Five Dollar Wrench

Done But Not Done

I went to Doug's house the next night, with gloves and a baseball bat, hoping I'd remembered his address correctly.  I'd never worked so hard to get into somebody's home before, but I couldn't.

"Fuck it.  I'm going in the hard way."

A quick smash through the basement window got me started.  I managed to flip one of the latches open, but the other was closed, locking the window in place.  "Damn!"  With one long reach through the broken glass and a flip of the far latch to pivot the window, I got it unlocked.  And a shimmy shimmy got me under.

And in.

I wanted to ransack the place, but I couldn't.  All I could see was the image of Doug's blubbering face.  The sound of him crying still rang in my ears.

I searched the house, looking for any reason at all to steal everything.  I had sketchy movers waiting for my call, ready to haul it all away.

But all I found were the belongings of a guy who spent every dollar at bars.  There was nothing worth taking.

I kept searching anyway.

Finally, I found the roofies.  There were five little bottles of Gamma-Hydroxybutyrate in the kitchen, behind a bunch of expired protein powder and plastic martini glasses.  Fucking GHB.  I knew I'd find that shit somewhere.

I dissolved the roofies into everything in his fridge.  The milk.  The lemonade.  The bottled water.  Even in the mayonnaise.

Then I left.

I got two blocks away before I turned back.

I went back into his kitchen.  I dumped everything out.  And I hated myself as I watched each drugged liquid swirl down the sink.  I couldn't punish Doug for trying to do to me what I would do to him.  Not even if I was doing it in revenge.

I put the empty bottles of GHB on the dining room table, except for one, which I left on his phone charger as a warning.

I used a thick black marker to write a note that read:

"DOUGLAS CLARK

YOU ARE A RAPIST.

IF YOU EVER DO IT AGAIN

TO ANYONE

I WILL BE BACK."

I took a Polaroid picture of the empty bottles with the note, and I laid it on top, to make him wonder how many more pictures I had and who I'd give them to.  I took another and taped it to his front door.

Then, I left.

I knew I'd taken all there was to take from Doug.  Everything except...

No.

Not that.

Do it once, it's a thing you did.  Do it twice, it's a thing you do.  Do it more?  It becomes what you are.

I knew I was many things, but not that.

And so, I walked away, unsatisfied.

I walked away, knowing I was done with men, but they weren't done with me.  I'd taken all I could take from Doug, but I needed more.  And I knew there was no shortage of shitty men to take more from, especially in this shitty city.

Later that night, I went back to The Bitter End, looking for the hooker from the night before.

I knew a guy who needed to get got.

I knew a guy who deserved it.

I knew a girl who could help.