[Del]'s Diary

ENTRY SEVENTY

On the way to the Doc today, I was remembering what it felt like to have Charlie kiss Sugar, and how his kisses were sweet and true and soft and warm and not like Hunter’s at all. But those kisses were never meant for my lips.

I looked over at Fill lumbering beside me and wondered aloud, “Did you ever kiss Eve the way you kissed me?”

“Jesus, what kind of monkey ass-fucking pervert do you make me for?” Fill cried.

I stared obliquely back at him. “I dunno,” I shrugged, “The regular kind I guess.”

He guffawed at that and then grinned, almost like he was proud of me somehow, and retorted, “Touché.”

The wheels in my mind were grinding though. He hadn’t molested Eve like he had me. Why? Because he is not a sicko? Because he was not attracted to her? Why single out me then? If he is not a pervert, what is he to me? Either his kisses were a violation, an abuse, or…what — a habit? If they were an abuse, he would have readily assaulted Eve as well. But he didn’t…so…it had to mean something, didn’t it?

My mind filled with the image of Fill grabbing me, pushing me against the wall and kissing me forcefully with a mouth full of grit and teeth.

His thick sour tongue curdling in my mouth.

I began to retch.

Fill raised an eyebrow at me in concern.

I tried to banish the image from my mind. But the taste of him lingered in my mouth and I wondered at how it got there.

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