We’ve been going out for exactly four months now.

Sixteen weeks.  One hundred and twenty-one days.

Two-thousand nine-hundred and four hours.

One-hundred seventy-four thousand, two hundred and forty excruciatingly long minutes.

 

She’s a great girl.

She gets straight As in all her classes.

Honors in every subject, save for World History.

That’s where we met.

 

Her daddy’s works for a container manufacturer as a regional manager.

He thinks the world of her, and makes sure her purse is never empty.

Her mother is a homemaker, but harbors no hard feelings for her offspring or mate.

She’s always there for her, and always helps her in her time of need.

 

Both of her parents adore me.

 

I’m your typical high school schmuck.

I struggle to maintain a steady flow of Bs and Cs.

Average level in every subject, including World History.

That’s my favorite class.

 

It’s our thirty-first date on our four-month anniversary.

She made a big deal out of it.

I thought it was nothing, but she means a lot to me.

Well, enough that I’ll take her out for a pointless date.

 

It’s Christmastime, so we went out for hot chocolate and cookies at the local Mom N’ Pop coffee shop.

She’s wearing a mulberry hooded knit sweater, a lime green arguile top, faded Levis and a pair of black Chuck Taylors.

I’m wearing a blank black tee-shirt, some worn out blue jeans and old white sneakers.

The co-owner is standing behind the counter staring at us, smiling at young love in the holiday season.

 

She thinks we’re the cutest couple.

 

I drive her back to her place around ten o’clock.

Her parents have gone out for the night.

She invites me back into the house.

Is this it?

 

We walk up to the front stoop together.

It’s colder than the lowest circle of hell, and light flurries are falling.

She takes the key out of her back pocket and unlocks the front door.

Once the door opens, I stumble inside after her.

 

She flicks on the lights and heads straight into the house.

I stay behind a little bit and look around.

I’ve been here ninety-six times, but this time, it seems completely new to me.

Tonight’s not going to be like the rest of our dates.

 

We’ll remember tonight.

 

She motions for me to follow her up the stairs.

I comply anxiously.

She walks down to her room and opens the door.

I follow her closely.

 

We both sit down on her mattress, on top of her Hello Kitty bedspread.

She’s cute like that.

She puts her arm around my shoulders.

I put mine down by the small of her back.

 

We go about our standard procedure.

First base, a single hit.

But she always bunts my pitch.

Her tactics frustrate me.

 

I’ve had enough by now.

 

I move my arm around her ribcage and down to her studded leather belt.

She fidgets, but she doesn’t seem to mind it.

My lips leave hers and crawl across her face to her ear.

I whisper what I’m thinking.

 

She draws back from me as soon as I finish.

She gives me that look.

That look.

That goddamn look.

 

I look at her and ask her what’s wrong.

She keeps looking at me.

I look right back at her.

She says that this isn’t the time.

 

Four fucking months.

 

This is getting harder and harder by the day.

More annoying by the hour.

More irritating by the minute.

More aggravating by the second.

 

I sit back and hunch over, resting my elbows on my knees.

I let out a long, hard sigh.

My insides are twisting in my abdomen.

I stand up and walk towards the door.

 

I hear something from behind me.

It takes me a minute to realize she said something.

The words flow across the room and into my ear.

They register within my head.

 

She says she’s sorry.

 

She says.

She.

Is.

Sorry.

 

An apology.

She has given me an apology.

Mere words.

What does she think that they mean?

 

I’ve waited for four months.

Sixteen weeks.  One hundred and twenty-one days.

Two-thousand nine-hundred and four hours.

One-hundred seventy-four thousand, two hundred and forty excruciatingly long minutes.

 

And she says she’s sorry.

 

I’ve just about had it.

 

I turn around wildly.

She looks up at me and asks what it is.

I throw her words back at her.

She reels backward slowly, trying to stay out of the way.

 

I stomp deliberately over to the mattress.

I throw her words back at her again.

She raises her legs above her towards me.

She’s known me for four months and she still doesn’t trust me.

 

I tell her exactly what on my mind.

The months, the days, the hours, the minutes, the seconds.

She looks at me like I’m a crazy person.

And maybe I am.

 

But she’s crazier.

 

I can’t stand to see her looking at me with those big puppy dog eyes.

She’s known me for this long and she doesn’t even trust me?

She won’t even let me touch her now.

I reach out and I grab hold of her arm.

 

She fights off my grip, and it only makes me more tense.

My arm lunges out again and I grab her and I make sure I hold tight.

I’m much bigger and stronger than her, and she can’t break free this time.

She lets out a yelp.

 

She’s gone insane, I can tell already.

She’s fighting me off like I’m some sort of stranger.

I give her a slap across the face to bring her to her senses.

She puts her hand to her cheek right where my palm struck.

 

She looks at me like I’m an animal.

 

My other arm reaches out and grabs her other forearm.

She lets out another scream, like a dog in distress.

I’m the animal?

She’s the animal.

 

I push all my weight forward and get her down flat on her mattress.

She kicks at my stomach, but I don’t feel anything.

I feel a sudden rush of blood from my chest down through my torso.

This is it after all.

 

I wedge my hips between her legs and bring myself down.

I hold her thighs open with mine.

She’s now letting out louder and louder yelps.

I’m just getting more and more annoyed.

 

Now’s the time.

 

I let go of one of her arms and quickly bring it down to her neck.

I force my arm deep into her throat.

Her other arm flails wildly, striking my shoulders.

I don’t care.

 

I let go of her other arm and use my other hand to hold her upper arm.

I use my hand to open up and get ready, and once I’m ready, I make sure she is, too.

Her hips are shifting uncontrollably beneath me.

I hear her Hello Kitty bedspread rip.

 

Four months.

Sixteen weeks.  One hundred and twenty-one days.

Two-thousand nine-hundred and four hours.

One-hundred seventy-four thousand, two hundred and forty excruciatingly long minutes.

 

I lurch my hips forward.

 

She lets out the most horrifying scream I’ve ever heard.

I let out a long breath of relief, my voice trembling at the end.

I repeat my previous movement again.

She lets out a weak yelp.

 

Again and again I move my hips.

She’s breathing heavy and hard beneath my arm.

I move my arm away from her throat, grabbing her wrist.

She lets out screams in short bursts.

 

Over and over, I repeat my motion.

Every time I move, she gasps in some air.

It seems to go on forever, but not long enough.

At one point, her eyeliner begins to run.

 

She loves it; I can tell.

 

I feel myself ready to finish this.

I take a deep breath in.

I let myself go.

She lets out a blood-curdling screech.

 

I stay on top of her, breathing hard.

She’s breathing hard too.

Her voice trembles as she breathes.

I look down towards my chest.

 

I stand up, looking down at the floor.

I fix myself up and wiggle everything back into place.

I take a look at my forearm.

There’s a bite mark in it.

 

It finally happened.

 

I buckle my belt and pull up my zipper.

I wring out my wrists.

I straighten up my hair.

I look back behind me.

 

She’s lying there, motionless.

Ripped bedspread, tangled hair, raw arms.

The front seam of her Levis is ripped.

She’s a mess.

 

She’s not moving.

I can see her breathing, but she’s not moving.

I can hear her quivering, but she’s not moving.

She’s not moving.

 

I don’t dare look at her face.

 

I look down at my feet, and my shoe is untied.

I bend down and tie the laces.

I stand up and head for the door.

Before I go, I look back one last time.

 

She’s still lying there.

Isn’t she going to say goodbye?

Maybe she doesn’t have to.

Maybe she thinks we’ll see each other again.

 

I open the door and step out into the hall.

I go down the stairs and into the kitchen.

I know my way around here.

I look out the window.

 

The snow’s still falling.

 

I go back outside and head for my car.

It’s still cold, but for some reason, I don’t mind.

I feel different.  I feel new.

I feel great.

 

I open the car door and sit down inside.

I put the key in the ignition and start the engine.

I look back at the house.

Nothing’s happening.

 

I back out of the driveway and out onto the street.

I drive down the street and I turn the corner.

I’m going home, but I feel like I’m going somewhere new.

Today, I am a new man.

 

Day one.