Now that they'd finished screwing, Nick and Stacey couldn't think of anything to do with themselves until one of them decided to take a shit. It was part necessity, but mostly boredom that finally motivated Nick to get up and make the long walk down the hall to the bathroom.

The TV had three channels. One of them got decent reception. Stacey didn't look away from it when Nick announced his big plan to have a shit. Sitting there, naked on the couch with her feet up on the coffee table, she didn't seem to notice him at all.

When he returned, he found her in the exact same position, only now she was smoking a cigarette.

"Something's wrong with the toilet," he said.

"Whattaya mean? Nothing's wrong with the toilet," she exhaled a cloud of smoke without looking up.

"Well, it's clogged. Don't we have a plunger?"

The sounds of water tinkled behind him. Stacey leaned over on the couch and looked down the hall. She could see water running over the edge of the bowl, trickling on to the floor.

"Oh, that's just fucking great," she said. "Shit water on the floor. Why do you have to shit like that?"

"Like what? How am I supposed to shit?"

"I don't know," she said. "Not like that. Maybe one of the neighbors has a plunger."

Nick stared at her with a dumbfounded stare for a moment before bending over to pick up his clothes.

"Fine," he said. "I'll go ask around."

* * *

Closing the door behind him, Nick could see the front door and window of every apartment in the building, except for the ones directly above and below him. The U-shaped building that he lived in with Stacey allowed no secrets to the tenants. Everyone saw who arrived and departed, who had visitors or a UPS delivery. Most of the lights were on in the other apartments. He looked up at the sky and thought it might snow. He wished for a moment that he had put on a jacket, or at least some shoes over his dirty white tube socks. He rubbed his arms, walked a few steps to the apartment next to his and knocked on the door.

Almost immediately, the door opened and Lennie appeared before him, shirtless, reeking of beer and sausage. The baseball cap he usually wore was missing, leaving his comb over and shining scalp exposed.

"Nick! What the hell are you doing out there? Get on in here, out of the cold."

Nick stepped inside the older man's apartment. The only lamp in the room was on, next to a comfortable-looking, vomit-colored reclining chair. A tiny television sat atop a little table, still on, with the volume turned down low. Nick could barely hear Bruce Willis' cocky remarks to the evil terrorists.

"I love this one," Nick said, nodding toward the TV.

"Aw, yeah." Lennie took a swig from a beer can. "It's a holiday classic. Yippee-kai-aye, motherfucker! So, what can I do you for? You wanna beer?"

"I would, but I can't. Got a crisis over at my place."

"Oh, hell. Everything ok? I figured you two would've gone out celebrating tonight."

"We decided to stay in. Maybe we'll head over to the bar later or something," Nick said. "I just need to borrow a plunger, if you've got one."

"A plunger?" Lennie took another swallow from his can of beer. "So you're shitter's on the fritz? I tell you, the plumbing in this place has been a mess for as long as I've lived here."

"Yeah, it's not the first time we've had problems with it."

"This building is such a piece of shit," Lennie said. He finished his beer and set the empty can on a table.

"So, you got a plunger, then?"

"Aw, no… don't have one. I should really pick one up, though. You sure you don't wanna beer before you head back to the shit?"

Nick thought about Stacey. Naked Stacey on the couch, sitting in front of the television while the bathroom filled with shit water. He guessed that she wouldn't move from that spot for a while. He shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess I might as well. It's a holiday, anyway, right?" Lennie stepped over to the fridge and pulled out two cans of beer. "Yippee-kai-aye, motherfucker!"

* * *

Nick stepped outside, closed the door to Lennie's apartment and belched. He stood there for a moment, trying to decide if he should continue his quest for a plunger, or return home to naked Stacey and the shit water.

He'd been at Lennie's for the end of Die Hard and most of Die Hard 2. Stacey would likely go into her banshee wail if he returned without a plunger after being gone for so long. He couldn't blame her, but he didn't feel much like questing or facing an angry Stacey.

What he wanted was to crawl into bed, away from pissed-off wives, shit water and the cold night air. Under his blanket, warm and unconscious, not thinking about anything.

She would be waiting. He knew when he walked through the front door, he would find her on the couch, smoking a cigarette, or maybe a joint. Staring at the bad reception on the TV, remaining catatonic in an effort to keep the misery away.

If someone asked Nick why he loved her, he couldn't answer because he had forgotten. He didn't need a reason for loving her anymore than he needed a reason for having brown hair, or not liking the taste of broccoli. Some things just fit together to make him what he was, and he had always been content with that.

He decided that he could find a way past Stacey, prolonging her wrath. None of the apartments in the building had a back door, but Nick figured that making his way through a window at the back of their apartment would be easy enough. He headed toward the steps to the ground floor.

* * *

Nick walked around the corner of the green brick building to the parking lot on the north side. He walked toward the street, stopped about halfway, one floor directly below the bedroom he shared with Stacey. Someone had parked a Jeep with rusted wheel wells under his bedroom window.

Perfect.

Nick climbed onto the hood of the Jeep, moving slowly, trying not to make any noise, hoping that he was still sober enough to pull this off. After he was on the hood, he stood up. His socks slid on the Jeep's smooth surface and he landed on his ass with a loud metallic thud.

Within seconds, the curtain inside flew open and Todd opened his bedroom window, directly below Lennie's. "Hey, Nicky. What's up, man?" He rubbed his clean-shaven scalp. "What're you doing, jumping around on that Jeep?"

Cars were never parked in front of Todd's bedroom window and the lights were never on. Todd conducted all of his business here. Drive-up drug dealing.

"I'm getting into my place. Through the back." Nick got to his feet again, more carefully.

"What? Did you lock yourself out, or something?" Todd removed the nightstick from his belt and tossed it on the bed. He held a cigarette in his mouth as he rolled up the sleeves of his baby blue security guard shirt.

"Nah," Nick said. "I could use the front door, but… well, you know… Stace is up there and it's maybe better if I just go around her."

"Oh, yeah. I feel you, man." Todd blew a cloud of smoke out the window. "You going over to One-Eyed Jack's later?"

"Thought about it. I've already had a few, though. I'll probably just pass out once I get inside." Nick jumped up and reached for the window ledge of his bedroom and missed.

"Hey, that was close!" Todd had leaned out of his window a bit farther to get a better view of Nick's attempts to break into his own apartment. "Maybe if you were a little taller. You want me to give you a boost?"

Nick thought this was a great idea and within a couple of minutes, Todd had hopped out of his window and was on the hood of the Jeep with Nick.

"Man, we're denting the shit out of someone's car," Todd said.

"That's all right. No one here has a nice car."

Todd agreed and leaned over, interlocked his fingers, making a basket for Nick's foot.

This time, Nick made it and was hanging from the window ledge.

"Oh, shit!" Todd jumped from the hood of the Jeep. Nick looked up at the window just as Stacey flung it open. Startled, he lost his grip, crashing down on the Jeep's hood, bouncing off and landing on the hard parking lot at Todd's feet.

"Nick, you fucking jerk-off!" Stacey shrieked from the second-story bedroom window. "Is this how you look for a goddamn plunger?"

* * *

Carrying his right arm with his left hand, Nick made his way up the stairs to his apartment. Little bits of gravel from the parking lot adhered to his skin of his rapidly swelling limb, which was beginning to turn a horrible shade of purple.

The best he could hope for was the silent treatment. Maybe Stacey would be too mad to yell at him for being stupid and would leave him to pop a few painkillers before passing out in peace and quiet.

He opened the door and stepped inside. She hadn't locked him out. So far, so good. No lights were on, only the glow of the TV tuned into its one decent channel. The door to the bedroom was closed and Nick stared at it for a moment as if it were a portal to Hell. He heard the tinkling of the water in the bathroom and wondered if Stacey had needed to pee while he was gone. He felt a little guilty then and carefully holding his arm, lowered himself to the couch.

Stacey had left a half-smoked joint in the ashtray, so he lit it up.

He let the smoke wash over him, trying not to think about the throbbing pain in his arm, or how much he deserved it. He looked down and saw an ugly bump poking up in his forearm. He heard the bedroom door open. Stacey emerged, barefoot, wearing a pair of Nick's boxer shorts with a dirty mustard-colored t-shirt.

"It smells like shit in here, you know," she barked.

"I know. I'm sorry. I fucked up."

"Why are you holding your arm like that?"

"I think it's broken," he said, standing up.

"Well, I guess that's what happens when you jump around on cars and try to climb buildings."

"Yeah, I guess so," he said, walking past her and into the bedroom. He laid down on the bed.

"You're not sleeping in here with me."

"Fine," he said. He threw his pillow on the floor and laid himself down on the floor.

"No!" Stacey kicked his legs. "I don't want you in here. Get out!"

Nick got to his feet and stood in front of her. He looked down at her for a moment, unsure of what to do or say. He was tired, in pain and was certain that somehow, in some way, the misery he felt right now was Stacey's fault.

"Ok," he said. "I fucked up. I will fix it tomorrow. In the meantime, stop kicking me and stop acting like a damn psycho."

He hadn't even been expecting her to slap him.

* * *

His purple arm throbbing, his cheek hot and stinging, Nick decided that he wouldn't make the same mistake twice in one night, so he slipped on his sneakers and carefully put on a jacket.

"Where in the hell do you think you're going?"

"Out," he said. "I'll be back tomorrow." He scanned the room for his wallet and Stacey ran into the kitchen. He saw it sitting on an end table and slipped into the inside pocket of his jacket.

Stacey emerged from the kitchen holding a knife. Before Nick could react or say a word, she slid the blade along the length of her forearm.

"Stace, my god, what are you doing?" He suddenly became aware of how hard his heart was beating and thought he might start crying. "Please, Stace, put the knife down. I'll fix the toilet!"

She began sobbing and ran out the door, down the steps the courtyard, leaving a trail of blood drops behind her. Nick chased her out the door, still holding his purple arm. He caught her in the courtyard and grabbed her with his left arm, saying nothing, just letting her scream at him. He removed his jacket and tried to wrap it around her bloody arm.

* * *

In the back of the ambulance, Nick and Stacey were well behaved as the EMTs cared for their wounded limbs.

"Who called the police?" Stacey wanted to know.

"It was a neighbor," the paramedic told her in a friendly, soothing voice. "That's all I know."

Nick looked over at his wife, her red eyes, her sniffling nose and her tear streaked cheeks. It had been a couple of years since the last time she pulled a stunt like this. That time, they had kept her at the hospital for two weeks. He guessed that this time, it would be longer.

"Nicky?"

"Yeah, angel?"

"Will you have the toilet fixed by the time I get back home?"

"I will," he promised. Laying there on their gurneys in the back of the ambulance, Nick reached out with his working left hand and took Stacey's uninjured right hand.

The ambulance driver closed the rear doors.

"Nicky?"

"Yeah?"

"Happy New Year, baby."

"Happy New Year, angel."