Thrust by Tom Piccirilli Page B

the Falls would've said he had a vagina fixation, wanting to hump the paper.   
    Maybe that was it.
    He could usually find a nice balance, if he looked.
    Now there was deep moaning, amazingly bitter, and Chase spun and started for the door.   He had the abrupt fear that Singleton was upstairs right now, cutting off eyelids and peeling back tendons.   He touched his doorknob and heard the husband shushing Mary, his words creeping down through the ceiling.   "… she doesn't matter …"
    It inspired her to howl like a dying dog.
    His parents had never fought like that in their thirty year marriage.  
    His mother was gone but he couldn't remember what had happened to her unless somebody told him.   Even then, he couldn't retain it for very long as she smoothly skated from his memory.  
    His father's name, he thought, it was probably Howard.
    Okay, so, Mary bucked her way out of the corner and rushed across the floor, giving it all she had, really swinging the noise up out of her chest and letting it explode.   "I swear to God!   I swear to Christ!"  
    Her voice kept cracking, which added an extra spike of emotion to her shouts.   Howard thumped away hard enough for the dishes in Chase's sink to rattle.   He wondered if maybe Mary was bashing out her husband's brains.
    Doors slammed—sounded like the bathroom first, then their front door.   Mary was moving a lot faster than usual, filled with purpose.   Whatever the hell Howard had done it really got her going.   Stomping angry footsteps clacked and thudded one after the other, down the steps and up the hallway, right to Chase's apartment.
    "Ah shit," he said.  
    Directly overhead, Howard repeated after him.   "Ah shit's right, man!   Say it again!   Say it again!   Ah, holy shit!   Christ!"
    Whatever was in her head, Mary had already gone all the way there.   She giggled in semi-hysteria and tried Chase's doorknob as if expecting it to be open for her.   Like she was going to waft on in and drag him into even more commonplace madness.   What, he didn't have enough?
    Chase backed up a step and looked around for a place to hide.   In the corner crouched behind the dying fern?   Why hadn't he watered it enough?… maybe he could've gotten some cover from the leaves.
    She waited silently, hopeful, expectant.   Why was it that everybody in the world had so much more patience than he did?   Sometimes he jumped the rails just because there was nothing on TV.
    Five minutes went by while he stared at the door.   He kept his eyes on his watch, making sure he wasn't blacking out, slipping off someplace.   Six minutes.   Eight.   She was going to outlast him.   You had to have an immense reserve of willpower to stand for eight minutes with your face up to a locked door.   He knew, he'd done it himself.
    Chase took a step and the noise stopped him.   Her knocking was timid and tentative but somehow eerily sensual as well.   She dropped something tiny in the hallway, it sounded light as a packet of sugar.   The whisper of her clothing followed as she stooped to retrieve it.
    He thought he knew what was going on, what she had with her.   So, she had a pack of condoms with her.   Sure, it was all right.   He didn't have anything to be guilty about, there was no need for the familiar self-hatred and paranoia to hit.
    But already he could feel it coming on strong, plying his kidneys.   You could never be ready for all the crap the world threw at you.
    "You gonna do it, man?" Howard called down to him, pressing his lips to the floor.   Chase looked up, could almost see the man's face shoving through the ceiling at him.   "How you gonna do that, huh?   Don't let her in!   Don't open the door!"
    Chase didn't know.   He spoke quietly, as if the guy were right there in the room.   "Listen, this isn't my action."
    "Don't open the door, man!"
    The rapping continued until it became soft scratching, a lost pet trying to get back inside.  
    Chase put his