The Freezing Point of Pain

George Mitchell lay on his back, his large feet hanging off the edge of the worn couch. His skin was coated with reds and blues from the TV that hung above the lit fireplace. The sound was off and the images on the screen carried on without his attention.

George was bored. He thought of going to bed but he lacked the energy to move. He surveyed the living room, the dim light of the TV giving him little help. The Christmas tree in the corner remained unplugged and as lifeless as the string of lights he had placed around the apartment.

Each Christmas George took the time to decorate without intending to enjoy the fruits of his labor. Like monuments in a cemetery, the trimmings and ornamentations were reminders of what was lost. To bring them to life would be fraudulent in his eyes.

His underwear pinched, due to the growing size of his belly. His overeating was a ritual he practiced with great zeal every winter like a bear needing to compile an abundance of food to hibernate through the cold weather.

The heat was turned up high and he looked like a glazed side of beef. His hairy belly fell over his boxers, and when he turned to his side the shifting of weight almost rolled him to the floor.

With sweaty hands he reached into his briefs and pulled his cock free. He was hard but not horny, a distinction that he was painfully aware of. To be horny would be to feel something and George had spent too many years retreating from his emotions. He began to masturbate simply because he could.

His hand slid easily on his cock and he pumped up and down in a habitual manner, free of desire or passion. He came quickly, holding his thumb over the tip to avoid any fluid escaping. He squeezed until his spasms stopped then sat up and stared at the TV, cock in hand.

George tried to make sense of the movie that had been playing. His thumb slipped off his shrinking dick and he went to the bathroom and let his cum spill into the toilet. He wiped himself off with toilet paper and then flushed it away. After he made sure the bowl had emptied and refilled he washed his hands and returned to the living room.

He turned off the TV and got in bed. Curled up beneath the heavy maroon and gold comforter, he peeked at the clock on his bedside table. It was 3:34 a.m. George turned onto his back and folded his chafed hands. He had forgotten to buy hand lotion again.

George placed them on his chest like a corpse in a coffin. The only thing missing was a white lily planted firmly between his fingers. Before he fell asleep he thought of what it would be like to never wake up again.

_______________________________________

"Morning George."

Ella greeted him from behind the refrigerated counter. Her ruddy complexion resembled a cherry on top of the pastries and cakes that filled the shelves below her.

"Morning Ella."

George dropped his coat at his usual table in the back corner beneath the speaker that was playing Errol Garner's "It Ain't Necessarily So".

He lumbered over to the counter, his body sluggish from the lack of sleep. His blueberry scone was already waiting for him and Ella was making his cappuccino.

"New book?" He picked up the paperback next to the register. "Les Miserables." He said aloud.

Café Noir had been his morning ritual for the past eight months and Ella always had a book in hand. "It keeps my mind sharp, and at my age I can use all the help I can get." She had told him.

"Finished the other one last night." Her wrinkled hands set his coffee down, spilling some into the saucer.

"How is it?" He handed her his debit card.

"Well." She laughed as she rang up his order. "It's not the movie, it's long, and the language is tricky."

"Too bad."

"Nah. I like a good challenge." She handed him his card back.

"Thanks, El. Enjoy."

"Alright, sweetie."

Back at his table he sipped his coffee and scanned the pages of The Philadelphia Inquirer someone had left. He flipped through each section stopping to read an article in the local section. A woman and her two children had died in a fatal collision.

'Witnesses said the woman lost control of her vehicle due to icy conditions. The vehicle skidded across three lanes of traffic before hitting a concrete barrier where it flipped over and rolled down an embankment.

By the time emergency responders had arrived the woman, 43, and her two boys, 7 and 5 were declared dead on the scene.'

George carefully tore the story out and folded it into his coat pocket. When he looked up there was a woman standing by his table. Her face was hidden by an oversized green knit cap and trailing red scarf.

"George?"

That voice. It couldn't be.

"George Mitchell?"

His stomach turned sour as she unraveled her scarf. Her brown hair was shorter than he remembered and the intensity of her blue eyes had faded to an almost greyish hue. But the deep scar that ran like a trench down the left side of her face had remained the same. It was a face he had tried to forget for the last eleven years.

"Dana." He choked on her name.

"Oh my god. I was walking by and I saw you through the window and I thought no fucking way." Her words came rushing out like a cloudburst. "I actually debated whether I should come in, but I was standing there freezing my ass off and I thought I should go in already before I died of hypothermia."

She caught her breath and when George didn't reply she hugged him.

"It's so good to see you." She whispered.

He reluctantly embraced her.

"How are you?" Her smile caused the scar to twist cruelly giving the impression that the left side of her face didn't fit the right.

"I'm OK."

She brushed the hair from her face giving a clear view of her disfigurement. He noticed that people seated around them were staring and he shifted in his seat.

"That's great." She sat down and put her hand on his.

George pulled his hand away as if he were touching fire.

"I've got to go Dana."

"George. Please don't go. You haven't touched your food."

"I'm sorry."

"Listen. Why don't I get something to drink and I'll be right back." She didn't wait for an answer and left the table.

George stared at her empty chair and felt like he was being watched. He realized that the volume of conversation had dropped and customers were alternately gawking at him and Dana.

'Dammit, I should just get up and go', he thought."

She returned with her drink and pulled her chair closer to him.

"So what have you been up to?" Her lips twisted into a smile.

"Why are you here, Dana?"

The smile disappeared and her eyes became lost in her coffee.

"George. I haven't seen you in over ten years. I just want to talk to you. Don't you think it's time?"

"There's nothing to talk about." His voice was hard and hurtful. He put on his coat and carried his plates to the counter.

"Leaving already, George?" Ella didn't look up from her book but George knew she had been watching like everyone else.

"Yeah."

"So tell me. How do you know your friend?" She whispered conspiratorially.

George looked at Dana who stood up expecting him to return.

"I killed her boyfriend."

He left without another word.

_______________________________________

When he returned home he went straight into his bedroom closet and lifted out a tattered box filled with old photos and a scrapbook. He set it on the bed and opened the scrapbook. Beneath the clear plastic sheets were newspaper clippings of car accidents. They happened in different parts of the country but they shared the same results; no survivors. He took the new clipping out of his coat pocket and placed in on a blank page.

He closed the book and rifled through the box. He couldn't find what he was looking for so he dumped the box over, sliding photos over one another, tossing others off the bed. He picked up a photo of three young men and a young woman posing by a pool, their arms around one another.

He went to the kitchen and turned on the stove. The burner hissed and a hungry blue flame came to life. He set the corner of the photo on fire and watched the four smiling faces dissolve into smoke and black ash. He wiped a tear from his cheek and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

George spent the rest of the day at home drinking in front of the TV. He cranked up the heat, pulled his underwear down to his ankles, and sat with his cock in his hand. When he left the couch bleary eyed and slightly drunk he prayed he wouldn't dream tonight. He prayed every night but his prayers were always ignored.

George never remembered his dreams. Upon waking, the images of his subconscious dissolved like snowflakes in the morning sun leaving behind feelings of shame and guilt. That was enough.

Sunday morning he woke soaked in sweat and convinced his face was covered in blood. His arms ached as he cautiously swept his hands across his forehead bringing them away clean. He sighed with relief, followed immediately by regret.

After he showered he walked to Café Noir like he did every weekend.

He stomped his feet outside the café, shaking off the snow that clung to his boots, and saw Ella deep inside her book.

"Morning, El." He looked over his shoulder and saw the trail of wet footprints behind him. "Sorry."

She looked at the tracks. "Nothing everyone else hasn't done. Can't be avoided anyway."

She made him his usual and rang up his card. When she handed it back to him she said, "Um...you have a visitor." She motioned to the table near the bathrooms.

Dana sat with her back to the window, her hands warming on her coffee cup, her legs crossed and bouncing.

"Fuck." George whispered to himself.

"You know. Even with that unfortunate scar she's still a pretty girl. Don't you think?"

George ambled over without answering her, his coffee spilling onto his plate. Dana's face pinched and twisted into a difficult smile as he approached. He set his things down and placed his hands palm down on the table.

"Let's get this over with. What do you want?"

Dana swallowed. "Not even a good morning?" She tried to open with small talk but George was having none of it.

"Or I can just go now."

"Alright." She waited a moment. Her hand reached out to his then retreated immediately. "First, thank you for talking me."

George took a sip of his drink, his attention outside on the sidewalk.

"I'm really glad to see you again. I can't tell how many times I've thought about you."

"I'll just bet you have." He scoffed.

Her smile disappeared. "No, George. It's not like that."

"No?" He smiled.

"No." Her voice became strident.

"Oh, bullshit."

"Goddammit, George. I haven't seen you in forever and you act like you know everything."

"I know your parents blamed me for the accident. I know Gary's parents blamed me too."

Dana bowed her head. "I know it was hard but you've got to understand. They lost one son and another was in a coma. They didn't know what to do with themselves. It was wrong to blame you."

"But it was OK for you to blame me?"

Dana looked up now, her eyes glistening.

"That's right, I know. My dad called me after I left. He said he went to the hospital to visit you. He worried about my friend. Do you remember what happened?" His voice remained calm as if he was relating a story he had overheard.

"He said when he got there you were in bad shape, all bruised and bandaged. But you were awake. You told him it should've been me that died instead of Gary. Do you remember? You told him to never come back and I should stay away because I had no friends to come back to."

"Please understand. Gary was dead." Her tears fell but she didn't wipe them.

"I don't need to be reminded of my sins. I live with them every day."

"Jesus. Can you stop your self-pitying for just one minute?"

"Why should I? I'm the one that should have died remember?"

"I've had a lot of time to think about that night. That's why I wanted to talk to you."

"Listen, whatever you have to say isn't going to bring Gary or Richard back."

"But..."

"Fuck this." He shoved his coffee cup off the table, the broken pieces scattering across the floor. "Fuck you for coming here and fuck you for taking away my favorite place to come in the morning. Now I can't come here because I have to worry about you waiting to pounce on me."

George kicked back his chair and stumbled, catching himself before he joined the mess on the floor.

"Sorry, Ella." He called out and then left the shop.

Dana sat still for a moment ignoring the stares and whispered comments directed her way. With a deep sigh she got down on the floor and began collecting the broken pieces.

Ella came around the counter with a broom and dustpan.

"Just leave it, hon. I got it."

"I'm sorry about all that." She said softly.

Everyone's attention was on the two women.

"What are you all staring at? Go back to your business." With a wave of her chubby arm, Ella made them obey and turn away.

"Come here, sweetie." Ella took Dana's arm and helped her up. She took her to the counter and pulled out her order pad.

"I don't know what all is going on and it's none of my business. But George is a good person as well as a good customer. Person comes in here long enough you get a feel for who they are. He's carrying around some bad stuff in his heart and if you can do anything to help him I think you should find him and do just that."

"I don't think he'll be coming back here for a while."

"I probably shouldn't do this but..." Ella wrote on the pad then tore the paper off and handed it to Dana.

"Here's his address. He's probably gonna hate me for this but I guess I'll take that risk."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'd give him a chance to cool down first. Go on now."

"Thank you." Dana smiled again.

Ella gave her a hug and watched her collect her coat and leave.

"Yup, still a pretty girl." Ella said to herself.

_______________________________________

George stomped down the sidewalk, his boots crunching the icy snow covered pavement. He got in his car and drove north along the Delaware River.

The trees were covered in snow and icicles and the stark frozen surface of the river was broken by the ice floes that dragged themselves downriver. There was an eerie beauty to the landscape that George used to admire but now he could only see how lifeless it looked.

On Frankford Avenue George slowed the car and lowered the passenger side window. He tapped the horn and a petite woman with dark hair and fair skin stepped off the sidewalk and approached the car. Her long down coat was open, exposing a short plaid skirt and knee high boots.

"Hey baby. Whatcha doin'?" She flashed a smile and squeezed her breasts. "Sure is cold out here. You wanta invite me in your warm car?"

George unlocked the door and said, "Get in."

She slid into the car, her skirt riding up her thighs.

"Nice car." She ran her red painted nails up and down his arm. "Whatcha got in mind?"

"How much for a blowjob?"

"Twenty bucks. But for another ten you can play with my pussy." She lifted the skirt of her short dress and revealed she wasn't wearing panties.

"No thanks." He said flatly.

"You don't need to be rude, honey." She tossed the edge of her skirt down and sat back in her seat. "Where you wanna do this?"

"I know a place but we have to make another stop first."

"Let's get going then. I've got a business to run." She huffed.

George drove on. The sun threatened to appear through the ashen clouds but despite its best efforts it was lost by the time George pulled to the curb near the subway station.

Again he tapped the horn calling an army jacketed young man to the window. The young man shivered and rubbed his hands together. His tennis shoes were soaked and his faded jeans didn't look any drier.

"How much for a blowjob?"

"What the fuck are you doing?" the woman asked.

"You want me to blow you while your lady watches? Fifteen dollars." He pulled on the handle of the back seat. George unlocked it and he got in.

George took out his wallet and pulled out two twenty dollar bills.

"I want you to blow him while I watch. There's a twenty for each of you." He held them out and the man reached up and grabbed one.

"Works for me." He sat back, the car heater taking his shivers away.

The woman laughed. "Are you serious?"

"How about it?"

She looked confused.

"If you don't want it I'll find someone else who does."

She grabbed the twenty from his hand and stuffed it in her purse.

"Whatever." She laughed.

They pulled away driving slowly through the icy streets. George kept a steady pace slowing down as he passed North Cedar Hills Cemetery.

"I'm not sucking off anybody in a cemetery." The woman pulled her coat tight around her.

"I didn't ask you to." George passed the cemetery and pulled into a parking garage around the next corner. He drove to the bottom level and pulled into a space beneath grimy air ducts that ran along the walls.

He put the car in park and unfastened his seatbelt. There were no other cars around.

"Well, would you like to get in the back?" He said to the woman.

The man in the backseat already had his cock out and was lying on his back. The woman got out and joined him, setting her purse on the floor.

"Wait a minute." George took out his cock and stroked himself until he was hard. "Go ahead."

The woman lowered her mouth and swallowed the man's cock. Her mouth worked up and down moving fast, her hand pumping him even faster.

"Slow down. We're not in a rush." George said.

She slowed down, her mouth moving down his shaft. She sucked on the head. Her mouth made slurping sounds. She looked bored.

"How is it?" George's hand was tight around his cock.

"What?" The man didn't take his eyes off the woman.

"How does it feel?"

"Are you serious?"

"Listen, I'm paying for this so tell me how it fucking feels."

"Jesus, man. It feels like she's sucking my dick."

"What the fuck do you want him to say?" The woman mumbled, his cock in her mouth.

"Alright. Stop. Stop." George closed his eyes a moment and sighed. He took two more twenties out of his wallet.

"Here's what I want. I want you both to act like you're enjoying what you're doing. I don't care if you're not. I just want you to act that way. You both get another twenty if you make me believe it." George tossed the money in the back seat. They both grabbed their share and stuffed it in their pockets.

"Try it again. And your name is Gary and yours is Dana."

The woman lowered her head back down and took the man's dick and rubbed it across her face. She placed her mouth slowly over his cock and moaned as it disappeared between her lips. The man sighed. "Oh, Dana. That feels so good."

Her hands pushed his shirt up and she caressed his chest as she kept sucking.

"Mmmm. You taste so good, Gary." She licked his dick and sucked on his balls while she pumped his cock, savoring the flavor of him.

"That's more like it." George returned to his cock. "Take his pants off."

The man raised himself and she pulled his pants down.

Her tongue flicked across the head of his cock. "I love your cock, Gary. It's so big I can barely put it in my mouth."

"I love fucking your mouth, Dana. So hot." He moaned as she swallowed him again.

George took two more twenties out. "I want you to fuck her." The twenties flew toward them.

The woman reached in her purse and took out a bottle of lube. She oiled her pussy and his cock, careful not to use too much, then replaced the bottle. She opened her mouth as she got on top and slid down on his cock. She moved up and down, riding him, her head thrown back.

"Touch her breasts."

The woman lifted her shirt. His hands grabbed her breasts and squeezed. The woman placed her hands over his and squeezed tighter.