Who wears black nail polish?

None of the others did. Maybe he'd met a drag queen named, Cortney Cocks once with ebony digits? Only he knows what happened after.

A foot flexes and like they all do, she struggles to get free. But I dig deeper into the thin pink skin, to penetrate and cause terror, horror—stained sheets.

"Stop. You know I hate it when you scratch my feet." Her giggle's like a pickaxe being dragged across a frozen lake.

Note to self: clip toenails.

Izzy enjoys it when I spoon into her from behind after sex. When we cuddle, it soothes her or some shit like that. More than half the time my libido takes over and I'm ready to go again.

The alarm chimes a third time.

"I'm late." Chills rush up my calves from the lofts iron floor. "Where are my goddam socks?"

She shrugs.

Under the bed, I find a pair of hers.

It's worse than wearing her thong. But my feet are cold. I hate it when my feet are cold. Black booty sox with hot pink vertical lines.

Great.

"You gonna come over later?"

One of her small breasts peeks out of the sheets like an enemy sub's periscope. She's cute ... too cute for my own good.

"Maybe if you win the lotto." I give her a closed smile.

"Chess, you know it's my day. Please come back."

Everyone calls me Chess. My mother called me Chester. No one else. No one else knows. If they did, I'd have to ... well.

Izzy crawls across the bed like a wildcat stalking her prey. She's after a goodbye kiss.

Shit.

Been like this for a while with the sex. Now a kiss before I leave? The process has started again. I would love to kiss her with all the passion of Valentino. Those types of feelings tear at me. They're wild beasts trapped deep inside—clawing—gnawing their way to the surface. I'm not sure if she's my Banky, but she's damn close.

My head throbs when I think about what comes with the kiss; the "I love you's'" and the "let's move in together's". Maybe I'll get flowers and a box of goddam chocolates—if I decide to come back. I oblige and kiss her on the forehead.

"What the fuck was that?"

"It is what it is." I raise my cool eyebrow. An explosion burned off the other.

"Oh, really?" She scrunches her nose and forehead. Then relaxes and smiles. "Kiss me." Her bottom lip juts out.

Fine. I appease her with a long throaty kiss.

"S ... so, you'll stay?"

"Nope. Got business to attend to."

She sits with her back against our leather headboard and combs her fingers through her sweat-drenched, short jet-black hair. Her face sparkles with beautiful jewels. Her legs spread. "Come back to bed." She's still pouting, only with different lips.

"Can't. Gotta go." No time for this shit. "Stay just like that. Maybe I'll come back?"

"Great. You have no idea what today is."

I'm ignoring her on purpose. Izzy's a working girl. Nah ... not a ten-credit whore you'd find on any street corner. She's a nominator for the local fights, dresses up real hot, and walks through the crowds of challengers. When her lips land on one—he fights. I'm still unbeaten. Instead of cracking the skull of anyone's lips who touch her, I have other business tonight.

"When you gonna tell me what this job is you run off to every month? You fucking another woman?"

"Jesus, Izzy. You gonna start this again? No. It's not another woman."

I'm not lying to her. I got no reason. Plus, I don't believe in it. There are no various forms of lies. There's a lie and there's a truth. Never half-truths. No half-reality and no such thing as a white lie. Clear lies are all that exist. Not another woman, other women ... plural. It's no lie.

"Whatever." Even though her eyes aren't in the back of her head, she wants them there. It's her silent eye-roll. Only she knows I'll crack her a good one if she rolls them.

I stuff my keys into my cargo pocket, slip on my boots, and accidentally slam the door when I leave. Izzy won't be happy. I'm sure I'll get an earful later.

Damn. Do I care?

This is when the relationships turn to shit. In my experience, they all end this way. Take, Eden, for instance. We'd dated for nearly a year. I loved everything about her. The love of my life, or so I thought. Turned out I didn't wear the right kind of shoes; not shit-kicker enough. I'd caught her at the fights playing rodeo with a cow-boy named Jarhead. Never caught his real name. Didn't care then, don't give a rat's ass now.

She'll be there today ... waiting.

They all are.

It's Izzy's birthday and our anniversary. Not me and Iz. Me and the others. Fuck-nut of a coincidence.

Cool wind jets over my bare scalp. Damn Marines took my hair and never gave it back. OO-RAH. A jagged scar runs through my goatee, almost splits it in half. The two sides have twisted together naturally about two inches from my chin. Iz hates it any longer. Otherwise, my face really doesn't grow hair.

There's another sixteen miles to the end of town. Better blow it or I could run into trouble. Nos is one of my best friends. My body sinks into the bucket seat when I press the button. The speedometer goes from 60 to 150 in about a minute. To be perfectly honest, she's the only one who never hurt me.

"You're a good girl." I pat the empty seat of my cherry-red T-Bucket.

Out of them all, I miss Brelan the most. The crystal blue in her eyes has always chilled me to the core. She'd been my first. A virgin whose non-denominational Christian upbringing kept me at bay for quite a while. Can you believe it? I tell her I love her, she gives it up and the next day breaks up with me. All because she felt bad about having premarital sex and I'd "coerced" her into it. I'll discuss this with her when I get there.

Eden, Teresa, Misty, Chelsea, and Evelyn will be there too. Each of them holds a special place in my heart. The same one they systematically ripped out of my chest, spat on, and stuffed up my ass. I'm getting closer now and the anticipation of seeing them all again hits hard. Shouldn't scare the hell out of me but it does. Who the fuck came up with, "confrontation is good therapy?" Let me know so I can shove my foot up their crack.

I've carefully planned our reunion. Each relationship is special and I want them all together. Someplace we can meet, get the closure I deserve. And I've picked the perfect day, our anniversaries.

There's a roadblock ahead. It's Militant. They're probably looking for Tweakers. I could drive around them.

"Shit." I slow to a crawl and stop behind the line of cars. Engine killers line their pe-rimeter.

Guess I'm talking or paying my way out of this one.

Two cars to go.

The horizon light's up. Tweakers exit the vehicle and scatter. The guard pulls his Elecrohand off the hood. No doubt he lost the real one in the wars. I could help and stop one of the runners. It might even get me through without a scan. One of them wearing old torn up jean shorts, with shaggy blond hair and beard tangled up with his chest hairs, strides alongside my car. He's watching behind him, not in front. Barely a tickle when his throat crashes into my eighteen-inch bicep. Goddam tweaker does a complete loop around my arm and lands face first on the pavement.

"Oi. Good save, mate." A young Militant grasps the Tweaker by his hair and drags him off. They line the group up.

I plug my ears for what comes next. Cracks of gunfire and the tweaker's fall dead. Drugs and alcohol have been illegal since my ass was in diapers. Zero tolerance. Shoot Tweakers on sight.

My turn.

Elecrohand comes to the front of my car.

"What's your business on the outskirts?" His face is covered with skin tight armor. Men wear black, women ... black or green. It depends if they're an officer or not. Their uniforms are made of Nicron and P4. Only Nicron enhanced bullets can pene-trate them.

"Oi!" the Militant I helped calls out.

Elecrohand turns toward him.

"He's good, Captain. Got one of them for us. Check out his pants."

Shit. He's an officer.

"Old school, eh?" He's looking me over.

"Yes, sir." Gotta stick with the niceties.

Can't see his eyes through his black sunglasses. He's scanning the car. Luckily my utility box is scan proof.

"Head out. Be careful. The outskirts are teaming with Tweakers."

"Yes, sir."

Bright green light blasts into the air from his fist. One of the Jeeps in the road pulls back. I nod to the helpful private who's pouring incinerate fluid on the bodies. The more than gracious soldier salutes back as the Tweakers burst into flame.

It's hotter than any hell imaginable in the outskirts. Not sun hot, earth hot. Earth's core hit terminal size in the 24th century. Mankind moved north and built their new cities on top of a mineral mined from Kerberos. It's the fourth moon around the dwarf planet, Pluto. The assmunch who found the source called it P4.

Why am I out here? Because they're waiting for me and I need ... no ... I demand closure.