Drought Hawks

Chapter Six

Sprawled across the couch, arms reach from a shot of tequila, Reggie clicked open the text messages on her phone. She had looked at the photograph so many times that closing her eyes would have worked just as well, but she couldn't stop torturing herself. Her phone had pinged at 12:03 AM, just after the fireworks and gunshots woke her up. It had been a particularly cruel message to greet a New Year, which was exactly what the horrible bitch who had sent it had wanted it to be.

In the photo the woman was perched on Reggie's ex-boyfriend's lap, his hand so far up between her thighs it was hard to tell how short her designer dress was actually supposed to be. She had perfect blonde hair, the kind of perfection that could never be accomplished in your own bathroom with a bottle of cheap hair dye and rarely-used styling tools. And her smile held all the poise and faked repose of a yawning leopard. The picture said, "I have money. I have happiness. I have him."

She could have him.

Reggie turned off her phone and asked herself yet another time why she kept looking. She had texted back the perfect response in the first minutes of the New Year. Wasn't that enough? She had said, "Good luck with that. I'm glad you're so happy with him and that I'm the first person you thought to text at midnight."

She could have him.

Swilling another shot of tequila, she reminded herself that she wanted nothing to do with Scott. He had spent six months convincing her that he was the love of his life, promised her a family, manipulating her into falling in love his two boys as well, and then he had turned out to be a fantasy.

When she wasn't at his place, he had tidily tucked away dog crate, falcon perch, her shampoo, and the brush woven with strands of her red hair. He put her out of his head and into a corner of his garage where she ceased to exist.

They were together four nights a week and often on the weekend and yet somehow , he had managed to muster the energy to vacuum up the dog hair, change the sheets, and fuck another woman in the Ikea bed she had painstakingly helped him put together.

He was so sorry he had done that to her. He was going to counseling. He was going to make it better and he wouldn't quit texting and emailing to remind her. She had, of course, made the mistake of giving him another chance. And it ended a second time exactly as she suspected it would. He was still fucking the well-coiffed leopardess.

She hadn't seen him in two months. She thought she was moving on. And then there he was again on her phone again.

Just last week the other woman had been blowing up her phone, accusing Reggie of going back to him, of breaking the woman code. She thought Reggie was a stronger person than that. She thought that Reggie needed her support. She thought that Reggie was a piece of work and deserved him. She could think what she wanted, Reggie had escaped months ago and the leopardess was the one in his lap.

So why did Reggie feel like she had lost some game show she didn't even want to be a contestant in? Who needed another fucking toaster anyway?

Reggie poured herself another shot of tequila and rubbed her temples as if that could smooth her thoughts and ease the knot in her chest. The man she loved didn't exist. The life she had been promised wasn't a possibility. How long was she going to feel sorry for herself? Forever, she thought. Maybe forever. Except, that she knew that nothing, no matter how wonderful or horrible, no matter how hard you wished or believed, nothing was forever. That didn't stop it from hurting right now though.

So she flipped through the channels. She paced around her living room. She curled on the couch and clutched at her chest. And when she started to shiver, decided to wander into the backyard. Booth burst out past her, the dog exuberantly leading her to sunshine as if he could at last do something to help. The sun did feel good and a dog's joy at open air possibilities was hard to completely dismiss. All the same, the yard felt empty. It had no raptors.