Abigail Ayles

“Did your girl finally drag ‘erself home?”

Ayles let out a shrill, delighted squeal at the familiar voice and didn’t bother with the remaining boot, flinging herself towards the sound. Charlie met her in the doorway and wrapped his arms around her when she barreled into his chest. She squeezed the older man until he let out an exaggerated groan and then pulled back just far enough to kiss both of his cheeks soundly.

“Shit,” she whistled. “All this time I figured you must’ve crawled off into some dark alley and finally succumbed to yer advanced age.” There was nothing new about her teasing, but this time she felt a sharp little jolt of worry. The lines in his face were deeper than they’d ever been, and the last time she’d seen him, he had been spry enough to sweep her up into a bear hug and spin her around without her feet touching the floor. Ayles had been teasing him since she was six years old, but it occurred to the woman that for the first time, Charlie really did look old. They were all getting older. Three days ago, she had seen the first streak of gray in her hair, and Talbot seemed to slow down more and more every year. The thought left a funny, hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“You still got that mouth. Everytime I see you, I think, “Maybe she’s finally gone and grown outta that meanness, and every time, you go and break my heart.” Charlie caught her by the chin and gave her head a playful shake before letting her go again.

“Go on, sit.” She made shooing motions at both men. “I’m gonna git me a glass and then I’ll join you.”

She kicked off her remaining boot and grabbed herself a glass, then topped off everyone’s bourbon before she flung herself down on the couch and wedged herself in between two sets of broad shoulders. Talbot draped an arm around her and Ayles closed her eyes, head against her father’s chest. She turned her bourbon glass around and around in her hands as she listened to the men talk. She had heard their stories a hundred times before and none of the gossip was new, but both of the men were already comfortably buzzed and Talbot was in a better mood than she’d seen him in for weeks.

Two hours later, Charlie shoved her legs unceremoniously from his lap and hauled himself to his feet with a groan. “If we’re playing cards tomorrow, then I am well overdue for some sleep.”

“I’ll walk you home. Where you staying this time?” She glanced over her shoulder at her father, but Talbot just waved his hand at the both of them. Ayles knew without asking that it was his leg again; she’d accidentally jostled his thigh when she’d leaned into him to drape her legs across Charlie’s lap, and heard him inhale sharply, felt his fingers briefly tighten on her shoulder.

“With my youngest girl.”

Ayles grimaced as she yanked her boots back on. “How’s she doing? That was a real shame about Samuel. Bar fight, wasn’t it?”

“Disagreement started in the bar, but they didn’t start punchin’ each other until they got outside. He made it home that night and Lizzie dragged his ass to up to the clinic but he went and died anyway. Somethin’ about bleedin’ in the brain, she said.”

He held the door open for her and waved at Talbot before they stepped outside. “I think she’s holdin’ up. Wasn’t like Samuel was bringin’ in any money, so it wasn’t a loss there.”

“Still. Tell her if she needs anything, she’s more’n welcome to come to me.”

They walked together arm in arm, both of them quiet for several minutes. The night air was heavy and hot, and the wind blowing up from the canals smelled like sewage and salt. They passed a group of whores clustered together on the corner, and Ayles offered an exaggerated wolf whistle in exchange for several good-natured obscene gestures.

Charlie finally started the conversation up again, glancing sideways at her. “That leg is givin’ him a fair bit of trouble, ain't it?”

Ayles frowned in the darkness, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip. “Almost all the time,” she finally admitted. “Last time I took him in, the doctor was wanting to take off the rest of it off up to his hip. Da said that he'd let her cut it off if he got to shove it up her ass when she was done.” She grinned at Charlie’s guffaw and then sobered again.

“Can’t say that I blame him, though. They take off that much of his leg and he’s gonna have a hell of a time getting around.”

“Seems like he’s already havin’ a hell of a time. Why are they wantin’ to take more off?”

She withdrew his arm from his to gesture. “You know that pin that the leg attaches to? One that comes out of the stump? Was some mad goblin that did that for him. The metal is fused with the bone somehow, supposed to make it easier to with the fake leg. Only for some reason, his body don’t like it. Keeps causing infections, and they can’t get it out without taking the whole leg. So it’s either deal with the infections, or be a proper cripple.”

“That why you moved back in with him?”

“Mmhm.” Up ahead, she could see the peeling blue paint of Lizzie’s door, and slid her arm through Charlie’s again. “Wasn’t like I had anything else going on, though. Wasn’t any kinda sacrifice to live with him.”

“No?” Charlie tried to look angelic, but an old scar bisected his face and pulled his features askew; the expression looked demented instead. “I figured you’d have several ginger brats runnin’ around by now. Always pictured you as the marryin’ and motherin’ type.”

“Oh, hush.” She bumped him with her hip and he pretended to stumble back. “I meant what I said about Lizzie. You tell her her to let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

They stood in silence for a moment in the recess of the door, just watching each other. Ayles remembered very clearly the first time she’d crawled in Charlie’s bed, and turned the memory over in her mind, the same way she had toyed with her bourbon glass. There was an ache between her legs and she could tell by his expression that he was remembering something similar and wouldn’t turn her down if she followed him inside. Charlie reached out to tug at a loose strand of her hair and rubbed it idly between his thumbs.

In the end Ayles just kissed his cheek, and he responded by pressing his lips to her forehead. She figured that more than anything, it was the memory of wanting him that she felt - an old, comfortable habit that mimicked desire.

“You get some sleep,” she told him when she stepped away, shaking her finger at him. “When I murder your ass at the card table tomorrow, I don’t wanna hear that it was just because you were tired.” Her tone softened. “And honestly, you oughta come ‘round more. Redridge ain’t that far away.”

“Your daughter’s a crazy bitch,” he’d roared, holding a rag against his bleeding nose. He was humiliated but trying not to show it, particularly since the others were still jeering, and miming the way Ayles had cocked her fist back.

Talbot only shrugged, keeping his eyes on the cards he was dealing. “If she don’t want none, don’t give her none.”

It had been three years, and Dawson still hadn’t forgiven her for the slight. His obsession ran in waves; sometimes he’d follow her for weeks at a time, wedging his bulk in a doorway so that she was forced to squeeze past him while he whispered lewd threats in her ear. Sometimes she wouldn’t see him for months, when his attention shifted to chasing another piece of tail. It had been over three months since she’d seen him last, and she figured the whole thing now was nothing but sheer dumb luck on his part.

If it hadn’t been for the whore on his arm, she would’ve turned right back around and gone back out into the street, but with a pair of tits bobbing in his line of vision, she had been confident that he was suitably distracted. She cursed herself repeatedly now as he hauled her up the narrow stairs, his fingers digging into her arm so tightly that it had gone numb.

“Fuck you,” she hissed, “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna. Shut the fuck up about it, alright? Stuck-up ginger bitch. He’s been lettin’ you run wild when he should’ve done somethin’ about the mouth on you.”

He propelled her down the hallway towards the very last room, too drunk to feel the kicks she kept aiming at him. Once she had come close to catching him in the crotch, but he’d merely shoved her forward and then given her a good hard shake, like a terrier toying with a rat. Fury bubbled up in her stomach and turned to bile at the back of her throat.

It wasn’t the first time she’d fucked a man, and only the initial thrust was uncomfortable. She clawed at his face, but he caught both her wrists and squeezed them until the bones ground together. Ayles screamed and let out another stream of curses, but the pain was like a splash of cold water. It turned the rage in her belly to ice and left her with the ability to properly think.

It was over in minutes; a couple dozen thrusts and then he was stiff and groaning loudly in her ear. Ayles marveled at that - all that trouble for just two minutes of his time. She sincerely hoped it was the best goddamn two minutes of Dawson’s short, miserable life. Her mouth twitched and she bit at her bottom lip, but by the time he was climbing off of her, she was snickering.

“Crazy bitch. What the fuck is wrong with you?” He slapped her hard enough to twist her head to one side, but he looked unnerved and anxious, and it only made Ayles laugh harder. Dawson raised his hand in warning, but he was already scrambling back away from her and hastily yanking his trousers back over his hips.

“You should be goddamned grateful, you know that? Ugly bitch.” Her laughter followed him out of the room and down the hall.

That night, Talbot eyed her bruises with interest, but she didn’t offer any information and he didn’t ask.

****

“I heard somethin’ interestin’ t’day.”

“Yeah?” Ayles lowered the book she was reading and sat up, raising her brows at her father. “What kinda interestin’?”

“The guards pulled a body out of the canal last night.”

She snorted and returned her attention to the book. “Da, that happens near every day. Now I’m worried yer gettin’ soft in the head.”

“I ain’t finished with the story, you insufferable harpy. Light, when the gods wanted to curse men, they gave us women.”

Ayles hid her grin behind the book and listened to Talbot mutter savagely to himself as he limped across the room. She expected a comment about the book and was faintly surprised when one didn’t come; her father was mostly illiterate and fascinated by literature in the same way that many people were fascinated by large animals that could easily kill them.

“What I was sayin’ before you went and interrupted me, was that apparently it was Marcus Dawson that they fished out.” He stopped several feet away, and she could feel him looking at her. When she didn’t interject, the man shuffled over and sat next to her on the bed, groaning quietly as he rubbed at his prosthesis.

“Wasn’t just that, neither. Before they went and tossed ‘im in t’ the canal, someone had taken the trouble of removin’ his cock and his balls, and forcin’ ‘em in his mouth. There was a lively debate goin’ on about whether or not it was the bleeding that killed ‘im, or the drownin’.”

“Mm. He must’ve had it comin’, then. That’s what I figure.”

Talbot glanced sideways at her, but Ayles kept her eyes on the page. “Yeah,” he said finally, and then reached out to give her thigh a squeeze. “I figure he did have it coming.” He patted her thigh. “Good girl. Don’t ever take no shit.” The man stood up again and made his way over to the cupboard to start noisily foraging for food.

“Da?”

“Mm?” He swung around to face her, a half-empty bottle of whiskey already heading towards his mouth.

“Wasn’t the blood nor the drownin’ that killed ‘im. It was choking t’ death on his own cock that did it.”