Winston J. Copperfield IV, esq, sat behind the big desk in his corner office on the sunny afternoon of August 5 and tried to gather the energy to go home.
It was past 5 and the light was beginning to soften. Shadows grew long across the street fifteen stories below and the ever present jack hammering of the construction crew next door had long since fallen silent as the men knocked off, picked up their paychecks and left for the weekend. Winston never thought he would say this about…sniff…blue collar workers…but he envied them. He pictured them all heading out for an evening of drinks and conversation, and then going home to do as they wished, when they wished. What must that type of unbridled freedom feel like? What must it feel like to walk through the door to peace and tranquility? Winston wouldn't know, because he didn't live alone.
He lived with Lindsey Sweetwater.
Winston and Lindsey were both twenty-seven, still young but uncomfortably close to thirty, which both of them had long ago decided was the beginning of middle age. They had been together for eleven years, engaged for four. Winston worked as the chief financial officer for his father's company, Copperfield Industries, and Lindsey was a corporate attorney for DynoTech. They both earned considerable salaries and enjoyed the finer things in life: Caribbean vacations, Swiss made watches, European fashions, and lavish dinners complemented by bottles of wine that cost more than most people made in a year. They were both from good stock and had grown up in the lap of luxury. When she was younger, Lindsey was a beauty queen and Winston was the captain of the lacrosse team. Their families were both old money with a longstanding reputation in the area, and both of their fathers were powerful men: Winston's father was the chairman, president, and CEO of Copperfield Industries and Lindsey's father was an attorney with ties to influential judges, senators, and even a former president.
In hindsight, their relationship seemed inevitable. He was a prince and she a princess, and they were almost destined for one another. Their families knew one another and Winston and Lindsey had been around each other since they were babies. Looking back, Winston could not say that he ever felt forced to date Lindsey, but he was certain that they were groomed to one day fall in love and marry. Who else would he marry, after all? Some working class girl from the other side of the tracks? Ha. His family would never allow that, no matter how much he might theoretically love such a girl. Appearances were everything to the Copperfield family, and even the idea of him being seen with "a poor" would send his parents into trembling hysterics.
Was he drawn to Lindsey entirely on his own, or was he subconsciously coerced? For the longest time, he believed that he chose her of his own free will, but lately he had come to think that he had not, in fact, chosen her on his own. The more he pondered it, the more he began to see the hand of outside influence in his decision. Then again, maybe he was wrong. When they first started dating at fourteen, Winston was head over heels for the red head. He thought about her all the time, and being away from her opened a pit of aching loss in his stomach. The melodic sound of her voice sent his heart pounding fast in his chest and the way her eyes sparkled in the sunlight - green with strands of gold - made him feel weak in the knees. Those feelings surely came from within himself and were not planted by external forces. You can't manufacture, you cannot astroturf, feelings as intense as the ones he had for Lindsey Sweetwater in his teenage years, it simply isn't possible. You can fake a lot of things, but you cannot fake love. Not to yourself. You can misunderstand your emotions, yes, but there's no way someone of reasonable, or even average, intelligence can mistake sputtering rage for ethereal happiness, nor can they mistake love for anything else.
Yes, Winston decided, he loved Lindsey Sweetwater.
But things had changed.
Drastically.
Maybe they were too alike, maybe he was the same way and hadn't realized it, but Lindsey was a high maintenance bitch on wheels who acted like the queen of the world while treating him as little more than a lady in waiting. She was possessive, jealous, self-centered, egotistical, condescending, demanding, and power mad. She insisted on always having her way and didn't care what she had to do in order to get it. She would cry, scream, stomp her feet, and guilt him. From the moment he got home in the evening to the moment they fell asleep at night, she was on his back, bitching and nagging about every little thing. Nothing he ever did was good enough for her, nothing he did ever pleased her. He could give her the sun and the moon, and she would have a meltdown because he forgot to throw in the stars as well. Sometimes, being around her was pure hell, and he would do whatever he could to avoid her. Lately, he had taken to staying at the office under the guise of working late, often until well past sunset. He didn't do it often because Lindsey would start blowing up his phone, demanding that he come home "right now."
She did that a lot. He couldn't even go out with friends, it was so bad. He would tell her that he was going out and she would be fine with it, but ten minutes after he got to where he was going, she would start to text him. Inside of an hour, she would begin asking when he was going to be done and if he was coming home soon. Her tone would get noticeably more frustrated with every message until she was openly snapping at him and implying that he was some kind of monster who always ignored her in favor of everyone and everything else. Eventually he had to stop because it was too much stress. He and his friends had drifted apart because of her to the point where they never invited him to go anywhere or to hang out because they already knew that he would beg off. He'd make up excuse after excuse, but they knew the real reason, and they laughed at him for it. They made jokes about him being henpecked and about Lindsey controlling his life. He smiled and laughed right along with them, but it hurt because it was true.
Lindsey did control his life, and he was beginning to resent her for it.
Did he still love her? He didn't know the answer to that question. On some level, he believed that he did, but that love was rapidly evaporating like a puddle on a hot day. He often found himself thinking that he loved her,...but didn't like her. He wanted her to change, he wanted her to drop the nagging bitch routine. That's all. Outside of that, she was amazing. Or she had been. The old Lindsey was almost perfect. The shrew he currently shared his life with, however, was not the same girl who had captured his heart when he was a boy. She was different, somehow changed. Had she always been this way? No, but she had always been a little spoiled and entitled. Her attitude didn't just suddenly appear one day, like a strange and alarming package, it had always been with her, but it hadn't been as bad once. As she grew, so too did her demands and her self-absorption. She had gradually morphed into a fucking bitch and Winston was afraid that he no longer loved her.
That was a hard pill to swallow and he did not want to confront the possibility. He had been with her almost his entire life; he had invested so much time and energy into their relationship that he couldn't tolerate the idea of it all falling apart now. He was still young and could start over, but the idea intimidated him. He had very little experience in "playing the field" and precious little time to do so, even if he did know what the hell he was doing. There was also the fact that he still loved Lindsey's good qualities, but those were being slowly drowned out by her not so good qualities. Soon enough, there would be no good qualities left. Or, more likely, he would be so focused on her bad qualities that he would become numb to her positive traits. Her beauty and her laugh would mean nothing after so much frustration, and the good memories he had of her would fade after a while, like sepia toned photographs in a static picture album. New memories must replace the old, and if the new ones were bad, well…
Those were all deep and complex thoughts that frankly scared him, so he resolved to not entertain them. He would ponder the whole thing later on, just as he'd been telling himself for months, maybe years. That's the American way, after all; kick the problem as far down the road as you possibly can. As Squidward - that sage under the sea - once said: Why do today what you can do tomorrow?
What is today but yesterday's tomorrow? Mr. Krabs had asked.
Squidward had no reply to that question, and neither, unfortunately, did Winston Copperfield.
In his heart of hearts, he knew that you could only put something off for so long before you must inevitably confront it. One day he would have to face the situation, and with the way things were going lately, it would probably wind up being sooner rather than later. Look, a man can only take so much, and he had been at his wits' end with Lindsey for what felt like forever. Sometimes when they fought, he threatened to leave her, and despite her waving it off (with that hateful, nasty laugh that cut him to his core), he meant it. At least, he meant that he wanted to. Whether or not he could actually do it remained to be seen. Aside from still loving her to some degree, there was her father. With his power and connections, he could cause a lot of trouble for both Winston and Copperfield Industries. Winston had to mind his Ps and Qs in this matter and that made him resent Lindsey even more. She was like a Venus fly trap. The harder he struggled to get away, the deeper she drew him in.
At times, it left him feeling claustrophobic and sick with it was all he could do to keep from socking her in the face. He could never hurt her but God, sometimes he wished he could. He was raised to respect women and the thought of hitting one made him break out in hives. However, he had come to the conclusion that some women deserve a punch in the mouth just as some men did. They could hide behind their gender all they wanted, but that didn't change the fact.
And how much longer could they do that? Modern society had already all but rendered womanhood moot. Anyone could identify as a woman at any time they wanted, because now the core of femininity was a nebulous feeling and not foundational fact. A man, who had never lived as a woman, had never been treated by society as a woman, who knew nothing about the physiological, psychological, and sociological experiences of women, could declare himself one at will, and his lame facsimile of womanhood - which often centered around conforming to a checklist of gender stereotypes that women had spent decades fighting against - was just as valid as the real thing. It was so bad now that a transwoman, still retaining an inborn and irreversible advantage in terms of bone structure and muscle mass, could take a ciswoman's spot on a sports team, use their advantage to crush the competition, and then be held up as a shining example of girl power.
If that was okay, then really, was it that bad to pop a woman in the nose when she objectively deserved it?
Perhaps not, but to Winston it was. You could say a lot of things about him - that he was soft, that he was spoiled, that he was kind of snobby - but you could never say that he was fake. His parents had instilled certain principles in him and he lived by them to this very day. He was taught right from wrong, and that didn't change and would never change, no matter what "society" said.
Plus, there was the little fact that he still cared for her on some level. You can't just go off and deck someone you care about, no matter how much they might beg you to do it. He just had to take it, because arguing back certainly didn't accomplish anything. It only served to make Lindsey mad and she in turned made him feel even worse.
He went back to an old song he'd once heard on the radio. He didn't typically like older music but the lyrics reminded him so much of himself and Lindsey that he was captivated.
We're caught in a trap
I can't walk out
Because I love you too much, baby
There was more to it than just love for Winston, but the words of that forgotten superhit still spoke to him for that's what it felt like being with Lindsey: Caught in a trap.
Presently, he was slumped behind his desk and staring at a spreadsheet he had ceased working on almost an hour ago. The cursor blanked hypnotically and the words all jumbled together to form an incoherent mass of gibberish that made his brain hurt. His job was cushy when you compared it to something like digging ditches - his office was comfortable and air conditioned - but the mental toll it took on him left him exhausted nevertheless. He was not one to get his hands dirty but there were times he would almost rather have a working class job that didn't come with so much pressure. He knew himself well enough to be sure that he wouldn't be able to do construction, but he could do other things. Take janitorial, for instance. Since he started staying late, he had come across the building's janitor on many occasions and had thus seen him in action. Winston couldn't do some things but he was certain that he could mop and take out trash.
In a way, he envied the janitor. He didn't have an entire Fortune 500 company riding on his back. He could make a simple mistake - say, forgetting to put toilet paper in a dispenser - and the most that would come of it was someone complaining to the building manager, whereupon the manager would tell him, "You forget toilet paper." There. End of story. If Winston made a mistake, the company would lose money, investors would be unhappy, and, depending on how big the mistake was, the IRS might step in. People might go to jail. The janitor didn't have those worries. His tasks were simple and straight forward.
Winston, though sheltered, perhaps, was not delusional enough to believe that the janitor made anywhere near as much money as he did. Was it fair? If you asked him, yes, for the reasons stated above. You might not want to hear this, but almost anyone can pick up a mop and run it over a lobby. Almost anyone can change a trash bag. Not everyone could sit behind Winston's desk and do his job, however. A lot of people could, but not everyone. It took a lot of work and studying to get here. People might cry nepotism because his father owned the company, and they might not be entirely wrong, but do you seriously think his father gave him this position by sole virtue of blood? Ha. No. That's not how it works. Being his father's son gave him an advantage, yes, but if he was a fuck up, he wouldn't be here right now. Dad wouldn't have brought him in if he didn't go to school for this. Again, there was a lot stake here and if he screwed up, bad things would happen. Dad would rather a qualigfied outsider than an incapable and incompetent son.
And there was nothing wrong with that. No business owner with half a brain is going to hire a failure to run finances. If they do, they're an idiot and deserve the inevitable collapse of profits that will surely follow. It would be far, far easier to be a janitor…though not as financially rewarding. A janitor can't take trips to Aruba twice a year, nor can he afford to stay in the best hotels or to eat at the best restaurants,
Then again, what did any of those things mean when you were unhappy? What did they mean when you did them with someone who made you feel small and awful? Winston could hardly enjoy the fruits of his labors because Lindsey was always there to tear him down. They say that money can't buy you happiness…well, they were only half right. Money can buy you security and peace of mind, which are the building blocks of happiness. But if there's something else going on…say, a woman bringing you down…money can't help. There were times when he seriously thought that he would trade his money for peace of mind. Why not? He couldn't enjoy it anyway, so to hell with it.
Sometimes it was more trouble than it was worth, even outside of Lindsey. For one thing, a lot of poors hate you for making money. It doesn't matter how kind or fair you are to your employees, it doesn't matter how generous, if you make money, you're the devil. They make all these lofty claims and accusations, but it all boils down to resentment. You have things that they don't and that makes them mad. End of story. And instead of trying to get those things, they bitch. Bitch, bitch, bitch. If they put half as much energy into improving themselves as they did into bashing the rich on Twitter, maybe they could have a private jet one day too. God knows why. Even he didn't have one of those. Or a boat. He might have money, he might have come from money, but he still understood the value of a dollar, and keeping either one of those would cost an arm and a leg. He'd rather take that money and invest it.
That was another thing about the poors. Whenever they got a little extra money, they pissed it away. They bought things with it, things that instantly depreciated in value. Granted, they didn't have access to financial advisors the way he did, but investing wasn't that difficult, and it didn't take very much money to get started. He made his first investments when he was a teenager, and he did it buy saving up the fifty dollars a week that his father gave him as allowance. Dad said that he wanted him to learn the value of money and to not be incompenent with it, so that was all he got, fifty dollars. It was maybe more than most kids got, but it still wasn't much. Even so, he managed to save up a thousand and invest it. Poor people couldn't do that? They couldn't save five to ten dollars a week until they had enough to invest? It might take a while, but it could be done.
For the most part. He had heard that some people lived in extreme, abject poverty, but he hardly thought that that was true of most people. Most people are not excessively rich nor are they excessively poor. They fall somewhere in-between. That meant that a "wealthy" man could lose everything fairly quickly and that a poor man could build something for himself also fairly quickly. It was all about how you spent your money. Too many people just don't want to make any sacrifices. They want to be born into wealth the way Winston was. Yes, he was lucky in that respect and he didn't deny it, but that didn't change the fact that someone in his bloodline had to put in the work. His great-grandfather was born in a dirt-floored cabin in Kentucky and died in a mansion. He wasn't born into wealth. He worked three jobs, put himself through college, and built Copperfield Industries from the ground up. Not every rich person is born that way. Some actually earn their wealth. You can too…if you have the same fire in your belly.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was biased and blinded from growing up privileged. Who knew? Who cared? If he could give up his fortune in exchange for having the old Lindsey back, he would.
Maybe not all of it. But most. He didn't want to live in a cardboard box, but a trailer…that was a different story. Trailer parks, at least, seemed interesting. They were full of colorful characters and there was never a dull moment. It was also new. That was another thing that had been bothering him: He was burned out on his surroundings. Familiarity breeds contempt, they say, and he was certainly contemptuous of the familiar. The same office, the same apartment, the same car, day after soul crushing day.
God, listen to him, he was miserable.
And it all stemmed from Lindsey.
It might seem unfair to blame all of this on her, but she was the primary source of his unhappiness, and with that cloud hanging over his head, everything seemed dark and bleak.
He should break up with her. Once he did that, things might seem a little better. How could it not? She was the one who brought him so low and made him so dissatisfied. With her out of the way, he'd be able to enjoy things again.
Sigh, if only it was that easy.
But it wasn't.
Something had to give, though, and soon, because much of this, and he was going to lose his motherfucking mind. As long as he didn't hack her into tiny pieces or anything, maybe having a skull-exploding mental breakdown wouldn't be so bad. He could spend a few weeks or even a few glorious months resting in an asylum, far from Lindsey's grasp. None of the stresses of life would be allowed to intrude, not Lindsey, not his job, none of it. No ringing phones, no constant emails, no board meetings, paper work - just rest and relaxation in a quiet, padded room. They'd even give him a nice, comfy jacket that wrapped around him like a hug.
He could use some affection. God knows he didn't get any from Lindsey. She said "I love you" but it came off as perfunctory, one of those things you say because you have to. She didn't sneak up behind him and hug him the way she did when they were younger, she didn't kiss his cheek, didn't softly touch him in passing. She hardly ever wanted to have sex, and when she did, it was on her terms only, for her pleasure only. She wouldn't go down on him anymore, but demanded that he go down on her, and once she came, she laid there huffing and puffing exasperatedly and asking him when he was going to be done. The sex was cold, passionless, and withoth the love and tenderness that he remembered from his youth.
It really wasn't even worth having, if he was entirely honest with himself.
Sighing, Winston spun around in his swivel chair and gazed out over the sea of steel and glass sweeping away from the financial district. The Copperfield Industries building was one of the tallest in the city and commanded a panoramic view. Here, he could see it all, and if he focused on it long enough, it was like floating above it all, free as a cloud. That was a nice feeling, it also made him a little dizzy. He had no fear of heights…until he was looking down from a million feet up.
His phone buzzed on the desk, and his heart crashed into the pit of his stomach like a meteorite. He turned and bent slightly over to look at the screen, already knowing who it was and what they wanted.
What she wanted.
Picking up the phone, he drew a deep, fortifying breath and swiped his thumb across the screen. "Yeah?" he asked. His voice was cold and bland, subconsciously communicating the dissatisfaction that he dared not speak aloud.
"Where are you?" Lindsey snapped. Her voice was just as cold, and dripped with contempt too. Had she ever been as sweet and loving as he remembered? Or had he simply been seeing her through rose colored glasses? If she ever was, was it genuine, or was it only a pleasing facade meant to draw him in?
Was it his fault? Had he done something wrong? Had he driven her to stop loving him, to become a mean, nasty person? He wracked his brain not for the first time but could not see where he may have gone wrong. He loved and treated her well, he thought. He worshiped her and did whatever he could for her. He loved her. Why did she stop loving him?
"I'm still at the office," he said.
She let out a nasty sigh. "Are you going to stay there all night or are you coming home at some point?"
Winston rolled his eyes. "I'll be home soon."
"Good," she said.
The line clicked.
She was gone.
Putting the phone back into its cradle, Winston sat back in the chair, covered his face with his hands, and exhaled deeply. He'd better hurry. If he took too much longer, she'd be mad at him, and forfeiting the peace he got from a few extra hours in the office wasn't worth dealing with her shit.
He closed out of his computer, grabbed his briefcase, and left the building. In the parking lot, he slipped behind the wheel of his Lincoln and started the engine.
The drive from the city back into Royal Woods was too short for his liking, and with every mile that brought him closer to home, his stomach panged with dread. When he saw the first sign for his hometown ten miles out, a ripple of disgust went through him and he considered staying on the highway. He could go somewhere else, anywhere else, and forget all about the sad little life he was forced to live. Sooner or later, if he kept north, the rolling pine woods between here and the Arctic Circle would swallow him up and they would never find him. He could start a new life in the Canadian wilderness, or on the rainy, fog-shrouded shores of Vancouver. He could take everything out of his bank account and have enough to begin again.
Ha, even if he did that, there would be nowhere to hide. Not in this day and age. Two hundred years ago, a man could go somewhere else and start over, but not anymore. Your past is a millstone around your neck and there's no beginning again, not here, not there, not anywhere.
The exit for Royal Woods loomed ahead. Hills swept back from the highway, trees blocking the view on either side. The sun was rapidly setting and its amber light spread through the boughs of the pines like phantoms of lava. In the far distance, the moon sat high in the fading sky, unable or unwilling to wai for its rightful turn. He changed lanes and took the off ramp. The road curved around a low hill and then filtered out onto a stretch of blacktop. Royal Woods itself was off to the left, roughly three miles off. To the right was a subdivision, a golf course, and a series of mansions, estates, and horse farms. Winston turned right and started home.
If only something would -
Before that thought even had a chance to fully form itself in Winston's head, the car lost power and smoke began to pour out from the hood. His heart clutched and he navigated it to the soft gravel shoulder; it barely responded to the wheel and shudders raced through its sleek frame. A terrible grinding sound filled Winston's ears, and he couldn't help wincing as if in pain. As soon as the car was stopped, its rear end jutting out just enough that a speeding driver could slam into it if they weren't careful, the dash panel went dark and all power drained out of the car.
What the fuck?
He tried to start the engine, but nothing happened.
It didn't even sputter.
Throwing back his head, Winston let out a frustrated sigh. He was in no hurry to get home but that didn't mean he wanted his fucking car to break down. Mad now, he threw open the door and swung out into the late afternoon heat. White smoke slipped between the seams of the hood and hissed into the air like damned souls escaping the Pit. He leaned back into the car, popped the hood release, and went around to the front end. Smoke poured into his face, and he waved his hand to dispel it. Despite his most gallant efforts, some managed to find its way into his lungs, and he choked so hard that his eyes watered. He lifted the hoot and even more smoke belched out, hot and humid against his face. After the initial rush, it cleared, and he could see the car's guts laid bare before him.
He had no idea what he was looking at.
Growing up, Winston had learned about investments and stock options, not mechanics and other redneck shit. He was not nor had he ever been mechanically inclined and he didn't know a lugnut from a wingnut. The car's engine might as well have been written in Greek, and staring down at it, he realized just how helpless he was.
Great, he thought, just great.
Well, he'd done all he could do, time to call for back up.
Returning to the car, he sat behind the wheel, half in and half out, and grabbed his cellphone. He was just about to call for a towing company when a battered Ford pick up from the seventies - or maybe earlier - appeared going in the opposite direction. Winston gave a half-hearted wave, not expecting the driver to actually stop. Where he came from, no one ever went out of their way to help anyone else. They'd look, lock the doors, and then look away again like they didn't see you at all. It was to his surprise, then, that the truck pulled a U-turn, parked in front of the car, and stopped. Both the driver and passenger doors swung open and the two people inside got out. He was even more surprised by who they were.
Women.
More specifically, Lola and Lana Loud. Lana was dressed in a pair of grease stained denim overalls and Lola was wearing a frilly pink top and black yoga pants. Her hair was perfectly coiffed and Lana's was tucked up under a red baseball cap.
Winston blinked to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.
He wasn't.
There was a time, before his feelings for Lindsey were cemented, Winston strayed from the course his parents had set for him and dated Lola. She was just as pretty as Lindsey but, in hindsight, much, much sweeter. She had been stuck up as a little girl, but by the time she was a teenager, she was more humble and all around agreeable. He knew in a vague sort of way that their relationship would never work because they came from two different classes. Even if they could make it work between them, his parents would never allow it. His father would very likely disown and disinherit him.
Lana and Lola walked over and his and Lola's gazes met. Recognition flickered through her eyes and she smiled. "Winston?" She sounded surprised.
"Oh, that's who you are," Lana said, "I thought you looked familiar." She stood next to him and looked down at the exposed engine block. "I told Lola I would have kept going but you have a nice butt so I stopped." She laughed and Winston blushed a little. "What's going on here? Looks like this thing's 'bout to explode."
"I don't know," he said, recovering his composure. He rubbed the back of his neck and explained everything that had happened. Lana nodded to herself, then began to root around in the engine block like a surgeon going elbows deep into the gaping chest cavity of a trauma victim. "Lola, go grab my toolbox from the bed of the truck."
Lola rushed off, reminding Winston of a dutiful nurse, and Lana sighed. "These new cars are a bitch to work on sometimes. It's more computer than car. Luckily I'm good with computers too." She laughed. "How've you been? It's been a while since I've seen you."
"I've been okay," Winston said at length, "just living life."
"That's good. I own an auto shop in town, so you're real lucky I came along."
Winston had only dated Lola for a short time and had spent even less time around Lana. He honestly couldn't remember having a single conversation with her and had no prominent memories involving her, yet she was acting like they were old friends. Not that he minded, of course. It was nice that someone was happy to see him.
God knows Lindsey never was.
"Thank you," he said, "I was going to call Triple A and they take forever."
Lana took a battered red tool box from Lola and opened it. "Don't thank me yet. I don't know if I'll be able to do anything here. I might have to take it into the shop."
As it turned out (and so happened), Lana was right: She couldn't do anything with the tools she had on hand, so she had to hook the car up to her tow rig and take it into the shop. There was no back seat in the truck, so Winston squeezed in between Lana and Lola. Lana talked a mile a minute, and at first, Winston was annoyed. Gradually, however, he began to warm up to her. She was bubbly and personable, and Winston found himself liking that. Everyone he knew was so reserved and staid. It was like they had sticks up their asses and were too good to relax a little. His mind instantly flashed to Lindsey, who always seemed to have her nose - literally - in the air. He wondered how long it would be before her neck began to bother her from being in that awkward position all the time, and he chuckled to himself.
At the shop, Lana laid on a wheeled backboard and disappeared under the car. Winston leaned against the front end with his arms crossed and chatted with her about everything under the sun. He mentioned that Lindsey was waiting for him and Lana managed to tell from his tone that he was worried about something. "She's a real ballbreaker, huh?' she asked from beneath the car.
Winston hesitated to reply. Normally, he wouldn't admit such a thing, even under the pain of duress, but there was something about Lana that put him at ease. Before he knew what he was doing, he was telling Lana everything. By the time he was done, she had come out from under the car and was sitting with her back against the closed driver side door with her knees drawn to her chest. When he was done, she shook her head in sympathy and made a soft clucking noise with her tongue. "She sounds like a bundle of joy," Lana remarked. She leaned over, opened a mini fridge, and took out two bottles of Budweiser. "Beer?" she asked.
"I better not," Winston said. "If Lindsey smells alcohol on my breath…"
Lana arched her brow at him, and he withered underneath her scrutiny. "Really," she said, seeming to taste the word slowly, the way a woman might taste a strange new flavor that she didn't particularly like and couldn't fathom anyone else liking.
A warm blush of embarrassment spread across Winston's face and he flicked his eyes away from Lana's, unable to bear the look of pity he saw there. "You're really going to let her control you like that? Come on, I get not wanting to start some shit, but that's insane. Why even go on living?"
He could not answer that. Why indeed. With Lindsey, he had no freedom at all. He had, instead, the crushing dread of incurring her wrath. His fear of her - of her nasty looks, biting insults, and sighs of exasperation - colored and informed everything he did. Every choice, every decision, every determination was predicated on her and how she would react. Sometimes it was like she wasn't his girlfriend at all but his jailer, a cruel and stern parent who wanted to micromanage every aspect of his life. He sat there and took it, but he was ashamed, and he had never been more ashamed than he was right now.
On a whim, he snatched one of the beer bottles from Lana and twisted the cap off. Lana laughed and did the same thing. "There you go," she said. "Live a little."
Tipping the bottle back, Winston drank all of it. He didn't really like beer, but he found himself wanting to prove to Lana that he wasn't the henpecked wimp she no doubt thought him to be. Everyone thought that and he was tired of it. He was tired of letting Lindsey emasculate and humiliate him. She treated him like his name was Will Smith, but no more.
He and Lana finished off the whole six pack, and by the end of it, he was feeling fuzzy and spaced out. They laughed and joked, shared childhood memories, and swapped stories. None of Winston's were overly interesting, but Lana listened to them as though they were; Lindsey would have just rolled her eyes and told him to shut up in the snottiest tone she could muster. Even though he had really only known Lana for an hour, maybe a little more, Winston felt like tey had known each other forever. He couldn't say he enjoyed many of the same pastimes as her - such as watching football and working on cars - and he definitely didn't like getting his hands dirty the way she did, but he liked her a lot nonetheless.
This, he thought, was the kind of girl he should have wound up with. One who knew how to unclench her butt cheeks and be a fun and decent human being.
One who wasn't a total fucking bitch.
Despite her best efforts, Lana wasn't able to fix the car that night; she needed to order a special part and it wouldn't be in for a day or two. She placed the order online and then drove Winston home. When they reached his apartment building, Winston invited her inside so that he could pay her. "Nah, you don't owe me anything," Lana said. Then, on second thought, "Actually, just pay for the part. It's kind of expensive."
"Alright," he said, "come on."
They went through the main door and up the elevator. "Swanky," Lana said, sounding impressed. "How much is the rent in here?"
"We pay 2,500," he answered.
Lana whistled.
The apartment that Winston and Lindsey had shared for the past three years was at the end of a long, carpeted hall, past a lush potted plant. Winston fished out his eyes and unlocked the door, pushing it open.
He stopped.
It was dark.
Reaching out, he snapped the light on. "Lindsey?" he called.
The only reply was the echo of his own voice. "I guess she's not here," he said. He led Lana into the kitchen and then the living room, where she flopped onto the couch. He texted Lindsey asking where she was. A minute later, she responded. I got tired of waiting for you and went out with the girls. Don't wait up.
Should he feel offended? Because he didn't. He was glad she was gone.
He sat on the couch next to Lana and tossed his phone onto the coffee table. "Where's little miss thing?" she asked.
"Out," Winston said. "Thank God."
Lana chuckled. "Thank God for small favors, right?"
"Exactly," Winston said.
Lana cracked a joke about Lindsey and they both laughed. Their eyes met and suddenly, they were kissing, they tongue swirling hungrily around one another and their hands drunkenly pawing each other's bodies. Lana pushed him back onto the couch and straddled him, taking his face in her hands and kissing him deeply. Winston kissed her back and ran his hands over her chest.
They made their way into the bedroom, their lips stuck together and their hands undressing each other. Lana's body was toned and curvy, and her skin was soft and warm under his touch, They tumbled onto the bed and rolled clumsily around, kissing and touching. She mounted him, pressed one hand to his chest, and undid her bra with one hand. Her full, firm breasts fell free and Winston cupped them in his hands. She reached into his boxers, pulled his dick out, and started to stroke it. Winston arched his back and relished her touch, eyes closed and lips parted. When she sank onto him, a gasp escaped Winston's throat and his butt lifted off the bed. She was hot and tight and so wet that her fluids dribbled down his cock. She laid both hands on his chest and began to thrust. The headboard slapped the wall and the mattress creaked.
Lana wound up on her hands and knees in front of him, and he gripped her hips. He slammed into her and she threw her head back with a cry. She was like an oven and her body flushed with passion, making her hot and shaky.
It had been so long since he had been this excited, and he didn't last very long. He pulled out and released, his load splattering Lana's back. When they were done, they stretched out side by side, panting and sweating. "I can't believe we did that," he breathed.
"I know," Lana hummed, "it was great, huh?"
Yeah, Winston thought.
It was.
The next day, Langaton caught a ride with a friend into town. Lindsey had come home late and didn't speak to him, which was just as well; she was too busy being a bitch to notice his shame. He found Lana and Lola both in the shop, Lana elbows deep in the guts of a car and Lola sitting on a work bench in short shorts and a bikini top. It was blisteringly hot in the garage and sweat sprang to Winston's brow as soon as he walked in. Lola looked up at him and a sly grin crossed her said something to Lana and Lana looked up. She beamed and Winston didn;t know whether to feel good or bad about what had happened the night before. "Hey," she said.
"Hey," he replied, "I was just wondering if, uh, my car is ready."
"Sure is," she said, "I got the part in this morning."
"Great," Winston said, "how about I buy you guys lunch as a thank you?"
Was it just his imagination or did Lana and Lola exchange a knowing look?
They wound up going to an Italian place outside of town, where they had spaghetti and meatballs and drank fine wine straight from Scilily. Lana kept pouring him drink after drink, and he joked that she was trying to get him drunk. "Maybe," she purred.
She was.
They wound up back and Lola and Lana's apartment. He didn't plan on cheating again, and especially not with both Lana and Lola, but these things happen, you know. Lana and Lola knelt on either side of him, pushed his shirt up, and placed wet, hungry kisses up and down his naked chest. Lola unzipped his pants and rubbed him through his underwear while Lana kissed his lips. Lola took his cock out and they took turns kissing and sucking it. Winston pinned Lola to the bed and sank himself into her boiling core; they moaned in unison and their eyes rolled back into their heads. Their bodies moved together and Lola rested her legs on his shoulders in a V. He brushed his thumbs over her erect pink nipples and threaded his fingers through her silky blonde hair. He buried his face into the curve of her throat and kissed her pounding pulse, the taste of her skin salty on his lips. She moaned and puffed into his ear, and the urgent way her body presse needily to his made him weak.
Both girls knelt in front of him and he fucked them both, switching from one to the other. Lola thrust her butt into the air and he slammed into her pussy as hard as he could. "Yes, yes, yes," she purred, "faster." He eventually rolled her onto her back and finished in missionary. She started to shake and cum and he tried to pull out, but she clamped her legs around him.
Fuck it.
Gritting his teeth, he filled her womb with his seed, and they both moaned.
Afterwards, he lay between them, naked and winded. They each hooked a leg possessively over his and rested a hand on his chest. Winston stared up at the ceiling and tried to feel guilty for what he and the Loud twins had just done, but he couldn't. He didn't feel guilty at all. In fact, it was going home to Lindsey that made him feel guilty.
"That was even better than Lana said it would be," Lola said.
"It was pretty great," Lana agreed. "We should do it again sometime."
And they did. Three times that week, Winston stopped by Lana and Lola's place on his way home from work, staying until 8pm. Lindsey gave him hell when he got home, but it didn't bother him the way it used to. He couldn't quite put his finger on the reason why, but after a few days, it hit him.
He no longer loved her.
Not even a little.
She meant nothing more to him than anyone else. She was no longer the girl he idolized and wanted to be with. She was just another standard issue woman, worse, even, because many other standard issue women were at least nice. She wasn't. She was an asshole.
Naturally, once he came to the realization that he no longer loved or wanted her, he stopped trying to be affectionate, or even to talk to her. For a few days, they existed in the same space, close in relative terms but far apart where it mattered. After a while, however, Lindsey sensed the change. Now she went out of her way to talk to him, and even tried to initiate sex with him on several occasions. Each time, he coolly rebuffed her. At first she huffed and puffed with exasperation but didn't say anything, but then she started getting mad. One night she yelled at him, accused him of seeing someone else, and stormed out of their bedroom. She only came back later on to kick him out. "You're sleeping on the couch from now on," she said and crossed her arms smugly. Her expression challenged him to fight back.
Luckily for her, he didn't want to.
"Gladly," he said.
He spent most of the night texting with Lana and Lola. Lindsey texted from the bedroom but he ignored her, even when she asked him to "come here." Her annoying messages finally stopped popping up on his screen, and the sense of freedom that came over him was unlike anything he had ever known before. If it wasn't clear to him before, it was now.
His and Lindsey's relationship was over.
The next couple of days, Winston carried on seeing Lana and Lola after work. They met in secret, at the shop or at Lola and Lana's apartment, but they began to get more brazen. Winston was worried at first that someone he knew might see him, but that was unlikely, as all of his acquaintances stuck to the ritzier section of town. And if someone he knew did see him? Oh well. He didn't really care anymore.
It was Tuesday when they first noticed the man.
They were strolling through the park, Winston in between Lana and Lola and holding both girls' hands. Winston glanced over his shoulder and spotted someone hanging back on the trail, slowly following them. He wouldn't have thought anything of it if the man hadn't been dressed so…suspiciously. About six feet tall and broad at the shoulders, he wore a tan trench coat with the collar flipped up to hide his face, dark sunglasses, and a fedora. He held the coat closed at the throat, and Winston noted the stylish black leather gloves on his hands. He looked like a spy in an old movie, and Winston couldn't help wondering how those guys weren't immediately found out and arrested. They might as well be wearing a flashing neon sign with I'M A SPY, PLEASE ARREST ME on it. Who was he and what did he want?
Winston convinced himself the guy was a flasher and was waiting for the perfect opportunity to throw his coat open and shake his penis at someone. Then the next day, while he and Lana and Lola were at lunch, he saw the guy again. He was sitting at a table across the restaurant and pretending to read a newspaper. Or trying, since he kept looking over at Winston. Once, their eyes locked, and the man shook his head disapprovingly. "That man," Winston said to Lana, "he's been following us."
"Who?" Lana asked.
Winston pointed him out and Lana narrowed her eyes. "Hey, asshole," she called, "you got something to say?"
The man gpt up, tucked the newspaper under his arm, and walked indignantly out. "I wonder if Lindsey hired a private investigator," Winston said.
"Fuck her," Lola said.
"Yeah," Lana echoed, "and fuck him too."
They got the answer to their question two days later. Winston and Lana were fooling around in the garage and Lola was manning the cash register when the door was wrenched open from the outside and Lindsey Sweetwater stormed in. Her hands were fisted at her sides and her face was blood red. Lola could almost see jets of steam shooting from her ears. Lola knew exactly what this was about, had been expecting it to happen sooner or later. Putting on her biggest, nastiest smile, Lola said, "Hey, Lindsey. Long time no see. How's Winston?"
To Lola's surprise, Lindsey hauled off and slapped her across the face like this was the Oscars. "Keep my my name out ya fuckin' mouth," Lindsey said.
Lola's eyes flashed red.
"Keep my man's name out ya FUCKIN' MOUTH."
"I had a lot more of him in my mouth than just his name," Lola hiissed. With that, she leapt over the counter, snaatched Lindsey up by her hair, and started smacking her as hard as she could across the face and head. Lindsey tried to pull away but Lola held firm, pulling her hair as hard as she could. Lindsey swatted at Lola, landing a few weak, ineffectual slaps, then stomped on Lola's foot. That one hurt, and Lola got mad. She shoved Lindsey away and then hit her with a spinning kick that sent her flying into a bank of chairs in the waiting room. She went down like Putin's dreams of easily conquered Ukraine just as Lola and Winston came in. "What happened?" Winston asked, shocked.
"Nothing," Lola said and dusted her hands, "just taking out the trash."
Lindsey got dazedly to her feet and glared at Winston. "We are over," she said.
"About time you figured it out," Winston quipped.
He, Lola, and Lana laughed, and Lindsey, tearing up, ran out, screaming about how much she hated Winston Copperfield.
"That felt great," Winston said.
Lola and Lana cuddled up to him. "Know what'll feel even better?" Lola asked.
"What?"
"Our asses," Lana said.
Putting his arms around his girls, Winston led them into the back office where they had an anal three way.
THE END
