Coked Up Every Weekend
Sex Acts And Emotional Problems
After her shower Caitlyn gathered the rest of her belongings from the hallway and staircase. When she returned to the bedroom Michael was doing lines off his nightstand. He lifted his head and stared at her for a few seconds.
“Are you only sleeping with me for the money?”
“Cause the first time,” he started, “you didn’t know I would pay you, unless Paula told you. Did Paula tell you I would?”
“No, Michael,” Caitlyn replied. “Paula only told me that you had a crush on me.”
“So you slept with me and Paula that night because I had a crush on you?”
“I slept with you because I wanted to.”
“Not because I was feeding you drugs?”
“What do you wanna hear?”
Michael tapped the nightstand with his fingers.
“Do you want some?” he asked.
“I’m good,” Caitlyn declined.
“Is this just sex,” he pushed, “and drugs, and money?”
“It’s a good time,” Caitlyn shrugged.
“What about Boston?”
There was the million dollar question.
“Why’d you ask me to meet your family?”
“Don’t read into that,” Caitlyn warned.
She cut him off.
“I didn’t want to go. We’re not getting along right now and I didn’t want to spend the day, and make the drive alone. I knew you were probably upset since the last time I saw you so I thought we could hang out and I could patch things up with you, and get through the birthday party at the same time.”
“Two birds,” Michael nodded.
“I guess you could say that.”
“Why were you so rude to me on Broadway?”
“Michael,” Caitlyn sighed.
“No,” he insisted, “answer me.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “What do you want to hear?”
“I want to know why you’re sleeping with that French guy. Why you invited me to Boston.
“You say to patch things up between us. But why do you care about patching things up between us if this crush of mine is so one-sided that I can’t even make love to you slowly once, without you shutting down on me?”
“Can you not say ‘make love’ to me please?”
“Can you give me a straight answer?”
“I don’t,” Caitlyn shook her head. “You’re not even making sense. I think I know what you’re trying to ask me, but y-y-your syntax is all off.”
“Don’t, don’t do that,” Michael whined. “Don’t deflect. Just answer me.”
“Look, I like you,” Caitlyn confessed. “It’s not a big deal. It doesn’t have to be. But I don’t wanna be with you. I don’t want to have to explain who else I spend my time with to you. And I don’t want to talk about my family with you. All I want right now is a job. It’s all I’ve wanted for the past two months. I can’t…” she struggled for words.
Caitlyn knew how this conversation was going to go, and she wished she could’ve spared herself.
“Having a boyfriend is not important to me. I need to figure out what I really want to do with my life. I need to find a new job, a real job. I’m too smart to be coked up every weekend, fucking you.”
He motioned with his eyes to the American Spirit still barely burning in her right hand.
“Can I have that?”
“Sure,” Caitlyn held the cigarette to his lips.
Michael wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pressing his thumb into her palm as he inhaled.
Caitlyn glanced briefly at his crotch, where Paula’s left hand clutched his thigh tightly in place as she focused on adding a swirling tribal pattern to his oblique.
“Is this weird for you?” Michael asked.
Caitlyn brought her eyes to his.
“I’ve never been fired before.”
“No,” he said. “I meant watching Paula fake tattoo me naked.”
“But the world around us makes everyone go to school, get a job, and play by the rules of the field they’re in. And Art is a field too. And ‘the scene’ has a texture, but it lacks substance. You know, ‘the scene’ is cool. But it’s not Art. And it’s disgusting to me, to have to consider and carve out a place for myself inside of that, to have to play by society’s rules inside of Art. Creativity is a beast. I want to let it out and play with it. But society, the scene, is like this cage within a cage within a cage.”