"Good morning," Chrissy sighed. She took another sip, and Alley gave a nod to acknowledge us.

"Another one down," Alley finally said, "Good work team."

I lifted the menu and started scanning, "You two order already?"

Chrissy nodded from behind her mug. I kept reading the menu, but I felt myself start to speak. "Ginger wanted to know," I muttered, "What's the plan after this? Any ideas?"

Four eyes turned to look at Ginger, and she shrunk into her chair like a salted snail.

Alley pointed with that same sugar packet, "Is there anything even left to do in Custer City?"

Chrissy gave a half little laugh as she drank.

"We don't have to stay," Ginger said timidly, "We could maybe go to Aspen Falls or do something different."

Chrissy shrugged, "It might keep Amber off our tail for a little while."

I shook my head, "She'll find us when she finds us."

In truth Amber didn't walk in right that moment. We probably ordered food, had a boring little conversation, and chuckled occasionally for half an hour, but for the sake of the story, I'm gonna skip ahead. I was halfway between bites when I looked up and saw Amber in that same jean jacket staring at our table.

I stood slowly. I bumped the table, and kept my eyes on her. I'd seen hellfire in so many women's eyes, been badgered, beaten, called every name in the book, and shot more times than I could count. With Amber though, all I saw was a light curiousity, and it intrigued me.

"I got this," I said, and left the table behind me. I pulled Amber into a small corner of the cafe so only we could hear each other. "I thought," she said slowly, "That I'd be more hungover."

Great, I thought, Maybe we can avoid dancing this same tired dance, if only for a little while.

"I also thought," she said, "That it would be tomorrow."

I gave the table a nod of confirmation, and turned so it was just Amber and I.

"Amber," I said, "Let's go for a walk."

The best part of June 16th was the weather. The sky wasn't quite cloudless, but the weather was warm, and a mild breeze kept us from overheating. It was nice enough for Amber to be completely comfortable in a short skirt and a jean jacket, and me in shorts.

We were quiet for the first few blocks. I kept glancing at her, watching the wheels turn in her head. We turned to follow some quiet train tracks that ran off into the woods. I kept waiting for her to say something, but she seemed determine to let me speak.

"I take it," I tried, "You've started to piece together some of what's going on."

For a long moment there was nothing but the crunch of gravel under our feet. I could tell she was pursing her lips, trying to find the words.

"I know today is the exact same day that yesterday was," she finally said, "I knew it instantly, because I didn't wake up at home, and I didn't wake up at your place."

I resisted the urge to correct her.

"I also suspect," she continued, "That you have something to do with this. Otherwise you wouldn't be walking with me right now. That also means this isn't a one time thing. If tomorrow was actually tomorrow, we wouldn't have to have a talk."

More footsteps. More crunchy gravel.

"I'm sorry," I finally said, "It's a shitty thing to bring you in, and I know it's shitty, but as far as I know, the only way to end this is to move forward."

I started to notice just how restless Amber's fingers were. She played with the holes in her jacket, but she kept her eyes forward, just watching the track that stretched against the horizon. I tried to look at her, but her gaze was locked.

"We live the same day, June 16th, every single day, over and over," I explained, "And every time I sleep with someone, they start living the same day too. This only ends when I've slept with every single woman that happened to be in Custer City today."

Amber scoffed, "How the fuck does that even happen?"

It was a question I'd heard more times than I could count, but lying always seemed like the easiest way out. I gave a headshake and tried to sound convincing, "I don't even know."

"Bullshit."

"I mean it," I lied, "It took 9 days before you finally slept with me-"

Amber stopped in her tracks and turned to face me, "9 days?"

"Yeah," I said, "Think about how many thousands of women are in Custer City. I could be a hundred years old for all I know. The truth is, Amber, I don't remember June 15th anymore. I don't know how this started."

Amber started walking again, but the pace of the crunching gravel had slowed. She was looking away again, and I could tell she wasn't buying what I said, "If it took you 9 days to fuck me," she said, "And we're all counting on you, then you really need my help."

I couldn't stop the chuckle, "That's what Ginger thought," I said, "And Chrissy, and Alley. They're all counting on me to get them out of this. Hundreds of others too. Probably thousands."

"How many are left?"

I took a few steps while I thought. I still barely knew her, and still couldn't gauge how she'd respond.

"About a thousand," I sighed. I heard her take a deep breath, and felt the way her eyes rolled. She stretched her neck to compose herself, then turned to face me.

"So what you're saying," she started, "Is I'm gonna be here for a while?"

I nodded. She started clicking her teeth while she thought, so I filled the silence. "You're taking it better than most."

"Oh yeah?"

"I've had girls kill me," I said, "Over, and over, and over. I've had people scream about how I ruined their lives. I was locked in a basement and kept awake for almost a week."

I expected a laugh, or maybe even a small chuckle, but Amber kept quiet. I felt her eyes study me as she gathered her thoughts. She tried to keep the judgement from her voice, but I still heard it, "You have to sleep with every single woman?" she asked, "That can't be easy."

I offered a chuckle, just to break the tension. "No," I admitted, "It's awkward. It's painful. It's boring, and it's really fucking hard."

The two of us were walking again. She stayed by my side, but she'd started to inch closer to me.

"So far," she began, "What's been the hardest part?"

I didn't have to think long, "Ginger."

"Oh shut up," she laughed with a little nudge, "That girl looks at you with eyes so wide she looks like a cartoon character."

"I mean it," I said with a little more conviction, "She was one of the earliest girls I slept with, and it's only because she was in a rough spot. She went out with friends to get high. The next morning she started to feel sick so she went home, only to find her boyfriend buck ass naked with her roommate, the girl she considered her best friend. She was pissed off, still high, and emotional. She was looking for revenge, to feel something, anything, and it made her an easy target for someone who was still trying to gain confidence in this whole thing, so I fucked her. But think of it from her perspective. Every single morning she wakes up feeling sick. Every morning she pukes about an hour. She always has a little bit of a high and if she tries to go home to lie down she gets to see her boyfriend and her best friend fucking. When she realized what I did to her, she fucking hated me. She's killed me more than once. She's cursed me out, but eventually she realized the only way to end it was to end it, and she offered to help me. She was the first, and we spent a lot of time with each other. We got to know each other, and she told me all about the hell I put her through."

The smile had faded from Amber's face. She tussled her hair and stared at the train tracks for a while, just watching as her black boots landed, one in front of the other.

"I like to think I've turned it around," I said, "But I'm the only guy stuck in this loop. Maybe she just deals with me because I'm all she's got. For all I know she still hates me."

Amber gave the smallest little headshake, almost imperceptible, "She doesn't."

"Thanks."

"What about moving forward?" Amber finally asked, "Who do you thinks gonna be the hardest?"

Amber and I were walking so close our shoulders were nearly touching.

"It's never the ones you expect," I admitted, "Sometimes I think I can get a girl first try and it takes a month. Sometimes it's the opposite."

We kept walking, but I saw Amber's eyes dart to glance at me.

"There's a shit ton of married women," I said, "I don't even know where to begin with them, and I know I'll feel like shit whenever I get any of them to cheat, but they're not the ones I'm dreading. It's Amanda Marsh."

"Who's Amanda Marsh?"

"She was my neighbor," I said, "The girl next door. Our parents knew each other, and the two of us were best friends before either of us could walk. We kept hanging out throughout high school, and I had the biggest crush on her, but I never wanted to ruin things, so I never told her. We went to different colleges and kind of grew apart, but I never stopped thinking about her. In my head I liked to think she liked me too, and just like me, was too much of a chicken to tell me. I don't think I could handle it if I found out she never liked me at all."

Amber rolled her eyes. I didn't mean for my voice to get louder, but I couldn't stop it, "What if she turns me down?" I asked, "Then it's not just getting rejected, it's knowing she doesn't like me, and still having to try to fuck her anyway. It could take months, and all the while I'd know she, someone I really care about, does not want to fuck me. Ginger has her hell, and that sounds like mine."

Amber gave me a tiny shove, "You are such a pussy."

I clacked my shoe against the train track, and raised my eyebrow as I found her gaze.

"You know what I thought you were gonna say?" she asked, "That you have a sister or something, someone who'd actually be a pain in the ass to fuck. Instead you tell me there's a girl who you know already likes you as a friend, and might actually like you already."

I felt my feet stop moving and my eyes turn stony.

"What?" she asked.

"I do have a sister."

Amber shook it off, "Well let's focus on Amanda. Don't focus on the worst case scenario, think about this. What if she does like you? Then you might actually get to be happy. You might get to spend this whole stupid loop with someone really cool by your side."

I looked down for just a moment. Amber took the chance to take a few steps closer and I felt her hands grip my shirt. "Can you still get in touch with her?"

I nodded.

"Then call her," Amber said, "I'll start thinking about the married girl problem."

I felt my hands dig for my phone. My fingers were trembling as I found her number, and I felt how hard I was breathing as I held it to my ear. Even after how ever many hundreds of years had gone by, my heart still skipped a beat when I heard her soft voice answer.

"Amanda?" I asked, and I heard her gentle laugh.

"It's been a while," I said, "Any chance we could hang out?"

"Yeah," she said, and I heard the excitement creep into her voice. She said it again, and her enthusiasm had grown, "Yeah. I'd really like that."

I couldn't stop the smile, and when I looked up Amber was grinning at me.

"I'm really busy tonight," she said, "What about tomorrow?"

My heart sank, but I asked again just to be sure, "No chance at all for tonight?"

She said the same thing, so I faked a smile and nodded. "Ok," I said, "Tomorrow it is. I can't wait."

I hung up the phone and saw that Amber's smile had turned to pity.

"Well," I said, "I'll try again tomorrow."

Chapter 3

The next morning started the same, 6:13 a.m. with just a hint of color in the sky. The day was the same, everything had reset to the exact point it always did, but for me, everything was different. My heart was pounding the second I leapt up from bed, and the moment my feet hit the floor I couldn't stop pacing.

I knew I couldn't call Amanda. It was way too soon for that, so that just meant an hour, realistically probably two, of just waiting here, building up the courage, and letting my anxiety balloon.

I took the time to shower, and I think I scrubbed more thoroughly than I ever had in my life. It wasn't just to kill time, it's because it was Amanda. Everything had to be perfect. I had to be my best.

I finished showering and brushed my teeth until my gums were raw, but I couldn't keep my foot from tapping. I stepped out from the bathroom, my towel around my waist, and I felt my hands fidgeting. I'd barely been up for an hour.

I thought about making breakfast, just so my stomach wouldn't growl, but I felt the way it twisted with nervousness and all I could see was an image of myself puking.

At least I don't have to worry about anyone else, I thought,

That morning was the longest morning of my life. By the time I finally reached for my phone, my fingers were trembling like I'd been standing in an avalanche, and the lump in my throat had gotten so bad I wondered if I'd even be able to make a squeak.

I must have hovered over the call button for thirty seconds before I found the courage. I called her number with my eyes closed, and forced the phone to my ear.

"Amanda?" I asked. I heard the nervousness in my voice and prayed the phone's static did something to hide it.

She was groggy when she replied, still fresh from sleep. I'd seen her tired face a thousand times before, but I hoped somewhere behind her narrow eyes she was excited. I tried to picture her, and tried to imagine she was smiling, but all I heard was the tiredness.

"I really need to talk to you," I stammered. I'd rehearsed my words a half dozen times while I paced all morning, but now that she was listening my lips felt heavy and my tongue felt too big for my mouth.

"Can you go to the castle?" I asked, "Like right now? Please?"

I think she heard something in my voice because she started to wake up. Her words weren't as slurred, and I thought I heard the rustle of fabric, like she was pulling herself from bed.

"Is everything ok?" she asked, and I was quick to comfort.

"Yeah, yeah, it's just- No," I admitted, "Things aren't ok, and I miss you. Can we please talk?"

I'd waited so long that morning, the half second it took her to reply should have felt like nothing, but the pause lasted another eternity.

"Just give me half an hour," she said. She was starting to wake up, and I knew she was grabbing at her piles of clothes, "I'm on my way."

Somehow, I didn't think I'd get that far. If my heart was racing before, it was dancing now. When I hung up the phone, I felt it skip a beat and twist in on itself.

I was already dressed, and knew I'd beat her to the castle, but I couldn't sit still anymore. I tied my shoes with shaky fingers and sprinted for my car.

I'd chosen the castle deliberately. It wasn't a real castle of course, but it's the spot we'd hung out a thousand nights before. Back when the two of us were young we'd venture out into the woods behind our houses, and about a quarter mile back we'd found an old, rundown treehouse. At one point it had windows, but the glass had frosted and started to yellow, so the two of us pulled them free from the plywood.

The castle started out as a castle. We'd pretend the forest was our kingdom, and we'd defend it from all the unknown monsters lurking across the brush, but as we aged, the castle became something different. We went there to get away from our parents, to study, to work on our college applications. We'd go there some nights just to talk until the sky turned to stars and we'd fall asleep next to each other in a fit of laughter.

When I got there that morning, the smells hit me like a truck. The old, wet wood had started to smell rotten, and the carpet smelled like mothballs. The ancient smell of pot had rooted its way into the walls and a lifetime of spilled food stained the floor. We'd eaten our guts out back then. She'd found a type of chips called Waddles, and the mascot was so stupid, but the flavor was so good. It became the official food of the Castle.

I poked my head through the hatch and saw the mural she'd painted a lifetime ago. I remember lying on the floor, my head against a pillow as I absentmindedly ate those chips. She existed in her own little world, painting away, a gentle music playing on the speakers we hauled all the way back there. We told each other everything. She told me about her crushes, and gave updates once she started to date. We talked about what we wanted in life and how she wand to be a doctor like her father.

A few nights before we were supposed to leave for college, the two of us had reached the castle one final time. The rain came down hard, and the wind blew so strongly I think we both thought the treehouse would collapse. She curled up next to me, maybe for warmth, or maybe just because the two of us were running out of time with each other, and even as she fell asleep I felt her soft hand against my chest. If there had ever been a time to make a move, it would have been that night.