37

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Things That Make Sense

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Callahan woke, that slow painful process of opening eyes that were sealed by much, the crust broke, her lashes heavy with dead mascara fluttered and she was greeted by the slim lines of daylight cast over the crap on her bedroom floor. Her throat was thick with bile and nostrils clogged with the stench of sex sweat and morning breath.

"What time is it?" Mac sighed beside her and she turned, slow and anxiously to find him staring up at the ceiling eyes open and studying the cut out of Courtney Love half hidden by a Gash flyer.

"I don't know," she said, her voice was thick, she swallowed some phlegm and tried to sit but the room began to spiral and she lay back down defeated by gravity.

The events of the night before struck her like a cruel knuckled fist in the jaw and she pulled her arms around her skinny frame as if to shield herself from the events. "Shit," she whispered.

"It's okay," Mac said his expression philosophical as he reached clumsy fingers for a cigarette. Callahan had rarely not known what to do, in front of Mac she had always been at ease but now she squirmed like the proverbial maggot and he continued to light his cig and ponder mysterious thoughts.

In the distance a car honked and then a radio was flipped on sending a string of 80s hits breezing through the house, Bettie's voice sang proud and out of tune putting a ghost of a smile on Cal's lips.

"This is strange." Mac murmured.

"Isn't it what you wanted?" She replied blandly, her eyes moving to where his eyes were aimed though she knew he didn't see Courtney Love or anything else.

"What I wanted?" He exhaled smoke through his nostrils, "I want this not to be strange, Cal."

She could hear the outrage weaving into her voice but lay impotent like a marionette with severed strings. "Why do you think this is my fault?"

"Because you pulled away from me when you woke up, you flinched when you realized what happened and you're not touching me now."

Silence. Callahan was aware of the air that passed her lips, the scuzzy feeling of her teeth and taste of his dick still burning in her mouth. She sat up supporting her head with a hand, dirty fingers sliding through the stiff strands. "Maybe things are just not meant to be," she said softly, so soft she wasn't sure she had spoken herself.

"You're lying. This is the only thing that makes sense."

"I need to take a piss." She made her way sluggishly to the bathroom denying herself the temptation of looking back. She passed Sadie's doorway, she was still snoring fully clothed and sprawled atop her sheets and she passed Liz who stood as if waiting for her.

"You are the dodgiest bitch I know, Callahan." She murmured.

Callahan glanced dubiously back at Mac who was staring at her though the door and she could feel the burn of a blush working its way beneath her cheeks. "Things are going to be better now, Liz."

Liz shook her head and turned to face the window, "I don't want any more to do with this, with you or him." Him, Callahan knew was Jon. Though Callahan had seen hide nor hair of him for several weeks and Mac had made no mention of him. "Out of curiosity who was better?"

"What?"

"Mac or Jon?"

"Does it matter?"

"Callahan," Liz admonished though there was an undercurrent of venom in her voice, "we're girls, of course these things matter."

"Maybe I'm not comfortable talking about it."

"Maybe you don't have a choice."

"Go home, Liz." Callahan shook her head, "good fucking riddance."

That was the moment Liz slapped her and it was no limp wrist-ed tap but a hard resounding whack and Callahan tasted blood and couldn't make sense past the ringing in her ears. The radio ceased dipping them in silence until Mac's feet pounded on the carpet.

"Holy fuck." Mac knelt beside Cal helping her to her feet. "What the hell are you doing?"

Liz smiled, "do you need a job? Barbelo are going to need a new guitarist."