The Construct Of Love: Chapter 1

This is a polished draft from my debut novel, The Construct Of Love. Final version may differ.

It’s Raining Men (Working Title)

Clarissa Barnette squints as her wipers slice back and forth. The only thing she sees is the blurry red glow of taillights ahead. "This is freaking me out," she mutters, slowing her moderately-priced, leased sedan.

 Leather seats, yes. Premium audio, no.

 An occasional regret.

 "Why is it that when it rains a little, everyone in California has panic attacks?" asks Delphine Darrington, her roommate and front-seat passenger. 

"This isn't a little rain, it's a waterfall!" A car honks aggressively behind them. "Come on!"

"Probably from out of state," Delphine snickers. As if eavesdropping, traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway lurches forward. The distance between Clarissa’s car and those ahead widens. Soon, impatient drivers swerve into the opposite lane to cut in front, splashing dirty rainwater against the windshield.

"These people are insane!"

"Will you relax? It's not the end of the world."

Suddenly, from the opposite direction, a semi-truck jackknifes, skidding across the slick highway.

It slams into several cars.

One crashes into another, sending a chain reaction of metal-on-metal chaos.

Clarissa hits the brakes, sending her car into a tailspin.

The girls scream.

A car in front swerves, trying to avoid the mess, but veers into oncoming traffic. One vehicle narrowly misses Clarissa’s spinning sedan.

Moments later, her car comes to a stop, a fair distance from the wreckage.

Rain drums against the roof like it’s trying to punch through. Clarissa’s hands cling to the steering wheel, her knuckles pale. She lets go slowly, lifts her foot from the brake, and shifts the car into park.

She stares at slushy hail melting on the road. Flashing lights scatter across the wet surface. The pileup looks bad.

"Clarissa?"

She doesn’t answer.

"Clarissa?"

People are exiting their vehicles, moving toward the wreck.

"Clarissa!"

As if waking from a haze, she turns her head slowly. "Yeah?"

"You alright?"

How does Delphine do it? Calm. Collected. Even now.

"What?"

"Right." Delphine unbuckles her seatbelt. "I’ll drive."

Clarissa raises a hand. “No. I’m... okay.”

Delphine gives her a stare that probes. She then bursts into laughter. "That was some crazy shit!"

"Yeah."

"I mean, holy ballsack! A few more spins and I’m not sure if I’d have an orgasm or an abortion!”

"Yeah…me too." Clarissa’s near-death daze fades. She sees a group forming around one of the vehicles. "I think someone’s hurt."

"And?"

"And... we should help."

Delphine leans over. "They're being helped," she says flatly, and re-buckles.

"Yeah, but I—we—could do more."

"You don’t know that."

"It’s the right thing to do."

"It’s the guilty thing to do. 

"What? “

"Don’t be another 'could-have' victim. Stopped the bleeding. Pulled someone out. Turned into Jesus. The moment’s passed. Be thankful." 

"Whatever. You can stay. I’m going." Clarissa opens the door. Rain pours over her arm and onto the leather seats.

"You’ll regret it," Delphine says. Clarissa pauses.

"Tell me why,” she asks, rolling her eyes.

"Are you a doctor?"

"No."

"Lawyer?” 

“You know I’m not.”

"Then you’re untrained, unlicensed, and officially bent over if something goes wrong. Help someone and they get worse? That’s liability. That’s lawsuits. That’s your name on record.”

Clarissa laughs. "You’re unbelievable."

Delphine sighs. "Unbelievable is getting sued for trying to help. Remember that. Unless you’re under it, hope someone else deals with an accident.”

That did it.

Clarissa puts the car into drive.

Silence stretches between them.

Sometimes she hates reality.

Minutes later, an ambulance races past, lights flashing.

"You’re welcome," Delphine mutters.

Clarissa doesn’t respond. Her mind is already drifting. She wonders whether she should go to work tomorrow. With a mountain of unused sick and vacation days, the temptation grows. But she knows the truth: take one day off, pay for it in nights and weekends.

So much for the “living tech boom.”

Money is kinda good though. 

"Thanks again for picking me up. I tried to get a ride back. I knew I should’ve driven myself."

"No problem," Clarissa says, though it was. Her body ached. Maybe a cold. Sleep, soup, and a binge watch sounded perfect. "Things didn’t go well?"

"Not really."

“Illicit recreational enhancements?”

“Indirectly. My mom’s sister decided to have a breakdown and throw a chair through the sliding glass door."

“Jesus.”

“He cut the lawn yesterday, but she always did hate that door."

Clarissa blinks. “You okay?”

“I guess, but I am going to kill Susan. It was her bitch brilliant idea to use Dr. Calder Thorne. Thorn in my ass.”

“I think I’ve…wait, isn’t he…”

“Yup. The neuromuscular blocking drug guy. Paralysis therapy. Supposed to reset the brain. Insane.”

"Oh God."

“And my aunt can barely say that these days, not that she’s getting any.”

“Susan recommended this therapist? Susan Whittaker?"

“Therapist feels like a stretch. You know her?"

“Yeah. I mean sort of. Met her at last year’s New Year's party. She was kissing everyone. Even the girls. Ended up with her panties on her head. Hard to forget."

"Did she kiss you?"

"God, no."

“She kissed me."

Clarissa looks over. "Did you kiss her back?"

"A little."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"You kissed Susan?"

"I kind of liked it."

"You liked it?"

"Can’t I like it?"

"You can, but doesn’t that make you…"

"A lesbian?” 

"Doesn’t it?” 

"Why? Because I enjoyed another woman’s mouth on mine?" Delphine raises an eyebrow. "Get off at the next exit."

"What for?"

The rain eases. Everything sharpens. The road glistens.

"I’m starving. And it’s my treat."

"Can’t you eat at home? And don’t change the subject."

"We’re not usually out here. And I’m not changing the subject. Susan kissed me. I liked it. But that doesn’t make me a plaid-wearing, flannel-wrapped, granola-breathing dyke."

"But if you liked it, doesn’t it mean you’re into women?" Clarissa asks as she takes the off-ramp. "Where are we going?"

"I don’t remember the name. It’s that place near the weird billboard."

"You mean the one that says..."

"See Me Pee." 

"Oh my God, yes! I forgot about that! You think it's still up?"

"Let’s find out. And if the place is still open, we’re getting that cheese sandwich."

"Totally. That sandwich was unreal!”

Clarissa follows Delphine’s directions: a few turns, a U-turn, a laugh.

Eventually they pull up to the infamous billboard—faded, vandalized, and still unintentionally obscene. A crumbling image of a woman with a grill. The billboard used to say “SEAR MEAT TO PERFECTION.” Now it just says: SE ME     PE   E.

Someone’s drawn a penis on the woman’s groin.

“How cocky,” Delphine laughs.

The road is empty.

Then—a crash.

Something slams into the hood. The windshield shatters. The car jolts upward and slams down.


Airbags explode. Seatbelts seize. Clarissa blacks out.

Her last thought: thank God she didn’t pay extra for the premium package.

Time passes.

Slowly, Clarissa awakens to a low hiss. Her face is pressed against a soft, inflated surface. She opens her eyes, groggy.

"Delphine?"

No answer.

"Delphine!"

"What?" She groans into her airbag.

"Are you okay?"

"No. What happened?"

“I don’t know.”

Delphine pushes her door open, stumbles out, and walks to the front of the car.

"How bad is it?" Clarissa calls.

Silence.

"Is it bad?"

"You better come look."

“Shit,” Clarissa mumbles as she climbs out, rubbing her bruised shoulder. She rounds the car and sees it:

A naked man lies splayed across the hood, arms and legs wide. No blood. No injury. Just…there.

Then—he gets an erection.

Clarissa gasps.

Delphine smiles, pulls out her mobile-comm and takes a picture.