virginia-slim

Oh really, Donald? You b*tch! Let me ask you, are you shaking? You wanna go smoke a Virginia Slim until your hands stop moving. This isn’t that complicated, man. This is hurricane relief. These people need help. You just did this for white people twice! Do the same thing. Go tell Melania to put on her flood heels, get some bottle water, some food, pack up some extra Atlanta Falcons Super Bowl t-shirts and write them a check with our money, you cheap cracker!

By the great Michael Che

Vices

@wheres-mulder

Scully knows Mulder means well when he offers to stay the night but it pisses her off. She’s not a damsel in distress. Yes, she’d been kidnapped—for the second time—but she can take care of herself. Men like Donnie Pfaster are the reason she joined the FBI and she knows how to deal with them.

She’s still scared of them though and part of her wishes Mulder hadn’t listen to her. Maybe she’d actually sleep if he were here. His breathing is rather somniferous.

But Mulder’s not here and Scully is left to nurse the old wound Pfaster ripped open alone.

Pfaster brings back memories of Daniel Waterston, the married man who took advantage of her naive young self. Daniel may not have been a murder but he did take her innocence. He fucked her until she bled then left her on his wife’s bed in a sniveling heep. And she loved him for it.

It’s not fair to lump Mulder in the same group as these men but her brain does it subconsciously. He’s tall and threatening with an impulsive streak—a recipe for disaster. She knows she’ll never be the focus of his agressions but she still sees him snap. She watches him punch walls and throw things when he’s frustrated.

Scully tries to smoke away her thoughts. She takes out the pack of Virginia Slims she keeps hidden in the back of her underwear drawer and lights up with Ahab’s old Zippo. It may lead her to an early grave but Nicotine is her drug of choice. Nothing soothes her anxiety like the sweet perfume of a cigarette.

Death stick between her lips and pumps still strapped to her feet, she lies on her bed and takes a long drag. Her lungs fill with smoke. This moment of weakness steals eleven minutes of her life.

Her bedroom grows hazy and no matter how many showers she takes, she’ll still smell like smoke tomorrow. Mulder will be disappointed regardless so she lights a second cigarette. Then a third. Her life is shortened by a half hour.

Ahab’s oath, Non sibi sed patriae is engraved on the lighter. Scully runs a finger over the letters, thinking of her two paradoxal oaths. To do no harm and to support and defend the Constitution of the United States from all enemies, foreign and domestic.

Do men like Pfaster have oaths? Can a killer have a code of honor or are they too primitive to understand such things? Mulder would know. He has a talent for crawling into their minds.

She’s tempted to call him, to beg him to come over at the ungodly hour of three thirty-two in the morning. And without question, he would.

She doesn’t know what they are. Do two hand jobs constitute as a relationship? She’s worried it does. She doesn’t want Mulder to be her next Daniel. He deserves a passionate lover, one that does more than lie there mutely. One that doesn’t need pain to orgasm.

So the phone stays in its cradle and a fourth cigarette comes out of the box. Scully’s about to light it when, like kismet, the phone rings.

The answering machine picks up. “Hey, Scully, it’s me. I know you didn’t want to see me tonight but it’s technically morning now. I’m outside with doughnuts from that bakery on M street you like. I’ll wait five minutes and if you don’t answer, I’ll leave the doughnuts on your doormat. No hard feelings.”

“Fuck you, Mulder,” she growls but gets up anyway. She even has the decency to crack a window and brush her teeth before opening the door.“

“Four and a half minutes, you sure know how to keep the love of your life waiting.

Scully glares at him and he holds up the bag meekly. “I got you devil’s food.”

“Fine.”

If Mulder noticed she smells like cigarettes, he doesn’t say anything. He just walks to her kitchen table and takes out two doughnuts. Devil’s food for her and Boston cream for him.

The rich, fatty dough melts in Scully’s mouth and she suppresses a groan. Junk food is another one of her vices.

Mulder grins at her. “Taste good?” He asks.

“I’ve had better,” she says like she’s not shoving half the doughnut in her mouth. She swallows with some difficulty.

“So, what’s your ultimatum? Or do you make a habit of buying doughnuts at three in the morning?”

“No ultimatum. Just couldn’t sleep.”

Anger boils in the pit of Scully’s stomach. “I can take care of myself, Mulder.”

“I know but I still worry.;

“Because I’m a woman? Because some mad man might break into my house and rape me? I’m sorry Mulder but that happens every day to woman around the world and you can’t fucking change that.”

Mulder’s jaw tightens. “I know that, Scully. My own sister was taken from me but this has nothing to do with you being a woman.”

“Then what, Mulder?”

“I’m not that close to my parent so you’re the only family I really have left, Scully.”

She stares at him, trying to see any telltale hints of a lie. Daniel used pretty words too but Mulder seemed earnest, as much as anyone can seem with Boston cream on his lip.“

Scully wipes his lip with a napkin. “You can sleep on the couch but if you come anywhere near my bedroom, I will shoot you.”

“Sexy gun play, I like it G Woman.”

“I mean it, Mulder.”

“I mean it too,” he says and doesn’t have to say what.