"I remember looking at her and, just before I turned away to leave I said "You fucking Bitch!" As I slammed my truck door and started it she was running across the grass toward me. I could see she was still crying but I couldn't hear what she was saying. I just tromped the pedal to the metal and spun tires out of there. I got part way home and saw I had carried the rock with me. I threw it as far out the window as I could while I drove down the road.My "darling" didn't get home until nearly 3 a.m. She was covered in the assholes blood as she came through the door. I admit, I was so drunk I could hardly sit or talk but I remember her staring at me with a white face, tears running down her cheeks. She walked past me to the bathroom. I heard the shower going, then she came back to sit beside me on the couch, crying again. I tried to push her away but I was so out of it I couldn't. She cried and told me how so very, very sorry she was.I finally got away from her and went to bed. The next. "You don' remember me, do you, you big ox?" the slight woman said, sounding a bit worse for liquor so early in the day. She smelled of lavender and rum.I shook my head and admired her well knit body and frank look."How 'bout if I say you owned me for a few minutes?" She smiled up at me, a good smile in a bright face."Emma?" I said, "Good lord!" Right the first time," she said, grabbing my arm, "come along."I followed her down a boardwalk and up some worn, outside stairs to a dark room above a large tavern."Sit," she said, pointing to the only chair. "I'll get us something."She put down her bundle, opened a cupboard and produced a bottle and two dirty glass. She wiped the glasses out with her shawl, splashed whisky into them and handed me one. She gulped hers and I sipped mine. It was awful, raw stuff not even fit to call white lightening but probably sold as rye.She sat on her unmade, swaybacked bed and looked at me, the empty glass between her knees. She dumped the shawl behind her.
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