Williston

 He hated the way she always made the same sounds like she was reading from a script or just using him to warm up for someone else, but his fingers were tangled in her hair and he was buried within her as deep as he could force himself to be.

"You feel so good," she let out a breathy whisper.

I know, Williston rolled his eyes and hurried to finish. He couldn't wait to get away from her but he needed this after the day he'd had. He just needed to empty all of that negative shit into someone outside of himself, and right now, that meant he was going to fuck Tara until he finished, then go eat some greasy bar food. In fact, the thought of hot wings and beer was making him harder than the fact that he was inside a chick, leaned over a dresser, watching himself take her in the mirror.

He pushed away from her.

"What's wrong?" she asked emptily.

"I'm not even close. I can't get into this right now," he put on his jeans and his work boots. "I'm sorry, Tara. I'm in a weird headspace."

Tara wiggled into her panties and a t-shirt. "Whatever. You act like you didn't even enjoy it."

I didn't, he thought and combed his hair. We're both a fucking waste of space.

"I'll see you soon," was all he said as he wafted out of the door like the autumn breeze that drifted through the stairs of the cheap motel where they always met. He slumped down the stairs flaccid both inwardly and outwardly. He would probably end up at Chucky's. They had good beer there and someone had probably ordered the fight on pay-per-view.

Williston sat in his car and lit a cigarette. He never smoked an entire cigarette but he liked the feeling of pulling the smoke into his lungs and feeling angsty. He liked the ritual of people watching while he feigned interest in their lives.

He eventually made his way down to Chucky's. Amber was working. She was his best friend, and that was a lot to a guy that didn't really have friends.

"How's it going, Willy-bean?" she greeted from behind the bar and poured him a draft. "I was beginning to think you forgot I worked today."

Amber was always cheerful, an average brunette with hazel eyes and a huge smile. She wasn't particularly fit. She wasn't particularly pretty. She wasn't particularly noticeable except that she was the sweetest woman in Terrence. If Amber wasn't nice to you, there was a reason.

"I wouldn't forget a thing like that," Williston said and climbed atop a stool. He took a large swig of his beer. "Yep. You're the only bartender that pours anything right."

Amber smiled and continued to wash glasses.

Williston never talked to Amber much while there were other people around her. The things he said to her were usually personal. He could unload his emotional and mental baggage on her, she would organize it, and then he could pack it away again. Those conversations were saved for after 2 am when he would help her close up and they could be alone. She was the only person who really understood that he wasn't broken, but he was mostly stuck inside of himself. He was arrogant, vain, and self-centered, but he was compassionate and anxious and felt the gamut of human emotions within his limited body. It caused him a lot of confusion. It caused him a lot of internal anguish. It added to his dramatics, and he was already quite dramatic.

Amber had been staring at him, and he noticed. She must be able to sense that he's a wreck inside. He certainly felt like he'd been through the wringer. He was so unhappy, but he couldn't pinpoint why. He felt empty and jittery and vulnerable all of the time, and it was starting to wear him down.

He felt her hand on his hand.

"Hey," she said low. "Do you need me to close early tonight? You look like you need someone to talk to." She looked into his face with her large eyes.

Williston was ashamed she had noticed him. "You have a business to run, you know? I'm just some guy that likes to talk."

Amber shook her head. "You're not just some guy. Let me wrap these customers up and then I'll lock the door and shut off the lights, and you and I can split a bottle and talk about whatever it is that's bothering you, okay?"

Williston didn't answer.

"Will, it isn't like Charles gives a shit anyway. Hell, he's on life-support and if he does wake up, he won't know his asshole from his elbow. This bar is mine and if he wants to bitch about it I'll still be here when he wakes up," she huffed.

He gave her a muted smile.

"Hey, everybody, last call!" she called out and walked down the bar to attend to customers while they complained she was closing an hour early.

Williston sighed heavily and thought of Charles, or Chucky as his friends had called him, an old vegetable settled into a permanent bed at the local hospital while his body waited to die. It hadn't been eight months after Charles married Amber that he had a stroke and fell into a coma. He'd been that way for over three years now, and any love that Amber had forced herself to choke down for the reptile was fading as fast as his heartbeat.

Amber had told Charles no to his proposals five times. Charles finally told her that even if she didn't love him that he loved her and wanted to make sure she was always taken care of. That was the only way that he could see her getting his businesses and his land and his retirement. He also knew she would never sleep with him any other way.

She was 23 and he was 68 when they got married 4 years ago. His children, who were older than her, hated her and accused her of being a gold digger. But when Charles had been awake and aware, Amber did everything that she could to make him happy and comfortable. She visited him in the hospital as often as she could to read to him even though she was sure he couldn't hear her. She managed his legacies, his businesses, the accounts for his ungrateful children. She appeared at town hall meetings in his stead as she was a major landowner in the county. She was a good wife, and at the green age of 27, she was mostly a widow. Williston noticed with a certain distaste in his mouth that his thoughts had turned to Amber.

"I'm beginning to hate all of them, Will," she growled and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. "I haven't got the patience for any of this shit anymore. I want Charles to either get better or die. I want everyone to leave me alone."

Her hair was in a messy bun with tendrils falling down around her face. Her make-up was a little smudged from sweating during the night. She poured them both a drink.

"I'm sorry for talking about it like that. You didn't come here to listen to me complain. What's going on with you?" she leaned over the bar on her elbows and took a swig of her drink. Williston caught a glimpse of her cleavage.

"I'm just stuck in my head, Amber. You know how I get. I hate my job. I hate this place. I hate living alone but I don't want to be around anyone. I tried to fuck Tara earlier and it just wouldn't happen."

"Tara...that's the one stripper from Red's right?"

"Yeah, I know I'm disgusting."

"Why would that be disgusting? Sex is her business."

Williston took a drink. "Maybe that's why I thought it was disgusting. I'm just another day at the office for her. Nothing is special about it. But nothing's been special to me in a long time. You know that."

"At least it's someone to touch and to touch you. I can't even look at anyone. I have old man's widow leprosy."

"Amber, he's not dead yet."

"So, I'm supposed to live in some sort of purgatory limbo until he finally croaks? I don't hate him, Will. You know I don't, but fuck it if he didn't ruin my life." She poured herself another drink.

"I know you don't hate him, but you never loved him."

"Is that even a real thing? I'm pretty sure that it's something we tell children about so that they'll have something to look forward to until they figure out it's like Santa Claus. Lies to sell shit on Valentine's Day." She stopped herself. "I'm sorry, Will. I'm making this about me and it shouldn't be. I'm just really tired of being the good person all the time. I never get a break to be me. I can never make mistakes. Everyone is always watching and I never even wanted any of this."

"I know," said Williston as he reached for the bottle. "May I?"

"Please, help yourself," she waved a hand dismissively and stared out of the window. "It's getting cold again. I wish I didn't have to stay in this town anymore."

He could smell her defenselessness. If he was a predator, which he had admitted to himself long ago that he was, he would take advantage of all of this tonight.

"I got a job offer. I guess that's one of the main reasons I wanted to see you," he said and grabbed her hand, playing with the ring on her finger. "I'll be leaving for Canada next week. I don't know how long I'll be gone." He pushed her ring off of her hand and set it on the bar. "I just want to make sure you're okay before I leave."

Amber smiled and put her ring back on. "Williston, if I didn't know any better I would think that you actually cared about me. I'm not an idiot."

"I never said you were. I'm just saying that there is an opportunity in front of you to have some closure mind, body, and soul, so that when I leave, you'll have something to remember me by." He finished his drink and took off his coat.

"Is that all that this has been for you, then? Our friendship is just a way to get close enough to me to seduce me on a lonely evening?"

He walked behind the bar and pushed himself up against her and kissed her. "It's never just been about that, but I want you now." He hadn't felt the desire to take a woman in a few weeks, but the way she almost said no to him made him want her more.

She melted into his arms when he kissed her neck. "Will, I—"

He kissed her and put his hand up her shirt. No one had touched her in years, and he knew that any physical contact would stimulate her enough to make her cave to him. She shrank away from him and he followed, his body leaned onto hers and his hands were everywhere. Suddenly, he felt her change. He felt her kiss him back and push against him and wrap her hands up his back.

He lifted her onto the bar and took off her shirt. He kissed her shoulders and her chest while she ran her fingers through his black hair and giggled.

"I'm ticklish. I'm sorry," she said.

He took off her pants and unzipped his. He slid her off of the bar and onto him. She wasn't giggling anymore. He felt her breathing change and her muscles tighten. He felt himself close to the edge. He looked at her as she looked at him, her eyes rolling back while he held her against him. Her body shook while they finished. He stood there pressed against her, looking at her blushing skin and remembered how beautiful a woman was after sex.

"You're so beautiful," he said and looked down at her while she laid on the bar. "I've never felt anything like that."

Amber smiled and covered her face, catching her breath. "That's the endorphins talking. Thank you for the compliment though."

He slid away from her and put his pants back on. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself, Amber. I'm sorry."

She put her clothes back on. "It's okay. We both wanted to. I've wanted to for a long time but I never did anything about it." She poured them both another drink. "Are you really leaving?"

"Yeah, I didn't lie about that," he said and looked at the ground. "I know it's strange but I really don't lie to you about anything. I've always tried to keep it honest."

"I know," she threw her hair back up into its messy bun and went back to cleaning.  "Everyone tells little lies all of the time, but you usually don't even do that. I'll miss your company."

Her attitude towards him had changed. How was he to know that she hadn't played him all along and finally gotten what she had wanted out of his endless nights of bitching and crying on her shoulder? She was almost dismissive the rest of the night. Their conversation spun mostly around his plans to leave for work and how she wanted to go back to school to become a teacher.

Williston grabbed his jacket and headed out into the muted night, never knowing if he would ever see Amber again.