You Could Be as Sweet as Me
Many are unaware, but love IS quantifiable. It’s not divine or abstract like the poets want you to believe. Beauty is too biblical; you can’t reduce it to a number. Love is not beauty. Feel free to cut or scale that shit. Possess it with intent. Every time Vivi reunites with Jay, she pushes her ear to his chest in their embrace. She counts his heart beats, calculates his pulse. There's a range, she decided, and if his pulse falls under what she feels is appropriate, it means he doesn't love her as much as he used to. Unless there's an extenuating circumstance that could alter his heartbeat. For example, his heart could operate differently if he's high or exhausted. Vivi is considerate. She doesn’t itch to pick a fight. Most days he loves her at one oh three bpm.
Bill Clinton was on the phone with Vivi’s father when he received oral sex from Monica Lewinsky. One of the times, she guesses one of many times, she knows it wasn’t a one-off thing. She supposes he got some during a call with a congressman too. She thinks to herself cute cute cute. Vivi has never watched Jay take a phone call. She is unsure if he owns a mobile phone. She left her Nokia, the one she got for her seventeenth birthday last year, back home in Palm Beach. Palm Beach is but a fraction of her home. She’s grown enough to see the bigger picture. The bigger picture is that her family owns Florida. When they die she might inherit it, the acres of sugarcane plantations. Everything besides what she wants most. What we all want most. To own Disney World. To own Disney World like the proprietor of the Palm Beach nail salon has owned his employees since the moment he stole their passports. Her Nokia is in the Prada backpack underneath her desk, next to the wadded-up school uniform stockings with the waistband that cut into the fat around her midsection. She hates her stockings, she likes her Prada backpack, and she loves her boyfriend Jay. He doesn’t like her stockings or her backpack, but he likes when she wears the denim cutoffs she botched by cutting them too short. He thinks to himself cute cute cute.
Vivi has been locked in a room at the Red Roof Inn for two weeks. She’s adorned it with the few things she brought. She believes that, with care, most things can be made beautiful. She’s hung a pink lacy bra from the microwave handle. She's staged a scene on the nightstand: a lip smacker next to the provided motel Bible next to an empty can of Pepsi. Her friends all drink diet but she recommends keeping the sugar in. She's not a shill. She simply believes in all things sweet. Jay can be sweet, but she doesn’t mind when he’s not. She understands her life situation. Money made it easier to be soft. Jay had it harder. He never finished high school. She doesn’t know exactly what he does for work, but she knows he owns two guns and said guns display no serial numbers. He’s pacing back-and-forth in front of the door, which he barricaded with a small chair. He's put tape over the peephole. He’s debating going out to buy tin foil to cover the window better because although they're covered with blankets, it doesn't feel like enough. Jay has always believed you can never be too self-protecting and that insanity is relative. Vivi’s just glad they live in Florida where it’s not cold. She guesses she doesn’t live anywhere now. The Red Roof is certainly not her home. She decides she lives nowhere except in The Moment.
She feels ashamed. She also holds the belief we should all be a little bit more paranoid. Even though she is now eighteen, she knows her parents are looking for her. They have the means to hire a private investigator and she believes her father has before. She used to rummage through his desk drawers and still recalls the business cards she had seen. On one memorable occasion, she found a curious porno magazine. World War II-themed. The jezebels were dressed like naval officers, nurses, mostly Victory Girls. This was a singular occurrence and the magazine disappeared shortly after she unearthed it. Vivi supports a surveillance state because she’s always liked to surveil. To see and be seen.
Jay is impervious to almost everything Vivi says. She likes that even though his life appears to be a shitshow, he generally doesn’t make it her concern. She’s not including the current state of affairs, ignoring that he is peeping outside from the edges of the blanket-covered window. Usually, he doesn’t bring his business home. Since she ran away, they both accepted that this comes with the territory of being together all the time. Vivi is so mature anyways. She got a boyfriend eleven years older than her because she’s so mature. She takes everything into account. She’s only ever been caring, fair and sweet. That’s why she doesn't want to inherit the sugar business. She’s not ruthless enough for any industry. There’s an unspoken understanding between her and Jay. As long as they’re together, she won’t have to work. She believes that he wants to provide for her. Vivi is good at being provided for. She never asks herself the extent of her liking. The length of her love. She’s too enclosed in her own imaginings. She’s staring at her beau now.
In her mind, Jay is fighting a great war. The most noble war. The era is unclear. It’s definitely not World War II. That would feel incestual. It’s an imaginary war. She didn’t pay enough attention in class to allow for historical accuracy. In her head, it looks like some Nordic war. Maybe he could be a Viking. It could also be a medieval battle, Jay doesn’t look very Nordic. Yes, she’s decided it’s a medieval battle.
This is their most brutal fight yet. Jay is on the battlefield, empty-handed, snapping necks and crushing heads under his feet. He’s fracturing skulls, pink matter bubbling under unbroken flesh like a baby with a severely bulging fontanel. On his right shoulder, a large gash exposes muscle underneath. Someone kicks him from behind. His legs have buckled underneath him, he is too disoriented to stand back up. Still, he fights. It’s a drug he can’t get enough of. Even outside of her fantasy, Jay is insatiable. A look in his eyes whenever supply is low. Right now, she’s in Fantasy War Love Land, so she doesn’t think about the white powder crusted in his nostril hair that she can spot from across the room.
She only wants to think of her warrior. He’s on the ground and has started to use his teeth, all so intact. In Fantasy War Love Land, his strong teeth are tearing flesh from the legs of his enemies. His face is bloodied. Violence is all he’s known. He will ne'er get enough. His legion knows if he stays out here, he’ll die. He’s the heartbeat of their cause. His men grab him, a man for every arm and leg. They attempt to extract him from the battle. He’s fighting them now. He’s a fixed missile with tunnel vision. Jay believes there is no honor to be found in submission. Two more men join and they manage to restrain him enough to retreat to a hidden supply tent harboring medicine. And women. Perhaps it’s redundant to note both.
Vivi is there. She’s a practitioner of great magic. An outsider. No one knows what she’s capable of. That’s okay. We should all be more paranoid. Jay’s still fighting from his cot. They’ve restrained his limbs, but he for hours has been trying to wriggle out. Vivi emerges from the shadows and for the first time, he becomes still. When their eyes meet, his muscles unclench. She kneels at his side.
The sight of Viv reminds Jay of what is clean in this world. Life doesn't have to be a septic wound. For him she makes herself a leech. Her mouth is sterile and virtuous. She sucks the pus from his sores. She brings broth for him, lifts the back of his head, allows him to sip. She’s never spoken of her childhood, but an understanding in his eyes elicits feeling within her. A feeling that somewhere within him, he knows all. The tent is empty. She disrobes because her garments made her dishonest. He admires her sweat-glazed skin in the candlelight. Time provides undercover lovers with the sweet and singular moment. Fate has carried me to you. So sweet, so sweet. Cute cute cute. His condition has improved almost entirely, her magic has willed it this way, yet his recovered state fills her with fear. He knows it. Because he knows everything about her. All could go unspoken, yet in their glance, nothing remains unsaid. He stands upright for the first time in days. She is startled by the way he towers over her so he kneels at her feet. “For my people I must fight. I vow to self-efface no longer. My adoration for thee is most lamblike and virginal. Now, my love, it is for mineself I must fight, if only to protect that which is thy rightful property, for thou possesseth me so. We are to marry upon my return, a binding which shall outlast any great war, all earthly torments. I cannot conscience a life without thee. If-”
A struggle disrupts Vivi's imaginings. Jay has misplaced something. He won’t tell her what it is. He is feverishly rummaging through drawers, leaving them ajar, leaving no pouch or pocket uninspected, including Vivis'. She's only mildly annoyed about her lost train of thought. She’s grateful to have something to care about.
Jay takes aim at Vivi, a silenced-flash adorns the walls with brain splatter. Looks like a Pollock painting. Vivi didn't care for those, but she always admired a sharp shot. Jay turns it to himself. Nothing sweeter than release.