Skipping to the Good Part — Queen of Hunger Snippet
I’ve been wrestling with new blog posts for the last two weeks. That’s why there haven’t been any updates. I’m just so excited about QUEEN OF HUNGER coming out that I can’t seem to think of anything else to say but “WHEEE I’M EXCITED!!” which doesn’t make for very good blog posts or Twitter tweets or any of the rest of it. Everything I’ve written sounds preachy, or marketing-focused, or just plain empty because really, I just want to give you the book and send you out to sit in the sun and enjoy it. What’s there to say beyond this:
I love these characters. I love this world. I want you to enjoy them as much as I do.
Well, there is one thing — I can give you a taste of the characters and world so you can start to fall in love too. So I’m going to do that. All the blog blah blah be damned.
It isn’t a surprise, once you’ve met her, to find out that she’s always late. With Mona, there is always something else to see, some small mess to clear. But this had been a big mess, her relationship with T.W., one she’d stepped in full force and continued to have to scrape off the bottoms of her zapatos, smelling it at every step.
They’d broken it off and gotten it back together so many times…
This time, he’d said he wanted to do it right, had met her at a restaurant for the final exchange of goods and goodbyes. He said he wanted to avoid their pattern of a for-old-times-sake fuck that ended with him not actually taking whatever he’d come by for, ended with them making a date to see each other again.
That’s how they came to have their for-old-times-sake fuck in the bathroom of the restaurant. It was a metaphor for their relationship — hell, it was all their relationship was.
She tried to remember why they’d broken up — she couldn’t come up to his cube, he couldn’t afford the weekend pass, whether in money or favors or give a fuck was never clear. Either way, she knew the reality: he was from a Tower and she wasn’t and that was all there was.
She looked up from the bathroom sink into the mirror, saw his reflection in the polished metal as he worked his cock as best he could, making pornstar faces and grunting like he was getting paid.
She looked at herself, her dark brown bun tilted to one side, her make-up smudged with sloppy kisses. When was the last time they’d had sex face to face? The last time they’d been lovers?
He came. She felt the warm wet on the inside of her thigh.
On the white-washed wall someone had scrawled:
“There is more to life than is dream’d of in your phantasies.”
And she hoped it was true.
He was talking, something about her keeping his sweater and antique serving spoons, he’d come by for them next week.
She wiped up with her panties while he said he had to go, and had walked out before he could ask for a kiss.
Outside, she handed the mobi he asked her to carry to a junkie. T.W. had given it to her for emergencies, in case she needed to call him. There would be no need. There was more to life and she was late for work.