Free Poison Shy by Stacey Madden

fun.”
    â€œIs that why you wear that shirt?”
    â€œNo. I wear this shirt because it was a gift. From Viktor, actually.”
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œI went out with him once, a few months ago. It wasn’t a date like this. Just a one-time thing.” She stared into the arctic portrait. “Good times.”
    I didn’t say anything for a while. She went on at length about the people she’d been out with the past two years: a guitarist in a punk band, one of her TAs, a hockey player with three testicles, a married man from Toronto who’d drive out to Frayne every second weekend. Even a Goth chick from her art history class.
    â€œOne thing I learned: I do
not
like the taste of pussy.”
    As she went on and on, I took a look around at the bar’s dwindling clientele. Turnip Head and his Rastafarian princess were still hanging around, along with a table of political science nerds sporting buttons that read
Pesticides Kill
.
    I looked over at the bar, which had been empty only moments ago, and saw Darcy Sands sitting alone, staring at us, a sweating Molson in his hand.
    My knees bashed the underside of the table.
    â€œNervous twitch much?” Melanie said.
    I nodded toward the bar. “I think your friend’s here to see you.”
    She spun her head. “Hey homo! Quit staring.”
    Darcy stood up and staggered to our booth. “I’m surprised — you’re still here.” He thunked his beer on the table, missing my hand by inches. “Shouldn’t you be face deep in each other’s crotches by now?”
    â€œYou smell like ass,” Melanie said.
    He scratched his chin whiskers with dirt-blackened fingernails. “I’m taking you home, Mel.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause you’re not, that’s why.”
    Darcy swayed and almost fell over. “Fine, I get it. I get it. Tell me. Are you gonna let him fuck you in the ass?”
    I stood up. “All right, that’s enough.”
    â€œThat’s enough what?” He looked up into my face. His eyes were slits.
    â€œCan you mind your own business?”
    â€œListen, you twat.” He jerked forward and grabbed the collar of my shirt. Pulled something out of his pocket and pressed it against my throat.
    â€œDarcy!” Melanie yelled, like she was scolding him.
    I grabbed his wrist and dragged his hand away. There was a small penknife in his hand.
    He swung at me with the beer bottle in his other hand. It flew out of his grip and smashed against the wall.
    I was frozen with shock. The bar went quiet.
    â€œTake that bullshit outside, you hear me?” Lozowsky shouted.
    â€œIt’s Darcy,” Melanie said. “He’s being a dick.”
    â€œAll right d-bag, that’s enough.” Lozowsky marched out from behind the bar and charged at him.
    â€œI wasn’t — hey! I wasn’t doing . . . Let go of me, you tree-hugging warlock! I’m gonna sue your ass! Then what will you do, huh? Go back to drinking piss in some gutter in Warsaw?”
    Darcy continued to hurl insults as Lozowsky threw him out onto the street.
    â€œHoly shit,” I said. “What’s his problem?”
    Melanie shrugged. “He’s just drunk, that’s all. No big deal.”
    â€œHe pull that sort of thing all the time?”
    â€œI guess. So, you got any booze at your place?”
    â€œI think so. Why?”
    â€œBecause that’s where we’re going, dummy.”
    She adjusted her breasts and headed for the door. I followed her, admiring the trail of creases the vinyl seats had left on the backs of her thighs.
    We passed a lineup of taxis parked outside.
    â€œDo we need a cab?” Melanie asked.
    â€œWe can walk.”
    She stepped on a crack in the sidewalk and stumbled. I caught her wrist and kept her from falling.
    â€œDamn heels.” She plucked them off and continued walking in bare