dentist whore bitch monster 2: l'ennui strikes back.

    “There were five knocks, right?” I thought to myself, moving slowly towards the armchair holding my robe-de-chambre, trying my best to avoid making noise. “It can’t be her, we agreed on six knocks.” At halt my respiration, gazing the door like it was a motion sensor ready to go off, I silently wait for any sign of trustworthy behavior coming from the hall. Five knocks is too natural.
   Past a few seconds of tension, one other single knock hits the wood, and I can finally breath again.
   “Come in.”
   The door opens to reveal a pair of wide-open curious eyes on an exact clone of my mom, peeking her head through the slit.
   “Anastasia, where are you?” She whispers, cautious.
   “C’est toi, tata?”
   “Bien sûr que c’est moi, bête. Qui d’autre?”
   I come out from behind the sofa to give her a hug.
   “So you actually came...”
   “Yeah, the ‘dentist whore bitch monster’ is back and ready to strike again,” and after a short laugh, “I wouldn’t leave you in pain on my day off, come on.”
   “Merci, tante.”
   “I prefer tata, thank you very much. Now don’t you have anything to drink? I’m dying out here.”
   “Sure, follow me”, to the kitchen, that is. We went to the kitchen. But it’s part of the living room so we didn’t really moved much. “I have energy drinks, beer, wine, sparkling water, milk, whisky — which I’m not offering. Grab whatever you want — but the whisky.”
   “I thought your apartment would be one of those prison cell kitchenettes. How did you manage to afford this thing?”
   “I know the owner, he owes me big.”
   “Oh, really? How big?”
   “Guaranteed life-long pleasure (for being my neighbor).”
   Trying her best to hold the chocolate milk in her mouth, she says after swallowing, “es-tu devenue une pute, Annie?” With her hand on the forehead, “I swear I’m not telling your mom, but holy shit, are you for real?”
   Playful, having fun with that whole deal, I explain myself.
   “No, stupid, we’re just friends. We made an agreement in which I give him part of everything I cook, and he shows up here every week to play chess and talk news. I’m not as much a whore as you think I am.”
   “But I have a reason to think that. You’re like one of those sugar daddy's whores now, what would papa think?”
   “Grandpa is dead, tata. This family’s values ain’t worth a penny anymore.”
   A deep breath is taken, and I can feel the slap bout to come my way, but she won’t do it.
   “Annie, respect your grandpa, don’t be an actual pute,” she spits through her teeth.
   I look at those green eyes, where a blizzard is showing it’s winds.
   “I’m joking, tata,” I put a hand on her shoulder, “he’s just my friend, I enjoy cooking for him, and I enjoy having him around. The friends I made here are a new family to me, don’t you worry.”
   And the slap hit hard, right where the tooth was hurting, and I fell to the ground like a balloon weight.
   “Sorry, but I had to do it. Come here,” she says, helping me up and holding me in a hug, “don’t be so moronic all the time, or you’ll be nothing but a bitch and won’t grow up right.”
   “I’m already tall enough. Don’t want to grow up(wards) anymore.” My voice kind of muffled, face starting to swell.
   “You really need another slap,” she said in disbelief. 

 

   “Who the hell buys an armchair that doesn’t recline?” She asks, complaining about me not having a reclining armchair.
   “Whatever, dude, come on,” I plead in barely discernible words, “please, make the pain stop.”
   “Well, I’d just like to remind you that YOU did this to yourself, so no screaming, no struggling, just try to endure the pain.”
   “The fuck are you on about? Just chop my head off already.”
   “Potty mouth. You’re lucky your mom is on the other side of the country. She’d be happy to make you eat some soap.”
   “You’re the only witness. Don’t be a rat.”
   “Won’t say anything,” she makes a pause to rest her right hand on the chest, “on GP.”
   “Are you stalling because you hate me or something? Is this some sick kink o’ yours?”
   “Yes.” She says, with nothing to follow. And I shut up in respect. 

   Don’t remember if anything else was said after that, on the half-an-hour the "small surgery” was performed. But in the end, with me feeling like a wounded soldier dragged through the battlefield on a yellowed white sheet, only to wait an hour on queue, bleeding out, for medical assistance, there I was, looking at her, she looking back at me, the both of us waiting for the next thing to say; not an ice to break, but the psychological warfare that unfolds in the countdown of the duel. Both our hands itching to drw the pistol and hit a fatal shot.
   “You’re not the only one with libido in this world, Anastasia. You should write more erotica.”
   And there it was, bullseye, broke my nose and pierced my brain. The death was instantaneous. And I could hear as I ran towards the light, the opening of the fridge, the chugging of the choco milk; my real body paralyzed, lifeless, shocked with eyes wide open.

  

   The rest of the night, though, was really fun. She watched me work, we watched some episodes of this weird medical soap-opera, but most importantly, I found out my aunt is one of my biggest fans, printing my writings like one would take pictures of a new baby in the family.
   “It’s a way to connect with the family.” She said, with tears in her eyes. “To my siblings it’s like I don’t exist. Just like your mom, but I didn’t really do anything to deserve it. They just don’t have a heart, you know? It’s awful.”
   “Relax, tata. You still have me.”
   “But for how long, though? I know you won’t be here forever.”
   “Shut up, you’re filthy rich, you can visit me anywhere I go. Just remember to knock the agreed six times.”
   With a chuckle the tears rolled, finally, from her eyes.
   “You know, papa was right about you. You did manage to become a great person.”
   “Grandpa knew how to raise kids. I know you two were his favorites.”
   “Yeah...” She half-whispered through a smile that quickly faded away. “I miss your mom.”
   “Yeah, me too.”