"Belinda!" he barked. No response. He kicked the bed a few times and her eyes gradually fluttered open.
"Whu..." she muttered, trying to focus. "Is that you, Galen? My pussy's already raw from the last fuck."
"It's me," he said dryly. "Your husband. At least for now."
Her eyes opened a little wider and she seemed to come fully awake. Her face grimaced for a moment and then took on an expression of amusement. "It's my soldier boy," she said, her words slurred and thick. "Finally decided to come home from Queen Laura's army, huh?"
"I'm on a forty-eight hour pass," he said. "I've been on the front line for the past eight days. Not that you give a shit."
She laughed drunkenly. "You got that shit right," she said. "It's not like they're paying you in real money. Just those fuckin' credits that won't be worth a shit when the real bosses jack this place back from us."
He didn't want to get into a debate about the war or the revolution with her. They had already hashed that one into the ground in the days before he'd left for basic. "Where'd all the shit in the kitchen come from?" he asked.
She sat up, her breasts, which had actually looked something like alluring while lying, sagged down to mid stomach, the nipples disappearing entirely. Jeff grimaced at the sight.
"You mean the booze and the smokes?" she asked. "It's a little business venture I'm engaged in with Galen Mocker from upstairs. You remember Galen don't you?"
"Yeah," he said, although he didn't. "You're hoarding?"
"Fuck no," she said. "We're selling the shit. I'm bringing in some real fuckin' income while your sad ass is out making useless credits and setting yourself up for a treason charge when the WestHems kick your asses. You have any idea what booze and smokes are selling for these days? We're getting a hundred dollars a bottle for Fruity, fifty dollars a can for beer, and fifty a pack for smokes."
"That's hoarding and profiteering," he said. "It's illegal."
"So is running dust but you didn't used to have any problem with that, did you?"
"That was the past," he said. "I've grown up a little these past few months."
She made a jerking off expression. "You're a Queen Laura man all right," she nearly spat. "The big money comes from coffee though."
"Coffee?"
"Check the closet," she told him slyly.
He walked over and opened it. Where their clothes had once been stored were now over two hundred one kilogram sacks of premium WestHem coffee beans. The smell was potent enough to cut through the funk in the room. "Jesus," he said.
"We're fuckin' rapin' the employed pricks on that shit," Belinda told him with a laugh. "They're paying six hundred dollars a kilo for the shit. Can you fuckin' believe that? And we don't even have to deliver! They come into this shitty ass neighborhood and come begging at my door just to get some of my coffee. We're fuckin' rich, you ungrateful slob! You oughtta get down on your knees and eat my scummy pussy for this."
His anger started to rise. "You're sitting here on top of all this coffee, all that booze, and all those smokes when those of us who put our asses on the line for this planet had to make do with two beers apiece? That's fuckin' criminal, Belinda! It's a fuckin' atrocity!"
"Oh save your bleeding heart shit for the fuckin' MarsGroup bitches," she said. "This is the most money we've ever had in our lives — and we get free booze and smokes too. You're just jealous you didn't think of it first."
"Get dressed," he told her, picking up a filthy pair of shorts and an even filthier shirt from the nearest pile. He tossed them at her. "We need to talk."
"Why don't you give me a fuck first?" she asked, lying back and spreading her legs a little. "Galen's been hosing me while you been gone but his reproductive block is in place. Yours is still off, ain't it?"
"Yeah," he said, ashamed to find himself actually considering her offer — even if it was only for the briefest of seconds. "It's still off."
"Well let's get to fuckin'," she said. "I'm fuckin' ovulatin' right now and I still want me that two bedroom apartment."
"I'm not having a child with you," he said. "I'm not doing anything with you anymore. I came here to tell you we're finished. I'm filing for divorce tomorrow."
She looked at him and then started cackling. "Divorce?" she said. "Are you shitting me? Why the fuck would you wanna divorce me? You got something better lined up?"
"That's not any of your business anymore," he said. "I've grown up, you haven't. I'm fighting for this planet and you're profiteering from it. I never loved you or even liked you very much, and I never will. This is the end, Belinda."
She was shaking her head through this entire speech. "You ain't divorcing me," she said. "I'm not gonna have my welfare benefits cut because you're all fuckin' caught up in this independence bullshit. Now get over here and fuck me. You know you want to."
"You'll have to find someone else," he said. "We're through. I'm filing the forms first thing in the morning."
She stood up, wobbling a little at first but eventually finding equilibrium. She pointed her finger at his chest in little stabbing motions. "You are not divorcing me!" she told him. "Not now. You are gonna fuck me until I'm knocked up first and then you can leave if you want. I won't give a shit then. They'll keep my welfare where its at if I have a kid."
"You're disgusting," he said, turning away from her. "The greatest thing that's ever happened to this planet is going on all around you and you're sitting here trying to make money off of it and pretend it's going to go away." He started to walk toward the door.
Something hit him in the back of the head hard enough to stun him. It was a vase that had been propelled from Belinda's hand. It bounced upward and then shattered on the floor at his feet.
"Don't you walk away from me!" she shouted. "Nobody walks away from me, motherfucker!"
He turned around, anger in his eyes but his emotions still in check. He reached up and felt the back of his head. There was already a bump starting to form there. She swung a roundhouse at him but he blocked it easily. He pushed her back toward the bed, causing her to fall onto her ass on it. "Don't ever hit me with anything again," he warned.
"Fuck you!" she spat, leaping to her feet and rushing at him, her fists clenched, murder in her eyes.
He pushed her back again, this time hard enough to make her roll off the backside of the bed. She got right back up, this time picking up a lamp. Before she could throw it at him he kicked the bed, pushing it at her and knocking her feet out from beneath her. She landed prone on the mattress where she began hitting it with her fists.
"You can't leave me until you knock me up, asshole!" she kept yelling, over and over again. "Nobody fucking leaves me."
"I am," he said. "Now do you wanna talk about this like adults or do you want to keep acting like a spoiled little bitch?"
"Fuck you, motherfucker!" she yelled. She got to her knees on the mattress and reached for the nightstand, where the remains of a chicken dinner from the welfare mart were lying. She picked up a steak knife and charged him, raising it over her head and fully intending to stab it into his chest. He caught her wrist and twisted it, perhaps little harder than was really necessary. The knife dropped to the floor but not before he heard and felt a sickening crunch from her forearm.