Amanda Filipacchi - Love Creeps

“Are you serious?” Max said.

“Yes! Do you mind if I go in the kitchen and get some glasses?”

Max chuckled. “Be my guest.”

Roland came back two minutes later with two tall glasses of water. In front of Max, he placed the glass in which he had mixed the contents of his locket.

“What? I’m supposed to do this, too?” Max asked.

“Yeah, but hang on. Look at this, okay?”

Max nodded.

Roland drank the water very quickly — not extraordinarily quickly, but like a normal human drinking a glass of water quickly.

Max nodded again, slightly, to acknowledge being mildly impressed.

“Oh, come on,” Roland said. “You have to admit that was pretty damn quick.”

Max snorted, said, “You’re nuts.”

“There’s no way you could drink water even half as quickly as I just drank it. Anyway, I think French people have a natural advantage over Americans. I think we’re able to drink water much more rapidly, on average.” Roland plopped down in a chair, as if ready to leave it at that and move on to another topic.

Max languorously heaved himself into an upright sitting position and picked up the glass of water.

Roland’s heart raced. He couldn’t believe it was as easy as that. Now that Max was about to drink the cyanide, Roland’s mind was free to worry further about his risks of getting caught and charged with murder. He blurted, “Where’s your assistant?”

“What assistant?”

“The guy who, on the first day, told Lynn and me that you arranged for us to walk in on you having sex because you love feeling embarrassed.”

“Oh, he was just a friend of mine who does that favor for me sometimes.”

“Because you love feeling embarrassed.”

“Yes. And blushing, especially.”

“That’s crazy, you know. But also stupidly endearing,” Roland said, annoyed.

“I’m glad you think so. And let me be even more endearing by showing you how quickly I can drink this glass of water. Ready?”

Roland scowled, but didn’t move. He didn’t stop him, though it would have been easy. He could have taken the glass from him, said he had peed in it, or something harmless of the sort.

Max drank the glass of water very quickly. A few drops ran down his chin. He slapped the empty glass on the table.

“That water sucks,” he said. “You got it from the tap?”

“Why did you betray me?” Roland asked. “When I phoned, not only did you tell Alan and Lynn it was me calling, but you lied and said I was asking if they had had sex! I heard it all.”

Max only had a few seconds to live, and Roland wanted to satisfy his curiosity. “Why did you betray me?”

“Because you’re a prick. Today, however, I find you more charming, with your special water criterion for evaluating people. Ow,” he said, clutching his stomach.

“Why am I a prick? Because I asked for your help? Because I revealed that Lynn thought you were my sublime enhancer? Is that it? Your feelings were hurt? And you think that’s enough reason to ruin my life?”

“Ow!” Max buckled over. And then he shouted, “You gave me something bad to drink!”

“Yes! Cyanide. In seconds you’ll be dead.”

“No!”

Max convulsed and slumped on his side. Roland knew it was the one-minute coma that preceded death.

As soon as Max was dead, Roland wiped his fingerprints off everything. He used all his willpower to restrain himself from dropping a paper clip — he didn’t want to leave any evidence.

Roland returned his car to the rental place and took a cab to the field of Lynn’s love to meet Alan. He got there before Alan, who had been delayed not only by the visit to his abuser, but by his poor sense of direction, which had been just moderately improved by the map-reading class.

When Alan arrived, he saw Roland sitting cross-legged, in the middle of the deserted field. As Alan got out of the car, Roland called out to him, “Is Lynn still interested in you?”

“Yes. She won’t leave me alone. She left nine messages on my voice mail.”

“You just couldn’t get yourself to be more unattractive, could you?”

Alan didn’t need to be criticized at the moment. He decided to get a quick ego boost. “I tried. But, you know, it’s hard.”

Roland approached Alan and screamed, “You are an asshole!”

“Really. Did you try to make Lynn dislike you when I wanted her?”

“Blah, blah, blah!” Roland screamed, and surprised Alan by punching him in the face. “Did you really think I came to this field to be in the place of Lynn’s love?” Roland said. “You are so gullible. And dumb.”

“I don’t need this,” Alan said, straightening himself, finger to bloody lip. “My girlfriend just broke up with me, I’m not registered in any classes, I’ve caused Lynn to be on the verge of self-destruction. And most troubling of all, my childhood sexual abuser never abused me, which means there is no explanation for any of this, other than that I am a born loser.”

Roland again punched Alan, who fell to the ground. He kicked Alan once, twice, but forced himself to stop. He had already killed one person that morning. He dropped a paper clip, hopped in his car, and sped off.

Alan dragged himself to the train station and took the train home, repeating affirmations that he was great, he was pure, he would remain well-adjusted, would not let himself slide back, would not stalk his girlfriend, would never again chase after someone who didn’t want him.

He was repeating these mantras as he stepped out of his elevator and was jumped on from behind. Lynn had sneaked past the doorman and been hiding in the stairwell, waiting for Alan to come home. This was too much. He felt beaten down. He flung her into his apartment. She stumbled but was not deterred. She came back at him like a magnet, arms outstretched, to hug him. And she did. She tried to kiss him. She put her hand on his crotch.

Alan could feel his erection. He knew he didn’t have to take it anymore, and he knew how he could fight back. He would rape her.

It would be difficult, but he would try. It’s hard to rape someone who wants you desperately.

As he ripped off her clothes, she clearly misinterpreted his actions. She thought he was being passionate. He’d show her it was not passion. It was violence, it was rape.

Of course, that she opened her legs so willingly and widely didn’t appear much like rape, but he’d fix that by thrusting hard.

“Yes!” she moaned.

Was she actually attempting to enjoy this? How dare she! She was hugging him, which spoiled the rape effect, got him dangerously close to coming, and also hurt him where Roland had kicked his ribs, so he took her wrists and held them down on either side of her head. He came anyway.

She moaned slightly. With pain. Or at least he tried to believe it was with pain.

That hadn’t done the trick. She still wanted him. He got off the bed, feeling emasculated. He dared not inform her that he had raped her, for fear she’d laugh in his face. He didn’t know what to do. He took his rat from the cage and stared into its beady eyes, and thought to it, Did you see Jessica cheating on me, again and again? He couldn’t tell what response the rat was giving him, but he was sure the answer was yes.

The phone startled them both. It was a wrong number. Alan turned off the ringer and sat on his armless white easy chair in front of the window, staring out. He said to Lynn, “Leave me alone for a bit, will you?”

She sat on the couch and read a magazine, glancing at him regularly.

“What happened to your face?” she finally asked.

He didn’t want to tell her Roland had beaten him up. “I fell.”

After a while he went and took a shower. At noon he said he was going out for a walk.