Carly hit the "info" button on her remote, to scan the Friday night cable schedule. Her boyfriend was working tonight, and wouldn't be home until at least 3:00am. She had the whole night to herself, and she was going to make the most of it. On the kitchen counter, she had a bottle of tequila, just begging to be opened. She poured a double shot into a short glass, took a sip, and closed her eyes as the warm liquid slipped over her tongue and down her throat. "Now all I need is a good movie," she thought. She had just slipped under her fluffy blanket, when the phone rang. With her drink in her left hand, Carly reached for the phone with her right.
"Hello?"
"Guess who
this
is," the caller said, teasingly.
Even after all these years, Carly still recognized his voice. It was Mark. She almost dropped her drink.
Carly met Mark about thirteen years ago. It never was much of a love story; it was mostly about sex. She had just started a new job and Mark was her boss. He flirted mercilessly, and Carly was really turned on by him, but she was seriously involved with someone, and couldn't stand the thought of cheating. Her sex life with her boyfriend Derek wasn't much to speak of, but that was mostly her fault, she thought. Carly just wasn't turned on by sweet, romantic sex, and that's what Derek was all about. He was a great guy and really cared for her, and she for him. But for the first time in her life, her sexual desires overpowered her conscience, and she cheated with Mark once. She was so guilt-ridden afterward, that she felt physically ill for days, and told Mark that they couldn't do it again. But Derek found out, and their relationship ended terribly and immediately. Mark offered his place, and rather than move home to her parents house, she moved in with him.
The sexual chemistry with Mark was just amazing. Carly was the sexually timid girl who had darker fantasies, and Mark was the over-confident lothario, who was more than willing to help her explore those fantasies. For her, the sex was like nothing she'd ever had before. She was pretty sure that she had always had rape fantasies, and Mark just loved to fulfill them for her. He was like her missing puzzle piece. He just seemed to know what she wanted. She would struggle and he would hold her down and just
take
her. He talked dirty at all the right moments. It was unbelievable.
But the sex was the only thing that
was
working. They didn't love each other. Sometimes, she downright
hated
him. Mark was a racist, and that turned her stomach. He was immature, and would laugh at jokes that until then, Carly thought only 12-year-old boys could truly appreciate. After about six months, he started cheating on her with at least a few different girls. He was quite the practiced liar, and when she became suspicious, he was a master at making her feel like both she and her questions were crazy. She doesn't know why she stayed; it made her feel pathetic and miserable. Finally, after about a year, she got smart and got the hell out of there. At least she had learned from it. No one would ever get the chance to treat her badly a second time. "One strike, and you're out," she decided. She would make sure that she never felt that bad about herself again.
Three years after she left, Mark sent her a letter. Carly had recently moved, and the letter had been forwarded from her old address. The letter's content was shocking. Mark was in prison. He had robbed a convenience store with an un-loaded gun, and he was just sentenced to eight years. Carly was stunned. The guy that she knew would never have committed armed robbery. She'd never known
anyone
who would commit armed robbery, she told herself. What the hell happened to him? She answered his letter, expressing her shock at the news. That was the extent of their correspondence.
Seven long years later, Mark got Carly's phone number from an old friend, and called her. He was exactly the same, and even though it must be difficult to be smug when you're calling from
prison,
he managed it
.
During what was an otherwise friendly call, he asked her if she was the one who had helped to put him out of business. Carly had no idea what he was talking about.
Turns out, shortly after she packed up and left, someone had printed flyers exposing the fact that Mark's business was racist and posted them all over the local college campus. The college was his bread and butter, and this sabotage had cost him so much business, that he had to pack it in. While she didn't shed any tears for him, Carly did let him know that she had nothing to do with it, and hadn't been in the area since she moved home, 150 miles away. He said he believed her and changed the subject. He asked about her life, and Carly told him that she had been in a serious relationship for the last two years. Right before they hung up, he informed her that he only had a year of his sentence to go. That was the last time she heard from Mark. It was about two years ago.
But here he was on the phone. And as unexpected as this call was, his next words were a thousand times more unexpected.
"I'm downstairs in the parking lot."
Carly's mind was racing. Was he joking? How did he know where she lived? It turns out, he had kept the envelope from the one letter that she sent to him in prison, and it had her address on it.
"Which building is your apartment in?" He sounded so pleased with himself.
Carly thought for a quick second, and said, "I'll come down." No way was she letting him in her apartment. He was an ex-con, for Christ's sake! She didn't even know him anymore. Who knows what eight years of hard time might do to someone? That scared her.
Quickly peeling off her pajama bottoms and tank, Carly put on her running pants and sneakers. She slipped on a racer-back bra and pulled a tee shirt over her head. She stopped at the mirror, to assess whether or not the last 12 years had changed her much. Her auburn hair was at least 4 inches longer than the last time Mark had seen it. Her body was in great shape, thanks to the gym that opened across the street. Even without makeup, she looked good. Good enough to say "hello" to someone in a dark parking lot, anyway. She closed the door behind her and headed down the stairs.
There he was; Mark; and he
did
look 12 years older. "Good," Carly thought to herself, although, she did have to admit that he looked more muscular. "He must have started working out in prison," she surmised. He had a shit-eating grin on his face, if she ever saw one. They hugged, and he asked, "Is your boyfriend home?"
She should have said "yes." Why didn't she just lie? Instead, she said, "No, he's at work. And I don't feel right about having you in my apartment while he's at work."
Mark put on his saddest face. He leaned against his SUV, jingled his keys and said, "Will you go for a ride with me?"
"What? No."
He looked hurt. "Boy, you really don't trust me! What is
that
about? Did I ever hurt you, or threaten you in any way? I just wanna talk. And standing in the middle of a parking lot seems stupid to me. What do you think I'm gonna do?"
And suddenly, Carly felt ridiculous. What
