Just the sound of her voice made him want to hit something. Lately, it seemed Wanda had only three ways of yapping -- loud, bitchy and irritating. When it came to pissing him off, Wanda was a multi-tasker.
"Jayyyy!! Get up here!" It had been one grade-A bitch of a day. Triple digit temperatures and a dying air conditioner at the office left him moist, stewed, and raw. Receiving his first paycheck reflecting garnished wages for the ex was the cherry on the fucking sundae.
He trudged up the stairs, cursing himself for trading jerking off to the playboy channel for shacking up with the built Harpy.
Wanda was standing in the bedroom doorway. Jay had a few seconds to appreciate her finer aspects, mainly a sweet ass framed in black and white polka dot panties, and a perky set of titties that defied gravity just fine. If she could just keep her mouth –
"JAY!! Get up here!"
"Jesus, Wanda --"
Wanda whirled around in surprise and he marveled at the effect she still had on him. Even when he wanted to kill her, he wanted to fuck her.
"Just kill it!"
"What are you talking--?"
She grabbed his hand and half pulled, half twirled him into the room, at the same time putting Jay between her and the bed. His foot caught on the door jamb and he stumbled the rest of the way. Being the proud owner of a recent ex with a decent lawyer, Jay's bedroom, like the rest of his life, was sparsely furnished. There was the queen bed directly in front of him, flanked by two IKEA end tables, and that was it.
Completely off balance, he had little choice but to let inertia carry him to the bed. He hit it, arms outstretched, the frame catching him just below the nut sack, thank Christ.
Just before arms and head met goose down, he saw it. Smack dab in the middle of the bed; a big, hairy, alien-looking spider. It had lots of brown hair, gray spots and legs, legs, legs. He let out a small yelp which was drowned out by a screeching Wanda.
Jay hit the bed, and the Spider flew into the air. He saw it pull its legs together, getting ready to tuck and roll, for Christ's sake. And then he thought he heard –
No, spiders don't scream.
It landed on his hand and, while spiders may not scream, sometimes a 230 pound divorcee with a thumper of a headache and a dwindling hard-on screams like a little girl.
He snatched his hand away like he'd leaned on a hot grill. The spider began its second flight of the night, this time landing at the beautifully pedicured feet of Harpy Wanda, who let out a scream that made her previous yelling sound like a lover's whisper. Jay would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy that one.
Wanda kicked at the bloated bag of legs and tried to back away at the same time, screaming the whole time. The spider, now air-borne for the third time that night, made a bee-line for Jay's chest. He jumped back in revulsion and smacked his head a good one against the window air-conditioner beside the head of the bed.
He woke up some time later. In fact, he jumped up, swatting at his chest and legs and -- well, not screaming; definitely not screaming. Satisfied he was spider-free, he took a few seconds to catch his breath. His head felt like someone had taken a hammer to it.
How can something so fucking big disappear so fucking fast? He asked himself, rubbing the back of his head and grateful to find no blood.
"Wanda?" Jay called out. Where the fuck did she go?
He swatted instinctively at his arms again, sure he felt soft, alien legs skittering across his skin.
He found Wanda when he went to look for a frying pan or a howitzer to take care of the spider. She was lying at the bottom of the stairs, her left leg twisted at a funky angle, eyes staring up at nothing. The spider was nestled between her breasts, which were no longer defying gravity.
Jay stood there, transfixed, for how long, he didn't know. But it was light out before he moved. He slowly made his way down the stairs, his eyes never leaving the spider and, he imagined, the spider's eyes never leaving him. To Jay, it looked like it had staked its claim and was willing to die defending it.
He nearly pissed himself when he had to jump over Wanda's body, expecting the thing to leap at his crotch. He'd call 911 and tell them -- tell them what? A Spider murdered his girlfriend? Well, never mind. He'd call 911.
The phone sat on the kitchen table. A fat, bloated wasp crawled back and forth over the receiver, its soft, alien buzz filling the room.