okay?"
"Why? What does reason have to offer? You're going to be unhappy either way, so why not be unreasonable? At least that way you have fun."
"This isn't about fun. Can't you understand that? Life isn't just about fun. There are other considerations. You don't simply do what you want all the time." She uncrossed her arms, exhaled. "It isn't the best thing for us anymore. For anyone."
"This has nothing to do with anyone else."
"Eric, I'm not one to champion human universality, but this obviously has more to do than with us. Think about how � " She interrupted herself, irritated. "I didn't come in here to discuss ethics. That's a waste of time with you. You're simply too dangerous. Okay? You don't know what you're doing. You think like a kid. That's it."
"I'm the discreet one. You're practically leaning across the table to lick his knife clean. 'Want to see what I could do when I was young and single, Roger? I can compete with a young piece of ass!'"
You're a nasty little shit," she said. "I don't know why I ever bothered being nice to you."
"Because you've got such a big fucking heart."
She slapped me. "Fuck you."
"Come on Gloria, while they're busy."
I reached for her waist. She went to slap me again but missed, and her hand slapped painlessly against my shoulder. She turned to unlock the door and I grabbed her, tight enough to make her gasp. I sat back onto the edge of the bathtub, pulling her down onto my lap, and dug my teeth into the side of her neck. She put her hands on my knees and rubbed against me. I worked her skirt up and fumbled with my belt, then pulled my pants and boxers down. She was squeezing the muscles of my thighs as my hands slipped inside of her blouse, pushing aside her wire bra, and then she leaned forward to tug her underwear off, stepping on the center of them, the cotton stretching like a boy's slingshot. I pulled her down onto me, her back turned, skin oven-hot, and kissed her neck where hair and clothing wouldn't save her. We mashed against the side of the tub, my ass pinched by the porcelain, breathing out of our mouths, staring at the locked door with our arms out and the smell of bleach and soap in the air.
Gloria rested a foot on the toilet seat as she dressed. I cinched my belt and fixed my hair. The door clicked behind her. In the medicine cabinet I found her husband's razors and a box of Band-Aids. I cut a vertical line along my thumb with a fresh razorblade. I held it up to the mirror. The mirror showed two thumbs. I waited for the blood to come out of them, watching the thumbs grin at each other where the skin had parted, those little serious smiles, like when boys hunt for frogs and throw them at each other, and against the rocks, waiting for them to break open.
Then it came, as promised. I wrapped a Band-Aid around the cut, watched the dark brown smudge through the white, life pressing its mouth into the breathing holes.
 

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