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.

That meant, fuck it, I was 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.

That was my way 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 to steal anything. Or everything. I could easily hire sketchy movers to haul it all away.

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

I kept searching anyway.

I found his stash of roofies. To be precise, it was Gamma-Hydroxybutyrate. There were five bottles of it in the kitchen, behind a bunch of expired protein powder and plastic martini glasses. Fucking GHB. I knew I'd find more of that shit.

I dissolved the GHB into everything in his fridge. The milk. The lemonade. The bottled water. I even put some in the mayonnaise.

Then I left.

I got two blocks away before I stopped.

I turned around.

I went back to his house so I could dump 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 was willing to do to him. Not even if I was doing it to him in revenge.

No.

I knew I was better than that. Better than him.

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

I grabbed a sheet of paper and used a thick black marker to leave him a note that read:

"DOUGLAS CLARK,

YOU ARE A RAPIST.

IF YOU EVER DO IT AGAIN

TO ANYONE

EVER

I WILL BE BACK."

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

I needed him to know.

I needed him to fear me.

And I needed to leave, because my work there was done.

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. I could never be that.

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.