Get Out: A Short Story

You gotta get out, I told her. What? Leave. Get out. Your face was there in my brain, your face was my face. Fuck you, she said. Spit came out of her mouth and landed on her chin. She leaned in before she opened the door. You’re just like him. You’re shit. You’re both shit. Something moved inside my stomach. A slimy worm that was trying to make a home there. I put back on my shirt and boxers, drove home without my jeans on and her words repeating in my head. I wished you were there after I showered, cleaned myself up and lay down on the couch. We’d drink some more beer and talk about things only we understood. Except I didn’t want to talk about what had just happened. Meg’s slippery skin on my fingertips. Her desperate lips. Her long

What? Leave. Get out. Your face was there in my brain, your face was my face. Fuck you, she said. Spit came out of her mouth and landed on her chin. She leaned in before she opened the door. You’re just like him. You’re shit. You’re both shit. Something moved inside my stomach. A slimy worm that was trying to make a home there. I put back on my shirt and boxers, drove home without my jeans on and her words repeating in my head. I wished you were there after I showered, cleaned myself up and lay down on the couch. We’d drink some more beer and talk about things only we understood. Except I didn’t want to talk about what had just happened. Meg’s slippery skin on my fingertips. Her desperate lips. Her long tongue tangled with mine. Her banged up knees. When I showed up to the shop on Monday morning you were already there standing outside the garage. Your hands were shaking and I felt dumber than you at that moment. Of course someone’s fat mouth would spray the truth all over town. Maybe it was even Meg, who probably felt guilty after she climbed out of the truck. Meg who thought we were both shit so why did she care anyways? Your pupils were bigger than I’d ever seen and your mouth was twitching.

Word on the street was Meg left you even after you found out. You begged her to stay, said you'd quit drinking and drugging and you were being honest and serious this time. Word on the street was she spit in your face, called you shit and moved in with her Mom in Carbondale. Ray Butler said he stopped by your apartment last week after you stopped showing up to work. He knocked on the door and when you didn’t answer, he went inside to see if things were all okay. The kitchen was empty, no food in the fridge. That's when he walked into your bedroom and saw the sea of beer cans and liquor bottles. There was an empty pack of cigarettes on your bed and ashes on the windowsill. I imagined the wind blew and those pieces of gray came back into the room and landed on your bed where you no longer slept. Because you were gone, just like you said you’d be. He found a note on the side table with a picture of you and Meg from five years ago. I know what picture it is. You looked better then. Your teeth weren’t as yellow. Your hair was shorter. Your life was in better shape and I understand why you kept that photo hanging around. The note was in your tiny, horrible