1 - The Twitter Crush

The Smoking Gun

September 17, 2017

He looked dead in my face for 45 minutes and not a flicker of recognition that first night. Not one goddamn flicker. All that talk about his "photographic memory" and his "attention to detail" – what a crock of shit. Even when we were fucking, when he had his hands all over me, tracing my tattoos like they were some kind of roadmap to ecstasy, nothing.

Those should have been more than enough to tip him off. Though in fairness, the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor was long since covered by the forget-me-nots. I guess he don’t know a good coverup when he sees one.

Ironic.

But I recognized him. Lord knows I recognized him right quick, even with that stupid cartoon avatar he uses on Twitter and that fake-ass name. I booked that Zoom call with him so fast, even though I knew he’d have the camera off for the consult. And I was right. But the voice gave him away. And the laugh.

I never wanted revenge on him. That's the God's honest truth. He's just a man, and men can't help what they are any more than a dog can help barking at the mailman. It's in their nature to take and take and take until there ain't nothing left to give. I made my peace with that a long time ago.

But he just wouldn't leave it alone. He wouldn't stop digging, wouldn't stop asking questions, wouldn't stop trying to be the hero in some story that ain't got no heroes. And now here he is, tied up at my feet like a hog ready for slaughter, covered in his own blood and probably pissing himself under all that duct tape.

It didn't have to be this way. It never had to be this way.

But that's the thing about men – the same bird-dog determination that made them build all of society, all them skyscrapers and highways and monuments to their own greatness, also means they won't back off once they feel owed something. Or someone. They'll chase and chase until they tree their prey, never thinking maybe they're the ones being hunted.

I've paid my debts to every man that ever crossed my path. Paid them in full, with interest. From the ones back in Memphis who thought a girl from the wrong side of town was easy pickings, to the ones in uniform who thought female meant weak, to the ones who paid for an hour of my time and thought they'd bought my soul. Every last one of them got what was coming to them, one way or another.

And now him. My one-night mistake who couldn't leave well enough alone.

You know it’s funny. I always thought it would be me in that shallow grave, some man standing over me with dirt under his nails, whispering, “Look what you made me do.”

But I’m the one looking down.

And damned if he didn't dig his own grave, one question at a time.