The Hit and Run

Whoops

I was drunk. I had taken three fat swigs of Lime Absolut, which I bought for some bitch in Wisconsin. I’m all the way back home now, and my ex-girlfriend’s address is routed in my maps app, and I’m 15 minutes away. Unshaved unshowered greasy hair who fucking cares, I need to see her now.

5 minutes later I hit another car. It wasn’t my fault. it was the van’s fault. it was seattle’s fault. it was dark, raining, i was on a terribly steep hill. the same hill i used to roll down every single day on my way to work back when i was a good little slave, now i’m on this same hill in my heavy heavy van with the shitty brakes facing downwards behind a line of stopped cars, the unlucky guy in front of me is in a little white sedan, i press my foot on the brake as hard as I can but it’s no use, i just slam right into him. i tried to turn out of the way but i wasn’t fast enough. my front left bumper is on his back right.

i have no insurance. i don’t know what to do. i’m blocking traffic. he’s rolling his window down, honking, yelling at me, i don’t know what to do, i can’t stop for this, we’re in a bad spot but also i’m a bad person, i’ve hit and run before i’ll do it again, i’m drunk, i want to see my girlfriend, i don’t want to give this faggot my number, i’m driving away.

i just go around him, down the hill and through a red light and onto the highway. he follows me. the car in front of me sticks a middle finger up out the window. everyone hates me. i don’t care, i’m not a part of society. i am a fictional character.

the white sedan is much faster than me but i’m much braver. he has no idea i’m worst boyfriend ever. he comes up beside me on the freeway screaming. i’m familiar with these roads, i lived here for three years and i drove everywhere.

i try to lose him taking exit 166 up olive way, it must be obvious to all the surrounding cars that this is a chase, all he can do is keep coming up beside me screaming PULL OVER, PULL OVER DUDE, but i ain’t heard no bell, i wonder if he got my plate, fuck i need to leave town, okay just never get pulled over again from now on, what the fuck, i need to see amanda, i need to tell her i’m sorry, but really i’m not sorry at all, people love the book people love the blog people love worst boyfriend ever people love me i know you still love me too i’m so fucking lonely, this car’s still chasing me, we’re going up olive way he’s screaming at me i roll my window down and scream back: MY BRAKES FAILED AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO! I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!

he says Pull Over. smug blonde white millennial faggot with glasses and slicked back hair, i bet the dent on his car isn’t shit anyways, i swerve onto Exit 166 up olive way and he swerves after me, still on my right, we’re stopped behind the crosswalk at the top of this hill:

I say FUCK IT and drive left over the median with all my 20-year-old-van’s strength to get the fuck away from this guy and back onto the I5 North. i think he’s trapped going right.

keep on driving as fast as i can, swerving around and through traffic until i’ve finally lost him.

text from amanda:

are u close
???

oh baby you have no idea.

i send her a screenshot of my location, i’m 6 minutes away. i feel the cops must be after me now. i park nearby, NOT at the CVS but around the corner, on a back street, tell the girl i’m there, biggie smalls has been blasting through my speakers the entire time, i feel like the realest nigga on earth.

she comes out. oblivious. cute. small. same as she ever was.

I know you’re supposed to have a “calming presence” when you first meet up with a girl, but this wasn’t exactly our first meeting.

Amanda was my girlfriend for two years, she moved here to this city because of me, we moved in together, and then my entire life exploded when she found my blog about cheating on her over and over and over, where I wrote about her and all these girls and these prostitutes and my coworkers and sometimes I used the real names and I got so paranoid/ashamed I quit my job sold all my shit bought a van and drove away. Almost one year ago today.

And now we’re seeing each other for the first time since.

Why would she meet up with me again? After all this? You might ask. The answer is because she, deep down, still loves me. Anyone who has met me on this trip around the country will know what I mean.

She begged me not to write about it but I’m doing it anyway. I hate that I’m doing it anyway, that I lied to her again, but this is it for me. This is my life. All I do is use people.

She wouldn’t let me touch her at first. She hopped into the back of the van and squatted on the floor. I drove around in a manic state taking big long indulgent glances at her face every few minutes as we rolled through Greenwood, which is where she moved after I ran away. She had to downgrade apartments. I did not feel bad. I was too busy meeting girls online fucking them in my van and becoming a niche internet microcelebrity. I still don’t feel bad. Because my only dedication, always and forever, is to the work.

We found a place to park. I found a place to park. She’s not afraid of me, she trusts me, half-foolishly. I trust me too, until I’m staring at her pretty little face as she says all her stupid words and I remember why I tried to make it work for so long. She is gentle and beautiful. Trusting, kind. Always and forever my perfect little baby girl.

She tells me about her boy problems. She tells me she likes this guy who goes to her events but she doesn’t know what to say. She thinks he might be gay.

I say everyone in Seattle is gay. Don’t you wish he would just take it? I recall our canon event, three years ago now, where I just took it. She says she gets hit on a lot but not by the right guys. She wants Adam. I try to give her the confidence to let Adam know that she wants to be taken. It’s tough. It’s not in female nature, to stick your neck out like that.

As we talk I am losing interest in doing anything but touching her. I don’t think we ever spoke for this long in 2 whole years without me touching her. The first several times I try she recoils. She says she doesn’t want it but I know she does. She doesn’t know what she wants. She’s kind of hungry and so am I, but every time we flout the idea of driving somewhere we get distracted by the conversation and stay right where we are.

She’s still on the floor of the van, in the aisle, cornered against the door. I’m sitting up on the bed looking down at her. She fidgets her fingers and I grab them instinctively. She says why? I say because it feels good.

I say have you been touched in the last year? I know the answer is no.

She says one time this guy asked me to cuddle with him, at a house party, it was kind of weird, i don’t know…

I am amazed. She’s telling the truth. She is unable to lie to me. She has not been kissed once since I left. She has not been fucked. Completely unsullied, Seattle is the gayest place on earth.

The girl is gorgeous. Every single man in our gay fake xyz community jerks off to her selfies before they go to sleep every night. They all hate me now because someone leaked this blog. I am banned from Seattle events for life. Because this fat fuck in Oregon made it his entire life’s mission from November to April to doxx me and show everyone what i’d done. I don’t care, I own it all now, I have no regrets, i’m taking the girl in my van.

We’re street parked in Greenwood. Every six beats in the conversation I confess I need to touch you. She’s half-agreeing now. I’m just staring at her face endlessly like I always was. I don’t remember what compelled me to do this but I picked her up like a baby in my arms and air-lifted her onto the bed, my body contorted into a sort of weighted hip thrust, I lift her up just-married style and rock her back and forth. I say hows that feel? She says says it feels good… and I feel perfect. I’ve been waiting to do this for almost three hundred and sixty five days. She asks me how many girls I’ve fucked in this van and I say don’t worry about it. My shit is everywhere, there is no bedsheet on, exposed mattress, it feels so good to be holding her again I do not care. I’m grabbing her hipbones and petting her growling stomach and getting a little hard but I don’t need to fuck her, I don’t need to fuck her, I tell her this and she’s probably a little aroused, I say this is good enough for me and for a good long while it actually is.

I weave kisses into the conversation. i’m about 20% hard for maybe an hour. I tell her something I’m genuinely excited about and proud of: these kids in Idaho had their first kiss last night because of me. Because this guy messaged me asking me for advice, and i gave him some advice, and then the next day he sent me this:

My blog is good for the world, I tell her. She has mixed feelings about it.

Now I’m just autistically staring at her lips. We’ve since flipped from cradling to spooning and my jeans are rubbing up against her sweatpants-ass. She looks exactly like she did last year. She’s one of those asians who never ever age. i’m getting harder and harder and braver and braver, she still trusts me physically in spite of it all, she asks me banal questions like Do You Experience Love? and i tell her i’m in love with a girl who lives in New York City, but my problem is i treated her like a person and not like a piece of meat, and she got the ick, and so she’ll never love me back. Amanda smells just like she always did and now I’m taking off my jeans. It hurts my dick to rub up against her like this. She’s just letting it happen for reasons I’ll never understand.

Zero of the window blinds are engaged. We’re right outside somebody’s house. I’m flipping her onto her back and taking off my briefs. Pressing the tip of my now-hard dick through her sweatpants, reaching around for her trigger, I always knew just exactly how to turn her on. I replicate this play-rape protocol with every other girl and only about 60% of them like it too. But really I’m just always fucking a different version of her. She asks if I have a condom. i say i think so. I reach into one of my many bags and grab something rubber and square. The wrapper’s a little ripped but the thing’s still good, it’s “ribbed for her pleasure,” I really hate to use condoms but I have done enough to this girl, i know i’m clean because STDs are for homosexuals but i’m trying to be a good person, so i roll it on and tear down her sweatpants and fuck her from behind one last time. i’m twice her weight, i know i won’t last long, it’s not the best sex we’ve ever had, mostly because of the condom, but it’s pretty damn close. once i feel i’m about to cum i bravely flip her over so that i can kiss her on the lips and look into her eyes. i’m a lot better at kissing than i was when I left. i wonder if she can tell. i wonder what she’s thinking. i wonder if there’s any flicker of regret. i wonder if she’s thinking: he’s going to write about this, he’s going to humiliate me, everyone’s going to read, i’m such an idiot, i fell for it again, i wonder if this just further turns her on. i wonder if fucking after you cum, inside the condom, ever has the effect of semen seeping/spilling out the sides, if you can get a girl pregnant that way, probably not, if so i would’ve had ten kids by now, i finish on top of her moaning boyishly like i always used to do, her soft little hand in mine, jump up and retrieve a paper towel, climb back onto the bare-mattressed bed, hold her in my arms, pull the covers over our naked bodies, fall blissfully perfectly asleep.

the next morning i am sober. i don’t regret fucking her, but i am viscerally aware that i need to leave the country. that guy definitely got my plate last night. he must have taken a picture, or written it down, or memorized it, or something. he must have called the cops. they must be looking for my van now. i hit and runned him on the freeway. they’re going to find me and arrest me and impound my van which contains everything i own. i have no insurance. i’ll be paying $40,000 for that little dent, they’ll own me for the rest of my life. i have had a very lucky run so far but i know i’m not getting away with this. i don’t want to go to jail. i don’t want them to revoke my license. i need to get the fuck out of here. how long until there’s a warrant? will they stop me at the airport? where do i go? i don’t even have the money, but i know a guy. i know a guy named carl, who said he would get me a one way ticket to southeast asia whenever i asked, ‘cause he’s got a ton of United points and life is short and hey, it would be funny. i don’t think it’s very funny any more. i’m going to send him a text.