Halle Butler: Jillian

“God, I wish I were hit by a deer,” she said.

I would break my arms, Jesus, if I thought it would deliver me from this situation. Jesus, what can I do, what do you want me to do? You’ve kept me safe before and I trust that you will keep me safe now, or if you punish me, then it’s for all the right reasons and things will be better after the punishment than they are now. But I also know you won’t ever, you would not ever hurt a kid, and that’s all I’m trying to do, is to not hurt my kid, and I would do anything, you know, I really would, I would break my arms if you would just tell me how to get out of this.

Jillian dug her small fingers into the flesh of her arms and shuddered the word “fuck.”

“Fuck,” she said.

She resumed pacing. Her mouth became dry. After a few rounds of her apartment, she began to feel some kind of a release, which she interpreted as the beginnings of a divine intervention, but it was really an adrenaline crash and some dizziness from walking circles.

THE GOLDEN HOUR came and Megan and Randy walked to the BBQ. A few times Megan punched Randy in the arm as hard as she could and Randy said, “Don’t you fucking do that. Don’t you fucking do that.”

“Why are you such a fucking asshole all of a sudden?” she asked.

“I’m surprised you can’t think of anything more interesting to say to me than that,” he said.

“I guess my mind is too clouded with disgust.”

“Oh, you’re adorable,” said Randy. “Hey, look, here we are. Hey, have fun tonight.”

“You dick.”

They walked to the backyard through a wooden gate. They walked down a gangway. Megan could hear it before she could see it. That stupid fucking tinkle or twinkle or whatever it is that a party has. That buzz, that hateful buzz. There were grills and torches and street lamps back there and as soon as they were spotted, Tiffany or Kimberly or whoever she was, came over and hugged Randy and said how much she loved the website. Great, thought Megan. I hate everyone here. She tried to find the beer, and it didn’t take long. She drank in solitude, like some kind of disgusting shithead. “Doctor, how do you pronounce this l-e-p-r-o-s . . . s . . . y?” Three or four beers she drank just standing by the cooler alone. She tried to think about the movie Sid and Nancy and how cool it was, sometimes, to feel kind of nihilistic and self destructive and a little “fuck the po-lice,” but. “Alas,” she whispered. “Alas, alas, alas.” She lit a cigarette. She’d bought her own cigarettes so she wouldn’t have to be beholden to Randy in any way tonight. She rehearsed announcing that she would be happy to sleep on the couch. A girl she sort of knew from school was looking at her from across the party. The girl walked over.

“I’ll hang out with you for a while if you give me a cigarette,” said the girl.

“Uh, sure,” said Megan. “But the cigarettes are free to you, if that’s what you prefer.”

“No, I’ll hang,” said the girl. She must have been one of those “It’s always good to have a new experience” people.

“I forgot your name,” said Megan.

“It’s Anthea,” said the girl.

Anthea. Oh right. Anthea.

“You see that guy?” asked Anthea.

“Yeah,” said Megan.

“He can’t see me smoking. He gets pissed when he sees me smoking. But he won’t make a commitment to me, so fuck it, I can still smoke. If he made a commitment to me, I’d consider quitting.”

“Well, you can use me to shield yourself from him if you want.”

“I mean, I’m not a total asshole. I don’t smoke in front of him, not even in my apartment. I never ask to smoke in his car. I’m considerate.”

“Yeah. So, is he dating other people?”

“I don’t know,” said Anthea. “Probably, right?”

“That would seem usual.” Megan sucked on her beer until it was gone, then opened another.

She remembered Anthea from classes they’d had together. Anthea was a few years younger than Megan and would say stuff like, “You’re so cool,” but would bum cigarettes off of Megan and not really want Megan to say anything. She’d just stand there and talk about fights she was having with her friends and how some certain guy or whatever had slighted her, and Megan would interject awkwardly from time to time. But the awkward interjections didn’t come from a real place of awkwardness, they were a sort of Kabuki awkwardness that amused Megan, so she usually welcomed this girl’s company. Anthea was small and pretty in a weird way (which only made her prettier) and completely oblivious to body language and sarcasm. Either that or she was some kind of genius. Either oblivious or completely aware and playing a game.

Megan surveyed the yard, looking for Amanda.

JILLIAN WAS AT HOME. She took the last four T3s and was singing along to the radio in the kitchen while Crispy and Adam watched tv in the living room. She danced a little, but not much.

AMANDA WAS THERE, talking to Carrie. Whatever, thought Megan.

“It’s, like, the opposite of the problem I had in high school, when I had three consecutive boyfriends and none of them would fuck me.”

“Huh? Sorry, I missed the first part,” said Megan.

“No, it’s just that I’m sleeping with that guy over there and I’m also sleeping with another guy, but neither of them will date me. And I was just saying how that was, like, the opposite of my problem in high school. And it’s just funny how your problems change all the time.”

“Is that really the opposite problem?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“Well, I guess, in high school, having sex is a big commitment. It’s something a girl can hold you to. Like, ‘We had sex, you have to keep dating me!’”

“So, what are you saying?”

“I’m just saying your problem hasn’t changed. It’s the same problem. For some reason guys don’t want to commit to you. It’s probably in your personality or something.”

Anthea made a face. “Ugh, what the fuck, you’re right.”

“Sorry,” said Megan. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Hey, man, I don’t give a fuck.” Anthea shifted and drank her beer.

“I mean, it’s like how I have this same problem of being an asshole to everyone all the time,” said Megan.

“Oh come on, you’re not an asshole,” said Anthea.

Megan wanted to say, “Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you know about me? You have no idea who I am or what I think so go fuck off.” But then she would have to stand by herself.

RANDY WAS STILL super pissed, and it was like every time he laughed or had a decent time, he was doing it to spite Megan, who he was pretty sure he was going to break up with sooner rather than later after today. God, just look at her over there. She already looked hammered and it was only 9:00.

AMANDA KEPT SHOOTING Megan glances and getting kind of mad that Megan wasn’t coming over to say hello. Wouldn’t that be the big thing to do? Every time they’d ever gotten into a fight, Amanda had been the person to make up, and she wanted proof this time that Megan could be the bigger person. It would be good for Megan to practice some humility. Unless the truth was that Megan didn’t really want to be friends with Amanda, and in that case.

ADAM, HONEY, do you mind if Mommy goes to make a phone call?”

Adam shook his head.

MEGAN WONDERED if maybe she ought to go over and talk to Amanda and Carrie. What would happen if she walked over there and pretended like there was no beef between any of them? Would that be possible? That seemed to be everyone else’s policy. Maybe she could try it.

ANTHEA WAS TALKING out her issues with Peter, the guy she was at the party with, and she was wondering if it was better to keep sleeping with him without them dating, or if she should offer him some kind of ultimatum and then (probably) get dumped and then wait around for someone who actually wanted to treat her decently. Learning a little self-respect might be a good thing. She wasn’t so arrogant that she couldn’t admit she didn’t always have the most self-respect. She started nodding.