Barry Clapper knew he was perfectly fine, despite everything that had happened to him. Standing in the living room of his apartment, he looked out a large picture window, his hands hanging empty and limp by his sides. He was of medium height and average weight. His hair was full, gray, and neatly cut. His gray well-groomed moustache softened the hard angles of his cheekbones. He was proud of his moustache and treated it like an infant son, coddling it, granting it everything it wished.

Barry's gray eyes scanned the buildings of the night city through the picture window. Some windows out there were lit up yellow, distant glowing squares. Others flickered blue with TV lightning flashes. Idly watching the world, Barry wondered if anyone out there was looking in at him. What would they think if they saw him standing there in his living room, completely naked, his crotch a bleeding mess?

"I don't care," Barry said to himself. His apartment was empty and silent, and the words he spoke echoed away, fading off into the darkness. They were words he said quite often lately. They comforted him while his life turned to shit. Not that he needed comforting. Everything was fine. He said the words again, listening to the controlled modulation of his own voice: "I don't care."

Throughout it all he'd been so very calm. He'd fucked up, but now everything was fine. He'd taken control again. Despite all their efforts to blame him for everything, he'd gotten control of himself. In control. Suzie hadn't hurt him. Not in the slightest. She cried, called him names. And he just stood there and smiled at her. So she was gone now, wouldn't talk to him. So what? Barry had won.

He had a nice smile. Barry let his eyes focus on his reflection in the window, and put the smile on his face once again. It didn't take much effort. He was quite drunk, and he felt no pain, despite having cut off his own cock. No pain, just a slight burning sensation, like his privates were wrapped in a hot wet towel. Barry's reflected smile was calm, cool, sophisticated. It said, 'I've seen this all before. Sure, it's nasty stuff, but I can deal with it. Don't worry folks. I'm in control.' It was a perfect smile; it did its job well.

Barry wondered where he'd left his bottle of Jack Daniels. Without looking about his apartment, without turning away from his smiling reflection, Barry let his mind touch on all the places in the apartment he might have left it. In the kitchen on the counter, maybe, next to the sliced tomato and shredded lettuce. On top of the white microwave. In the bedroom on the cluttered bedside table, next to the cordless phone. In the bathroom, on the edge of the soap-scum stained sink. On the green-tiled bathroom floor, next to the bloody kitchen knife. Next to the TV in the living room. Or maybe on top of the VCR near the porno tapes.

After taking the trip through the apartment in his mind, he decided the bottle was there, on the VCR. Without turning away from his reflection, he took two steps to the side. Without looking away from his smile, he reached out his hand, wiggling his fingertips, waiting for the cool feel of the bottle. It was there, he knew it was there, at what exact height, at what exact location. His fingers brushed hard glass. There, he found it. All without even turning to look. That proved something, didn't it?

He curled his fingers around the neck of the bottle and picked it up, watching the reflection of his smile expand a half- inch on either side. How could anyone say he was out of control? How could anyone say he was in pain when it was so obvious that everything was perfectly fine?

It had started two weeks ago, with Suzie. She wanted out. Out of their relationship, out of his life, out of his world. It wasn't the first time she'd said all that. He didn't think much of it.

"Why do you want out?" he asked her.

He was in the kitchen, cooking lunch for himself, while she stood and watched him. Lately he was addicted to bacon and tomato sandwiches. Couldn't get enough of them. It was a Sunday afternoon and it was sunny outside. He'd been thinking about the cottage, how he'd decided not to go on Friday because it'd been raining. He was regretting the decision now, seeing the sunlight pouring through the windows of his apartment. A beautiful Sunday and he was stuck downtown, smack dab in the middle of the city, when he could be loafing at the cottage.

"I hate you!" Suzie screamed at him.

He sliced the tomato as thin as he could. Knife wasn't as sharp as it should be. "Uh huh," he said.

"You don't take me seriously, Barry. Nothing I say... matters to you! You don't take what we have seriously and... I keep giving you a chance to prove you want this, want us, to work it all out, but..."

Barry finished slicing the tomato. He faced Suzie and turned on his smile. "Darling, let me explain some things to you."

"Don't call me darling."

"Fine," Barry said, holding up his hands palms forward, giving her a 'whatever you want' look. "Suzie, I have to explain to you how life works, how grown ups act, all right? When grown ups have an argument, they don't scream and yell. They talk in a conversational tone of voice."

"Don't talk to me like that Barry," Suzie growled. "I'm not a child. Ramona says--"

"Ramona says!" Barry interrupted loudly. "Don't tell me what Ramona says, I don't care what Ramona says. This is between you and me, and Ramona has nothing to do with this."

"Ramona says that you don't respect me, that you treat me like a child."

Barry stepped close to Suzie, and put a hand on her shoulder. Lowering his voice, he turned the smile into a leer. "You act like a child, I treat you like a child. You're acting up again, Suzie. Maybe you need a spanking. Is that it? You want daddy to spank you?"

"You disgust me," Suzie said, backing a step away from him. Her eyes looked down and she crossed her arms underneath her breasts.

"I disgust you," Barry agreed. "I make you sick; I repulse you. That's why you find me irresistible. That's why when I touch you, your cunt gets all creamy. You hate me, and that makes you horny. I know how you work, Suzie. How women work. You punish yourself with me. I don't know why, but you do. You use me, Suzie, to punish yourself. Do you think I like being used?"

Suzie backed up against the living room wall. Her blue eyes not meeting his, still focussed on the floor. "I... I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." She flicked a stray blonde curl of hair off her face.

Her legs looked really good in her tight blue jeans, Barry thought. She had aged well. Nice full tits for a thirty-five year old. Still pretty perky. A soft face, but not fat. Smooth, clear skin. She'd taken good care of herself. She was a good woman.

"I know you know what I'm talking about," Barry said. "We both know. You want me to treat you like a child. It turns you on."

"No," she whispered.

"Suzie, come on. We know it."

He was getting her to play the game again; he'd distracted her with sex. Settling an argument with Suzie was like performing a not-so-complicated magic trick. Just a little verbal slight of hand, get her attention off the fight and on to her cunt, and she was his again. Barry knew her buttons so very well. They'd been together for years; he'd had plenty of time to study her up close.

"You're a shit, Barry," she whispered. "Ramona says--"

"Ramona's not here." He saw that Suzie was on the brink of tears, confused, not sure what to do. What she needed was a push. "Why don't you take off your pants, show daddy what a nice ass you've got."

Suzie pushed her balled fists into her temples. "Fuck off," she gasped. Her back was sliding down against the wall, knees bending to let her sit there, curled up tight against the floor and the wall. The tears, Barry saw, were welling up in her eyes.

"Suzie, don't cry. Daddy doesn't want you to cry."

"Barry," she choked. "Stop it. I mean it."

He kneeled down next to her, brushed the back of his hand against her face. Then he let the hand trail down to the hollow of her throat, let his nails tickle her there. "Don't cry baby. Daddy will make it okay." He kissed her forehead gently. "Daddy loves you."

"Why?" she sobbed. "Why do you do this?"

His hands slipped from her throat to the top button of her shirt. When he undid it, she didn't stop him. So he slipped down to the second button and undid that one too. He licked away a tear running down her face. Taking her firmly by the shoulder, he helped her change position so that she was lying flat on her back, lying stretched out on the living room carpet. "There," he said, then went back to undoing the buttons. He untucked her shirt from her jeans and spread it wide open, so that he could look at her bra-covered tits. They were lovely. Sure, they sagged a little, but nothing was perfect.

Barry stroked her peach-sized breasts through the white cotton bra. It was an ordinary bra, nothing frilly or lacy, but somehow that made things more erotic. Suzie wasn't a tart, wasn't some pretentious bimbo, like her friend Ramona. Suzie was real. Her underwear was as practical as she was. Barry loved her for that. His finger tips circled her nipples through the cotton fabric until the nipples poked up, two little bumps of arousal. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was ragged, deeper. Barry grabbed one of the nipples and pinched it, gave it a tug.

Suzie gasped, her eyes flickering open for a moment, and then closing again. Barry shook his head, smiling. It was almost too easy to play her. She was a musical instrument that he had mastered. There was nothing he couldn't get her to do. Barry grabbed the bottom of the cups of the bra and slipped them up and off her breasts. Her nipples were puckered and erect, a cherry red colour that Barry had never seen with any other woman's nipples. So red and sweet. He leaned forward and kissed one nipple, then the other.

He let his fingers find the button to her jeans, undid it. Down went the zipper. "Lift up your ass," he whispered. "Daddy wants to take off your pants." Suzie obeyed, raising herself with her feet. He tugged the jeans down, then peeled them off her legs. She was wearing white cotton panties that matched her bra. The underwear was stretched tight across her pubic mound, the fabric slightly darker were her pubes were. Barry lay his hand flat on top of her mound, feeling the warmth of her flesh through the cotton, the bristly feel of her pubic hair against the fabric. He could smell the wet passion of her cunt already.

"Lie on your stomach," he said.

"No," Suzie whimpered, eyes still tightly closed. "Don't want to."

"Do it. Daddy wants you to do it." He moved his hand so it was lying on her flat stomach. There were small blonde hairs sprinkled up from her cunt to her navel. He let his fingertips play over the delicate little wires of hair. "Daddy wants to see your ass."

Suzie rolled over. Her head was turned to one side, right cheek pressed hard into the carpet, eyes still closed. Her arms were sprawled around her head, her hands in weak little fists. Long smooth legs stretched out, spread just slightly. Suzie's ass was plump, but not too large. There were times when Barry felt he could just sit there, looking at her ass forever. The white cotton was stretched taut over the two soft cheeks. Barry reached out and massaged her ass briefly, then ripped her underwear off her, pulling it down her ass and off her legs in a series of quick, violent yanks.

"Ow, Jesus, Barry..." Suzie groaned. He'd made a mistake, shattered the dream. That was alright, he could take care of this. Suzie moved to sit up, but he pushed down on her back between her shoulder blades, forcing her to lay prone.

"Daddy says no," he said.

"Cut it out, you fucking..."

Barry lay himself on top of her, pressing his crotch against her ass. Grabbing her by the wrists, he used all his weight to hold her down, rubbing the front of his dress pants against her ass. His chin pressed down on the top of her head, forcing her face back down into the carpet. His prick was rock hard.

"Which hole?" he said.

"What?" Suzie squawked. "Barry, let me up. This is... This is stupid."

"Which hole do you want fucked, little Suzie?" Barry asked, carefully enunciating each word. "Cunt or ass, ass or cunt?"

"Don't do this Barry," Suzie begged, not struggling. "Why does it always have to be like this?"

Barry pressed his mouth into her ear and hissed, "Pick. A. Fuck. Hole. Now."

Suzie lay still for a long moment while Barry kept rubbing himself against her naked ass, his cheek pressed against her ear. She would answer him. She was a good girl. Suzie always did as she was told. That was why he loved her so much. Sure, they didn't have sex as much as they used to, and now, when they did fuck, it was more about politics than sex... But the politics aroused him. He was Stalin, she was a peasant. It had always been that way.

"My cunt," Suzie whispered into the carpet, her voice barely audible.

"What did you say?" Barry asked mockingly. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. What would you like?"

Matter of factly, she said, "Fuck my cunt."

"Don't mind if I do."

Barry sat up on his knees, undid his belt, unzipped his pants, and pulled his cock out. He lay back down atop Suzie, pressing his dick against her, rubbing it between her butt cheeks. He would make her get on all fours, he thought, and then fuck her from behind. Doggie style. He'd get her to say things, like she was his bitch, his cunt, his hole, and then he would...

His cock lurched, spattering cum all over Suzie's naked back. He'd fucked up, mistimed it, cum too soon. Never even got a chance to stick it inside of her. Idiot, asshole, stupid shit... He moaned miserably. Still felt good, but what a waste. He shuddered with pleasure, then rolled off of her, lying next to her for a moment, staring at the ceiling, staring at nothing. Suzie lay there, flat on her stomach, silent. But he knew what the bitch was thinking. Weak. He was so fucking weak.

"I'm going to take a shower," Barry said. He got up, fixed his pants, and then left the room.

He set the temperature of the water for as hot as he could stand, and then got in. Boiling water beat at his face and chest, on his back. "Ramona said," he muttered to himself, mocking the way Suzie had said it. The voice of an infant, a lost child looking for a reliable authority figure. "Teacher said, mommy said, Ramona said."

Ramona was interfering. Fat fucking sow, always getting in the way, butting her nose in. He and Suzie would be watching TV together, and then she would get a phone call, take it in the bedroom. Conspiratorial whispers and mumbles of "I know, I know..." Once he heard her say, "I can't really talk right now," and knew that it was because he was there. They were plotting against him, Suzie and Ramona. This was something he would have to fix, but he couldn't figure out how.

After Suzie talked to Ramona on the phone, she'd stay angry for days. There was no way he could control her after that. None of the buttons worked for a while, no matter how many times he pressed them. Suzie's blue eyes would glare at him with hatred, and the smile he wore felt useless and weak. Slowly, over time, Suzie would break down again, become his. Then there's be another phone call, more whispers, more mumbles of "I know, I know..."

He wouldn't let Ramona in the apartment. "I hate her," he'd said. "I don't want to see her."

"But she's my friend!" Suzie complained.

"I know she's your friend, but she irritates the living fuck out of me, darling."

And that was enough to keep Ramona away. Fat fucking blonde bitch. She was a dyke, trying to steal his woman away. Barry tried to tell Suzie that, but she wouldn't listen. She was so goddamn naive.

"She's just a friend!"

Right. Fucking carpet munching dyke. Hates men, so she goes around trying to turn everyone into a pussy licking feminist. Fat ugly cunt. Barry could teach her a thing or two. Him and Ramona alone, just for a day. Him and Ramona and a bed. He'd teach her how to suck cock and love it, slap that fucking angry look off her face, teach her to love the taste of cum.

"That's what you're supposed to like, dyke bitch," Barry muttered into the hot spray of water. "The taste of cum."

He stood under the water for a long time, half-expecting Suzie to step into the shower with him at any minute. It's okay, she'd say. Everything's fine. I understand. While Barry washed his face, his eyes full of soap, he thought he heard the bathroom door open. Quickly he cleared his eyes, looked out through the frosted glass of the shower door... Nothing. She wasn't going to join him. He was bullshitting himself.

These things happen, he thought. I'm getting older, I'm not the stud I was back in my twenties. Suzie should know that. I can't... It's not my goddamn fault. Fuck her. Her and her stupid dyke friend. Fuck 'em both.

Twenty minutes later, when he got out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, ready to say something nasty to her, she was gone. Something about the stillness of the apartment bothered him. She hadn't simply left; there was more to it than that. A quick search, and he found a suitcase missing, and all her things, all the stuff she kept in a drawer -- some shirts, underwear, socks, stockings, deodorant... It was all gone. She'd never really moved in; they never called it living together; it had always been his place. But she stayed most of the time, five days out of seven, weekends with her sister, it was practically living together. And now she was gone.

For some reason, as he sat there on the couch, still wearing just a towel, all he could think about was his cum on the small of her back. Wherever she was now, on the bus or walking, there was a patch of his semen drying on her back, sticking to the tiny blonde hairs, drying to a yellow-white crusty stain on her skin. She would wash it off, when she got a chance. But right now, it was there. On her back.

Two weeks later -- after not hearing from her, not a phone call, not a letter, not even a piece of email -- he decided to call her up and pretend to apologize. He knew where she was staying. That much was obvious.

"Ramona, let me talk to Suzie."

"She's not here," Ramona said.

"Bullshit. She's there. I know she's there."

"Why, Barry? Have you been watching the house? Is that it? Spying on us? Stalking Suzie? We'll call the police if we have to, to keep you away. She doesn't want you in her life anymore."

"What the hell are you talking about? I'm not stalking her, goddamn it. I just want to talk to her. We still have things we need to talk about. Put her on the fucking phone."

In the background he could hear Suzie saying something, talking with Ramona. Then the sounds became muffled as Ramona put her hand over the mouthpiece. An argument. The noise was loud enough to slip between Ramona's fat fingers.

"Go ahead!" he heard Ramona yell at Suzie. "It's your life!"

And then Suzie was on the phone. "What do you want, Barry?"

"I just wanted you to know that I'm okay," he said. There was a long silence while he waited for her to say how miserable she was. She didn't say a word. "Look, I just... I have to... There's nothing wrong with me." He struggled with what he had to tell her. Why was this so difficult all of a sudden? He used to fake apologies all the time.

"I fucked someone else," he said, startled to hear himself say it. "I went out and I fucked someone else, and I just wanted you to know... She wasn't pretty, and I mean, we didn't really care about each other, but... I'm fine without you, I don't need you. I'm perfectly fine. It's a good thing you left; we're both better off. Now you can fuck Ramona, slurp her cunt like you always wanted to, and we're both better off because we both have what we want now, right?"

"Goodbye," Suzie said, and then the phone went dead in Barry's hand.

It was true; he had fucked someone else. One night, as he sat in his apartment after work, irritated for no reason at all, he decided to go out. He was restless, and he needed to go out and do something. So he went to a bar. He picked one at random. It didn't seem to matter which bar he went to. It turned out to be A flashy place, dance floor, lots of bright lights shooting in every direction, walls painted black, a smoke machine hissing out enormous stinking clouds. It was a young crowd; he didn't fit in at all. People kept looking at him, surprised. His gray moustache couldn't protect him here, he thought, and then felt completely ridiculous.

He sat at the bar. The music was incomprehensible, painful, harsh. Blackboards behind the bar advertised drinks he'd never heard of, young drinks, fashionable drinks. He picked one at random when the bartender, a girl with green hair, stopped in front of him. He ordered, terrified he was mispronouncing the words. She came back, gave him a glass full of green liquid with a slice of lemon in it. "Four fifty," she said, and he gave her a ten, waving away his change. It was an admission of weakness, he knew, but he did it anyway. Maybe he didn't belong here, but he was rich and he could buy his way in.

There was a teenager at the end of the bar, thin, sickly-looking, her eyes painted black giving her the face of a raccoon. How she got through the door, he had no idea. The bouncer carded everyone, forcing even Barry to pull out his driver's license. The girl was thin, pale, wearing a tiny black bra that hid nothing and a pair of black tights that made it obvious she wore no panties. The teenager was staring at him in that way. She isn't pretty, he thought, but she'll do. Barry turned on his smile.

"Do you want daddy to be nice to you?" he said. They had just walked through the door of his apartment. The teen -- she said her name was Ice -- was staring at a landscape on the wall, an expression of utter disgust curling her lip.

"You're not my daddy," she said, a nasty sneer in her voice, "but I'll fuck you anyway."

Then she took off her bra without being asked. Without even being pushed. Her breasts were small and pointed, the pale pink nipples thrusting up into the air arrogantly. Her skin was pure white, like chalk. Ice kicked off her sandals and pulled off her tights. In an instant, she was completely naked. Her cunt was pierced, a white steel ring in each labia. With her hands on her hips, her scrawny body entirely exposed, she stood there, glaring at Barry. He still had his keys in his hand, still had his trenchcoat on.

"Well, let's go," Ice said. When he just stood there, gawking, she asked, "What's the matter?"

"Whuh-What do you mean?" he stammered.

"I don't know. You've got this weird expression on your face." Then she turned and walked off through the apartment. "Bedroom's through here?"

Barry realized with a jolt that he didn't know what his face looked like at that moment. Whatever expression there was on his face, it wasn't of his choosing. The idea frightened him.

He got undressed, self-conscious as she watched, and got on the bed, sprawled next to her thin body. The first thing she did was make him go down on her. He hated that, hated licking pussy. "You like to suck cunt?" she asked, then grabbed him by the hair and forced his head down between her legs. It wasn't that she was strong -- her body was boyish and frail -- but she tugged on his hair hard enough to hurt.

He slapped her hand away, and said, "That hurts."

"Don't fucking hit me," she answered. "You hit me and I'll fucking kill you."

She looked so serious he couldn't help but let out a laugh, but the laugh quickly died somewhere in his throat, never fully coming out.

"Get down there and suck," Ice said, teasing. "Do a good job and maybe I'll let you fuck me."

He found himself doing it. For reasons he never fully understood, he let her boss him around. The metal rings were warm against his cheek as he tongued her hole, sticking his tongue up her cunt. Her thin legs wrapped around his head, pulling him in deeper. Then she stopped, grabbed him by the hair again.

"What the fuck you doing?" she moaned. "Suck the clit, dummy."

Grabbing his head with both hands, she forced his face onto her clit. He worked at it, licking it, trying to tease her. The foul taste of cunt filled his mouth, and he loathed it. He imagined he could taste piss on his tongue, wondered when was the last time she'd had a bath.

"Don't use your teeth, dolt," she said, banging her fist down on his head. "How'd you get to be so goddamn old without learning this? Just stay on the clit and suck gentle." He did as he was told and she let out a happy groan. "Like that," she sighed. "Right. Guess you can teach an old dog a new trick, huh?" Her bony thighs pressed tight against his ears and her hips bucked up at him, banging her cunt against his face.

He was down there long enough for his jaw to start hurting, but he knew better than to stop. The moans she made kept getting louder, then fading again. Every time he was convinced she was about to cum, suddenly the pleasure in her voice faded, the bucking eased off, and she seemed to relax. Then gradually her moans grew louder again as her pleasure began to rise.

Orgasm you stupid bitch, Barry thought. He had a painful erection jammed into the mattress. Let's get this thing over with, when is it going to be my fucking turn? If she weren't so young, if he weren't feeling so needy, he'd know what to do, how to control her. That's what Barry told himself as he continued to lick and suck at her clit. Never had he hated a piece of flesh so much, a tiny pink dot, little more than a wet pimple, and he was being forced to worship it by this scrawny fucking bitch.

"You're really lousy at this," she finally said, pushing his head out of her crotch.

"I'm... I'm sorry," he heard himself say, unable to believe he'd spoken those words. His mind was whirring for an excuse, an explanation for his failure to please her, and he choked back confused tears. What was happening to him?

"Lie on your back," she commanded playfully. "You did a shitty job, but I feel sorry for you. I'll fuck you anyway."

He did as he was told, moving into the middle of the bed as she got out of his way. A warm feeling of gratitude filled his chest and when Barry realized that was what he felt, bile burned in the back of his throat. This wasn't who he was. He wasn't this person, doing and feeling these things. Something was wrong.

Ice was straddling him now, her wiry body positioned above his straining cock. He reached up to take her hips in his hands, but she knocked his touch away. "Don't," she said. His hands retreated to his sides, helpless. Without warning, she plunged herself on top of him. Barry let out a gasp as the wet warm mouth of her cunt sucked at him, surrounded his prick. He clutched fistfuls of the sheets in his hands as she rode him. It felt so good, so sweet, the wet pulsing skin all around his prick, slipping up and down.

But then Ice started grinding against him, pushing her clit down against his pubes. His cock felt useless inside of her. The way she was moving now did nothing for him, even with his prick lodged deep inside her cunt. There was minimal friction against his cock, leaving him straining against her, but with little pleasure. He tried to thrust his hips up at her, tried to change the way she was moving. "Don't," she said again, pushing her hand down against his chest. He stopped moving.

Happy gasps and grunts escaped from her mouth. Her hands now stroked her own tits, pinching the pale nipples, her face turned up towards the ceiling. Just lying there, looking up at her, listening to her ecstasy, he felt little, no sensation, though his cock stayed hard. Only when she started to orgasm, letting out a frantic shriek of joy, did she start to slide up and down on his cock, giving him pleasure.

"Jesus, fucking, christ!" she yelled out happily. Five swift strokes of her cunt, the hot wet muscles pulsing around him, and he began spurting cum inside of her. It was the least satisfying orgasm he'd ever had. She quickly got off of him, before he was even finished. The last squirt of sperm splattered on to the sheets.

"Bathroom?" she asked, pointing a guess at where it was. He nodded, and she headed off that way. The light went on, then the bathroom door closed. Some water ran, a toilet flushed, and she came out again. The bathroom light went off.

"Well, bye," she said.

He quickly got out of the bed and followed her to the living room. The bra was already half on when he caught up to her.

"You don't have to leave," he said. "We could... talk, or... try again later."

Ice pulled on her tights without even looking up. "I have to go."

"Please," Barry pleaded, taking a step towards her. He wanted to touch her, but couldn't bring himself to do so. He took a step back. "Please don't go. Please." She was putting her sandals on now, ignoring everything he was saying. Barry knew he was being an idiot, a pathetic, desperate loser, but he couldn't stop. "I need to... talk to someone. I need you to stay. I can't be alone right now. It's... I'm going through a hard time, right now, and I--"

"Stop it," Ice said. She was looking him in the eye now, and her face had lost some of its hard edge. Her eyes looked weary and sad. "Just... fucking stop it. I'm just some chick you picked up in a bar, okay? Don't ask me to save you, because I don't really care about you. I mean sure, okay, if I saw you dying in the street, I'd feel bad, but man, I don't want to fucking hold you all night while you cry. Sure, I'm being a bitch. But you have to be a bitch, or they kill you. Okay? So I'm going to leave." And then she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

When she was gone, Barry thought he was going to burst into tears, or maybe have a heart attack. His chest hurt. His eyes were watering. No, he was crying. Fuck that, fuck it. He punched the wall next to the door as hard as he could. "Bitch!" he yelled. "Fucking bitches! They're all fucking bitches, all of them they're..." He wasn't going to cry. Ever. Don't give them the goddamn satisfaction. You're in charge, he thought to himself. Remember that. You're in charge. Nobody tells you what to do. You're the boss of this game show, buddy. Don't you fucking forget it.

He paced around helplessly for a few minutes, wondering what to do. Then he watched a porno tape, jerked off, and went to bed.

After Suzie hung up on him, unwilling to listen, unwilling to accept his bungled apology, Barry realized he was lost. Something had to be done, something had to change, but what? He'd been drinking before he called her, in order to get the courage to make the call. Now he started guzzling down the booze. Jack Daniels would save him. Those bitches couldn't save him, so he and Jack would do it together. Take over the fucking world. He watched some porn movies and tried to jerk off. A big titted red-head and a blonde chick started sucking face, and Barry thought he was going to puke it made him so mad.

"They're not fucking," he mumbled to himself. "Ramona and Suzie... They're not fucking. They're not. Suzie isn't a... She's no fucking dyke bitch. She knows better. Better that to fuck that fat cunt."

He switched tapes and felt better for a while, watched a brunette take it up the ass, and kept drinking. Too drunk to jerk off, he just drank more and watched the sex. When the tape ended, he'd figured it out. It was all about control. He either tried to control the fucking bitches, or they tried to control him. It was a big battle, people were always fucking each other over, always trying to... He wasn't making any sense, his thoughts were crazy, circling, dancing around him. He was so goddamn fucking drunk... If he could only control himself. That's what he had to do. Control himself.

So he went into the kitchen, completely naked, and he started hunting through drawers. And he found a knife. A big, shiny kitchen knife. Could he do it? Did he have the control? Of course he fucking did. He would cut it right off. Perfect. That made sense. Had to approach the whole thing rationally. Logically. So he sat down on the toilet with an assortment and got to work. One slice, two... Three. Damn it. Courage! Have some goddamn courage! And then it was done.

Later, as he lay on the couch, his crotch a bloody mess, the TV blasting static, he stared at the ceiling, drinking his Jack D, feeling fine. Didn't even fucking hurt. Felt great. He'd shown everybody, all right. He was in control. He was fine. Nobody would fuck with him. He laughed when he thought that. Nobody could fuck with him, even if they wanted to. He'd cut it off and flushed it away. Nobody could hurt him now. Nobody. He passed out in a puddle of his own blood, a smile on his face. Not his old smile, not the one he used to get what he wanted, but a new smile. One that, if he saw it in the mirror, would scare the hell out of him. A smile he wouldn't even recognize as his own.

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