Saturday was no breeze for Megan, either. She woke up and immediately felt embarrassed. That nasty, awful, hollow endless embarrassment that was becoming her life. Randy was still asleep. She lay there, wishing she could be unconscious again. If she got up and out of bed, what would there be to do?

“Yeah, I guess so. That’s just one of the reasons I’m glad I don’t have pets o children.”

“Yeah, what are the other reasons?” asked Jillian. There was heat in her voice.

“Time. Also time. And, uh, I guess the idea of being pregnant and having a baby grosses me out.”

Megan shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“Oh, no, it’s wonderful! It’s hard, but it’s so great. You’ll be a great mom someday, just you wait.”

What does she think she’s saying to me? thought Megan. Megan wanted to stand up and hysterectomize herself with the letter opener while creaming and then throw her uterus at the wall above Jillian’s desk just to show Jillian how wrong she was about that.

Jillian began to feel that rage again that she got when she talked to him. Somehow she always forgot about it. That feeling like she just wanted to get her hands on him and sink her fingers in his skin and pop out his eyeballs and mash his genitals and rip off his fingers and shove them up his nose and into his brain to try to get him to be a decent person and act like they had some kind of humane, caring understanding.

“You know?” she whispered. “You know?” She whispered it while she looked at the palms of her hands and walked back to her apartment in the apocalyptic green light, wondering what she could do to convince people that she was crazy (therefore a victim) and not an asshole (therefore just an asshole).

Here you can find my review of Jillian

Photo by Violetta Kaszubowska @vkphotospace.com