othing else to do but pay him back. He kept sticking his disgusting thing at me like he had some right, and he wouldn't stop even with me yelling to cut it out. I wasn't scared, like dumb Kim that time. I just felt kind of sick. Like maybe when I'm sixteen, guys's things'll look cooler, but I can't imagine it. His was plain ugly.

"He says he knows lots of women won't give him an argument, but when I say then stop bothering me, he says what do I suppose the dinner and the prom are about if not getting into sex. They're about having a good time, I tell him, and he says good time is right on target, and how can I be so thick, and he thinks I want it, but I'm such a tease, and all like that. I say he knows I'm still fifteen, and he can't think why he went ahead and took out jail-bait. He's real mad, like he might smack me, but I'm ready because Mom and Ken have taught me stuff if anyone tries a trick like that."

A small whitish yellow lab named Biscuit sat, as the details poured out, between her knees. Calm and mature, his eyes radiated love. His pink tongue reached up and delicately licked away a tear rolling down her nose. She smiled and rubbed his head.

"We're like in the back seat see, kissing and stuff. That part makes me all shivery and sweet, but he pretty soon moves into boobs, and I let him do that, but it leads right to that thing of his. I don't understand how he changed so much. He comes to school with this clean combed hair and a part on the side and those v-necked sweaters. I couldn't believe this other stuff.

"I tell him to forget it. He says then I can get out and walk. I say I can't in my heels, and it's too dark, and he better take me home because my mom's boyfriend is a big-shot cop, and he'll come down on his dad's bar, and his dad will ground him forever. Ken likes me and wants to do all this good stuff for me, so I know he will. I guess Ken also wants to get in my pants because he's always bumping and touching, like, accidentally, but at least he doesn't pull out his thing at me like some people."

This part of the story seemed to interest Biscuit less because he started nosing her pocket in search of dog treats. She shuddered with a sudden shock of memory. Poor Biscuit had brought back Bernie's ugly thing as was trying to invade her private spaces.

"It ends with him slamming back behind the wheel. I hardly even have time to get my clothes and my hair looking sort of together before he's in my driveway, the motor running while I get out, and when I try to say something like thank you for the nice dinner and all, and let's be friends again like we were--I guess I told you how I like him a lot--he won't say a word. "I'm still in the back seat, and I see the light on in Mom's room. I know they've heard the car, and I have to get out, even though I hate to see him go away all mad. I decide to make a final try at being nice, but before my feet are solid on the ground, he's out of the driveway. Someone could be looking out the window, and I'm ready to die, like totally."

Biscuit picked up a nylabone lying on the step where they were sitting, and throwing his paws across her lap, he began to chew it slowly. "I haven't even told you the worst yet, which is that he didn't get over his mad by Monday. He didn't, like, respect me and want me more, the way Mom and those books said would happen. Not that I exactly expected all that, but I didn't expect him to go over to Gloria. She's just busting her buns about it, and for him it's like I'm not there. I say hello in the hall, and he starts whistling with his hands in his pockets. I mean he pretends not to hear anything I say, and he won't even look at me."

Biscuit trotted away and finding a ball he tossed it in her lap. She twiddled it between her fingers, without the spunk to toss it back. She had lost, somehow, even the energy to, like, wash her face in the morning. She wanted only to crawl under the covers, and pull them over her head, and stay there forever. It was like her life had shriveled away to nothing.

"I know you don't want to hear any more," she told Biscuit, "but you have to listen to the next part because it's awesome. It's about getting my own back, and the only way I can can see is take that pistol Ken gave Mom and shoot him with it. Not to kill him. I wouldn't do that. But I'd shoot off that thing of his if I could, and maybe I can. Then I could kill myself, and go to that other world they talk about in church. God wouldn't punish me for teaching him such a good lesson. I'll hate leaving you, sweetie Biscuit, but one day you'll come and join me where I am. It's better than letting Gloria have him, isn't it?

"I should have gone to prom with Larry, I guess, but he keeps acting like he owns me, and he has pimples. Bernie is so sharp looking. Everyone wants to go out with him, even if his mom makes him dress like that. I was ready for a new boyfriend, but maybe changing at prom time was dumb. Mom says you can't trust any men of any age, but Bernie acted real nice before prom when we went out a couple of times, and how was I supposed to know? "Cheryl said that big guy Pete from the Mobil station pulled out his thing, and she threw up all over his car. She can throw up any time she wants, like you Biscuit, and Pete had to take her home. I wish I could do like that. She stayed sick with vomiting all week because of him, she says, but he says she came down with flu. I believed her, but then last week I was pretty sure I saw her with him at the mall. That has to mean she's changed her mind now she's sixteen, unless it means she taught him his lesson, which I doubt. I don't think I'll ever change my mind even at ninety, and if I can't have him without letting him stick that thing at me, nobody's going to have him, least of all that slut of a Gloria.

Biscuit sniffed her crotch inquisitively, and she took his head between her hands, looked into his soft brown eyes and giggled. "I wish I were a bitch my darling, I really do. You have such a cute little red thing, it wouldn't bother me at all, and you wouldn't push it at me until you knew I felt like it, and then we'd get together like crazy. Mom says dogs don't go after bitches until they want it, and otherwise they're just good friends and have fun together, and Mom ought to know because she works at that kennel and sees them doing it, and when she finishes school, she'll be a vet, which is what I was also going to be before I decided I had to kill myself, and we were going in business together so we'd never be short of money again.

"I told Bernie what Mom and I were planning first time we went out, and he knew I couldn't let him score, and get that way, like I was a working girl, and me not even sixteen. Well, pretty soon no one will have to worry about him because I'll blow that awful thing of his right to the moon, and Gloria can have what's left if she wants. It won't be hard, not when I know where to find Mom's pistol. One time she said I could borrow this sweater, and there it was right in her sweater drawer. I didn't tell her I saw it, and also she doesn't know I heard Ken explaining to her how it worked. Working a washing machine is harder. Let's do it now, Biscuit love. You can go with me and show him your teeth. I told him you were real friendly that time he came for dinner, but I think he was a little afraid of you." Biscuit growled softly and followed her closely as she went up the stairs to Mom's room.

he pistol was small--Mom and Ken had joked about it and called it the Saturday Night Special--and it didn't show in the pocket of baggy jeans. Bernie was sitting on the porch by himself when she and Biscuit reached his house. Biscuit considered him a friend and ran up to greet him.

"Get your rotten mutt off my porch," he said not looking at her. He aimed a kick at Biscuit who jumped and scurried back to his mistress.

"Don't you kick my dog, you creep," she said, adding, "I'll teach you how to behave." She pulled out her pistol, and he laughed.

"What do you think you're doing with that little thing?"

"Shooting you." She aimed the pistol carefully and pulled the trigger.

His shriek, and the look of horror and shock on his face, made her smile. She tried not to show how the sight of his blood, spurting in all directions, sickened her. Would her blood flow in all directions when she shot herself? She hoped not. She did not want people throwing up like she felt she was going to do right that minute. Biscuit rubbed against her leg and whimpered. The bloody figure on the porch groaned and moved a little.

She knew she should call 911 before she killed herself. She did not want Bernie to die, whatever the 911 people might think when they came. She should probably stay and explain, but they might take away her pistol first thing, and she would never have the nerve to jump out a window or slit her wrists. She had tried both different times and failed. A pistol in the mouth sounded sure. Or maybe against the heart, if she knew exactly where it was.

Biscuit's whimper changed into barking which brought her out of her quiet musings. She had to think of him, poor little guy, because no one else would. Mom, even though she was in vet school, didn't care that much about him, not since he stopped being a puppy. It might be better all around if she took him with her, and then they could stay together in that next life. She would do him with the pistol in his mouth to see if he looked too awful. If he did, she would try the heart. She wanted people to feel bad when they found Biscuit and her, but not throwing up.

She felt a hand on her arm, a strange hand, and her arm suddenly shot up in the air. Her finger automatically pressed on the trigger and the shot also went up in the air. A man's voice, gentle voice said, "Now, now little lady, we don't want to hurt our puppy, do we?" She looked and saw Brick Campion. A friend of Ken's. Another cop. His face the color of rare beef, he was built like a side of it.

"Biscuit is full grown, and he's better off going with me because he's only happy with me. The trouble is, I don't really know how to do it for him or for me," she said.

"Let's go somewhere and talk about it. But first, give me that pistol of yours. You can only get hurt carrying it around like that."

You can't have it. It belongs to Mom."

"Your mom would let me have it. Don't make me take it away from you." Men always wanted to wrestle. It was easiest to let them have their way first. "Well, if you're sure about Mom." She handed over the pistol. She and Biscuit would look awful with their heads blown off. Maybe poison would work, or starving, growing ever more gaunt, more fragile.

Mom had her turn to work at the emergency animal clinic that night, but she was too tired to go along, even if Mom had let her. All she wanted was bed. A day full of people screaming at her, asking her questions, had worn her out. Shooting Bernie's thing because of the awful stuff he did with it was not the same as trying to kill him. She had not tried to kill anybody, and they acted like she had done something worse. Were they too stupid to understand what he did with his thing? She was tired of trying to explain.

She had just closed her eyes, her mind searching for a way to persuade Biscuit to stop eating and starve to death like she was going to do, when the door opened and Ken stood in the light from the hallway with his hands on his hips. Biscuit ran over to greet this good friend. "Biscuit, crate," he said, a command the dog knew and obeyed. Ken locked the crate.

"I hear downtown you're in big trouble, Honey. They might put you away forever. If I don't help you, that is," he said.

She kept her eyes shut tight and said, "Doesn't matter. I'm not living that long."

"Sure you are. You only need to get a few things straight." He sat down on her bed, as he had done many times. "I'm going to teach you."

Ken was no teacher. This sounded bad. She cringed against the wall and Biscuit whimpered. A hand reached over and pulled her to the center of the bed, and she lay, not looking, not moving, trying to catch her breath. Hands moved around her body, ripped open her night shirt and found her nipples, pinched them. Teeth bit them. She lay stiff, imagining herself a piece of lumber. A hand thrust itself into her privates, and she heard a groan. From her? Biscuit threw himself against the door of his crate.

Through Biscuit's noise, which had grown to barking, she heard the soft sound of a zipper. Ken stood, and she drew her knees up to her chin. Something rustled. Something wound around her ankle. Rope sash from her bathrobe? One leg seemed almost immobile.

"Shut up that dog, or I'll kill him, and you know I mean it."

"Biscuit, quiet," she said, trying, automatically, to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Rope bit into the one near the wall. Biscuit reduced his bark again to a soft whimper.

"Now don't give me trouble, and I won't have to tie you more. But I do have to teach you this big lesson, don't I? You can't go around shooting guys in the balls, Honey-babe. Your boyfriend might never have been much--and he won't be a lot better when those doctors get through with them--but my balls are special, and a lot of guys later on will thank me for teaching you some respect. No crying, now. I won't be too hard on your nice little cunt. I'll make it sing for you."

She heard him breathing beside the bed. Felt his eyes boring into her naked body, felt the shreds of her ripped nightshirt covering an inch here, an inch there. She tried to keep her eyes tight shut, but reluctantly they opened a slit, and there was his big hard filthy thing leaning over her like a nightmare. "Let me die, just let me die," she moaned through choking sobs. She heard Biscuit crashing against the top of his crate, which would come off finally, like it did the time she was packing to go stay with Aunt Faye. But she would be dead by then.

"You're going to start living." His body crushed her, and his thing found her privates. She screamed, and his heavy hand, smelling of soap, fell over her mouth. "Shut up, bitch. A real man's moving in to fuck you blind."

The top of Biscuit's crate crashed to the floor, but Ken's thing already had seared her, and she was dying fast. Her heart begged, before a kindly blackness enfolded it, Biscuit would bite his ass, but good.