morphed into Vicky the perky-titted dog sitter, and Colton became the gas pump. His nozzle filled her.
“Stop it.” Juliet’s trembling voice filled the tight confines of the hatchback. “You’re not helping anyone by constantly reminding yourself why you’re on this little jaunt across the Alabama/Georgia line. Just… stop it .”
I wonder if Vicky ever told Colton to “stop it?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she moaned.
Juliet had bought The Dog (thought of it like that, too—as The Dog ) at a PetSmart in Spanish Fort. She had wanted the Heinz 57 because she’d grown tired of going to bed by herself on the evenings when Colton worked late. It still boggled her mind. All those extra hours and not one slip up. Colton truly had been at work. His paychecks verified his time away from the house, and Juliet had no reason to broach the possibility of him playing around. The Dog hassled and hindered more than it offered companionship, and tore the house to shreds every time she left it alone for longer than two shakes of its fluffy little tail.
When Colton had brought up the idea of Juliet accompanying him on his trips out of town instead of staying home with The Dog, she’d jumped at the chance. Boarding The Dog proved troublesome. The Dog had anxiety issues, and covered the back seat in vomit, urine, and feces during simple trips to the corner store. Trips to the kennel, which was over ten miles away, were most definitely not going to happen without the need of professional interior car care. Colton refused to buy The Dog Zoloft or Valium, so Juliet hired a dog sitter for those times when they’d be gone for extended periods.
It was only supposed to be the one time, after which they’d give The Dog to a proper shelter and be done with the whole mess. But Colton changed his mind when they got back, insisting that it would be cruel, that a shelter would no doubt put The Dog to sleep within a week’s time and then he and Juliet would both have some poor animal’s blood on their hands. At least that’s what Colton had told her. Truth was, he didn’t want to lose Vicky.
And to think, if Colton had simply offered Juliet the chance to go with him on work trips in the first place, she’d never have asked for the dog and Colton wouldn’t have been caught with his cock in the cookie jar.
The Dog had been boarded for the trip to her mother’s. The Subaru still smelled of canine evacuations.
Macklemore came over the radio, singing “Same Love.” She reached down and spun the volume higher. The song took her away from that gas station, away from that state, that world. She floated behind her eyes, riding waves of bass drums and trumpets, legato lyrics and melodic piano. Juliet melted into her seat, and was numb. Not happy, simply fluid, for the first time in weeks. Months. Ever. She’d felt so much so long ago that everything else since then seemed dumbed down and unreal. She was crying. She didn’t care. Needed the release. Her heart felt heavy, liquid, pumping in time with the music.
Their wedding day flickered across the screen of her mind. Her twirling in a pink dress, looking princess-like and carefree. Colton in his purple tux (she’d fought hard for that one) spun his bride across the dance floor to the tune of “Forever and Ever, Amen.” Their family and friends would say later that she seemed to float, that she was an angel, that she’d never looked so radiant and brilliant; her eyes had been full up with fireworks, perpetually exploding. Colton had been so handsome, a manicured five o’clock shadow darkening his chiseled face. The flat slope of his Stonehenge nose had been transformed; that one, subtle ugliness she had once cringed over was now a quality unique to him. Juliet’s mother had a horrible wine-colored birthmark that stretched from left cheek to collarbone, and Juliet used to wonder how Mom had ever snagged Dad. Now she knew. It was time. It was love. Both things combined created a
“Stop it.” Juliet’s trembling voice filled the tight confines of the hatchback. “You’re not helping anyone by constantly reminding yourself why you’re on this little jaunt across the Alabama/Georgia line. Just… stop it .”
I wonder if Vicky ever told Colton to “stop it?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she moaned.
Juliet had bought The Dog (thought of it like that, too—as The Dog ) at a PetSmart in Spanish Fort. She had wanted the Heinz 57 because she’d grown tired of going to bed by herself on the evenings when Colton worked late. It still boggled her mind. All those extra hours and not one slip up. Colton truly had been at work. His paychecks verified his time away from the house, and Juliet had no reason to broach the possibility of him playing around. The Dog hassled and hindered more than it offered companionship, and tore the house to shreds every time she left it alone for longer than two shakes of its fluffy little tail.
When Colton had brought up the idea of Juliet accompanying him on his trips out of town instead of staying home with The Dog, she’d jumped at the chance. Boarding The Dog proved troublesome. The Dog had anxiety issues, and covered the back seat in vomit, urine, and feces during simple trips to the corner store. Trips to the kennel, which was over ten miles away, were most definitely not going to happen without the need of professional interior car care. Colton refused to buy The Dog Zoloft or Valium, so Juliet hired a dog sitter for those times when they’d be gone for extended periods.
It was only supposed to be the one time, after which they’d give The Dog to a proper shelter and be done with the whole mess. But Colton changed his mind when they got back, insisting that it would be cruel, that a shelter would no doubt put The Dog to sleep within a week’s time and then he and Juliet would both have some poor animal’s blood on their hands. At least that’s what Colton had told her. Truth was, he didn’t want to lose Vicky.
And to think, if Colton had simply offered Juliet the chance to go with him on work trips in the first place, she’d never have asked for the dog and Colton wouldn’t have been caught with his cock in the cookie jar.
The Dog had been boarded for the trip to her mother’s. The Subaru still smelled of canine evacuations.
Macklemore came over the radio, singing “Same Love.” She reached down and spun the volume higher. The song took her away from that gas station, away from that state, that world. She floated behind her eyes, riding waves of bass drums and trumpets, legato lyrics and melodic piano. Juliet melted into her seat, and was numb. Not happy, simply fluid, for the first time in weeks. Months. Ever. She’d felt so much so long ago that everything else since then seemed dumbed down and unreal. She was crying. She didn’t care. Needed the release. Her heart felt heavy, liquid, pumping in time with the music.
Their wedding day flickered across the screen of her mind. Her twirling in a pink dress, looking princess-like and carefree. Colton in his purple tux (she’d fought hard for that one) spun his bride across the dance floor to the tune of “Forever and Ever, Amen.” Their family and friends would say later that she seemed to float, that she was an angel, that she’d never looked so radiant and brilliant; her eyes had been full up with fireworks, perpetually exploding. Colton had been so handsome, a manicured five o’clock shadow darkening his chiseled face. The flat slope of his Stonehenge nose had been transformed; that one, subtle ugliness she had once cringed over was now a quality unique to him. Juliet’s mother had a horrible wine-colored birthmark that stretched from left cheek to collarbone, and Juliet used to wonder how Mom had ever snagged Dad. Now she knew. It was time. It was love. Both things combined created a
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