“Are you kidding me?” Ash exclaimed loudly. “A leopard?” She winced again. “And my neck is seriously killing me. Where’s the light in this place?”
I felt around the walls, but couldn’t find it anywhere.
“Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more eventful, we are now locked in a dark room with a leopard prowling around outside.”
“I can’t find the lights,” I said.
“Cell-phone torches,” she said. I could hear her rummaging through her bag. I pulled mine from my pocket and flicked the torch light on. With both of our phones there was just enough light to see, and I could see that she was rubbing her neck as if in serious agony.
“You’re going to have to let me sort that out for you,” I said, glancing around. It looked like we were in some kind of cleaning closet, with cleaning products and mops and rags.
“We’re in a broom closet!” Her eyes widened. “I really don’t like this, at all.”
“It’s not ideal, I admit.” I looked down at my feet and did not tell Ash that I’d just seen a rather large lizard scuttle past. Her hands were on her neck, and she was trying to stretch it, with little luck.
“Turn round. Let me at least look at your neck and see if I can help you,” I said, putting my hands on her shoulders and turning her myself. I put my thumbs on her shoulders and started feeling around.
“There!” she screamed when I found the knot in her neck.
“God, that’s huge. How did you get that?” I asked, starting to work it in small circles.
I hadn’t expected her reaction: it started off small, a chuckle, but soon it escalated into almost full-blown hysteria.
I started laughing too, simply because it was contagious. “What are we laughing about?” I managed to ask. She was laughing so much it was hard to continue applying pressure to the knot.
“It’s just . . .” She tried to talk, but her laughter cut her off. “It’s just, you are . . .” It sounded as if tears were rolling down her face now.
“The suspense is killing me here,” I said, still trying to work the knot as she threw her head back to let out an even louder laugh.
“It’s . . . you . . . I . . .” She sucked in a large breath, gripping her sides as she did, trying to stop herself from laughing. “Okay, I’m okay now,” she said. “I think I just needed to get that out—it’s been building.”
“Glad it’s out now.” I pushed her head forwards and then massaged up her neck and into her hairline.
“Oh God, that feels good,” she said on a loud moan. “Even better than my physiotherapist.”
“What did you do to it?” I asked again.
“Well, it’s kind of a funny story, as you can tell.” She started laughing again, but this time it was brief, and ended in a melancholic-sounding sigh. “It’s the story of my life, really. And actually relates to what we were just talking about.”
“We were just talking about why you don’t have good sex.” I pulled her head back slowly, and began manipulating her neck, left and right. There was more movement there now and the knot seemed to be releasing.
“Exactly. And it’salllllrelated. The reason my neck is like this is because when my last date tried to have sex with me, he dropped me on my head and I actually don’t blame that on him—I blame that entirely onyou.” I let go of her head and turned her round to face me.
“A guy dropped you on the head during sex and that’s my fault?”
“Yes, because you cursed me,” she said softly.
“What? How?”
She giggled and slapped her hand over her mouth quickly. “Sorry, I’ll stop laughing, because this is serious. Okay, here goes . . . That night when we tried to have sex, I think something happened, because I have been sexually cursed ever since. I’ve been living under some weird bloody sexual curse for thirteen years and I think you,you, are the one who caused it.” She looked down at my pants. “With your cock! Your cock cursed me.” She laughed again and I was lost. I shook my head at her and raised my brows.
“See, the reason I have a sore neck, is because last week my date dropped me on my head while trying to, you know . . . fuck me. And prior to that I broke my finger when the bed fell on my hand, and then there was the time that I got stuck in a sex swing and the guy had to cut me out with a pair of scissors. Oh, and worst of all, the leather was so hard to get through that he had to call a friend to help, and not forgetting the time a guy ate an olive out of my belly button, or the time I was rushed toERafter being attacked by fire ants, or the time I went to hospital because my labia swelled to the size of a—”
“Stop.” I put my hand over her mouth. The last thing in the world I wanted to hear right now was coming out of her mouth. She pushed my fingers apart and continued.
“I have not had good sex, not once, or a good date that didn’t end very badly because of terrible sex, or terriblealmostsex, or having sex that was marginally better than other sex, only to have the guy cry on you because he is not over his ex, in thirteen years, Max.Thirteen!”
“What?” I removed my hand slowly from her mouth.
