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She sighs. “But a handful of people come here because it’s sort of an outlet for them. Life touches all of us, right? We all start out with stars in our eyes but it’s not always starry and rosy. Shit happens and sometimes you don’t know where to go. You come here. It’s not much different than shooting up drugs or staring at the bottom of a bottle. It at least gives you some power. You can manipulate emotions, arouse people even when they don’t want to be aroused. Sometimes life takes away your power and you do things to take it right back. It’s actually pretty human.”
Nudging my shoulder, she grins again. “In fact, this is the very definition of being human. You’re hurting so you hurt the universe back somehow. You take the power in your own hands and who cares what the world thinks.”
Her words echo in my head. They echo and echo until it’s all I can hear. Not the moans, not the clicks and shouts.
I want to hurt them like they have hurt us.
My eyes go to Abel. He’s standing up straight, his camera lowered. He’s watching the couple not through the thick lens that he uses to make everything immortal, but with his own eyes. His lips are parted and even from the sidelines, I can see the dark flush on his cheeks. I can read the tightness in his frame.
He’s aroused; I am, too. And I know he’s thinking about me, just as I’m thinking about him. I’m not surprised when his eyes find me and latch on. I know my husband inside out; I can read those dark orbs.
I can read the desire in them, the hunger for power.
It speaks to my soul. My heart’s racing. I think maybe I’ve found the very thing we’ve been looking for. I’ve found something that goes beyond intimacy into the realm of revolutionary. I’ve found an outlet of our anger.
I’ve found our rebellion.
I stand at the window of our room. It’s the middle of the night, but the streets are still alive, people still awake and walking. I couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to wake up Abel with all my tossing and turning, so I came here.
But I should’ve known. Abel can’t sleep without me so he wakes a few minutes later and comes to stand behind me. His warm fingers grip my naked hips as he rubs his stubbled cheek over my hair.
“What you looking at, Pixie?”
“Them. Across the street.”
A couple stands on the sidewalk, wrapped around each other. They are young, must be our age, a couple of years younger maybe. The girl has a topknot and the guy’s wearing a cap that hides his face. They are leaning against the wall as the guy kisses her. They have backpacks on, their sneakers practically on top of each other as their hands tug and pull to bring each other close. Closer than physically possible. I know the feeling.
People pass them by without sparing a glance. They could be underage for all they know. They could be related for all they know. But no one questions their love, the way they eat at each other’s lips. I bet she’s moaning hard but it’s drowned by the midnight sounds of the city.
“Why does it hurt so much? Looking at them like that.” I press against him, running my ass up and down his dick, waking it up, making it hard.
His fingers tighten as he pinches my flesh. He starts to rock against me as well, dragging his veined arousal up and down the crack of my butt. I feel it getting wet and sticky as his dick oozes pre-cum.
“Because they have what we never did. Freedom to be in love.”
His misty words hit my ears, the nape of my neck and the slope of my shoulders, and travel down to my breasts. They become swollen and heavy, getting pulled down it seems by the force of the earth. There’s a tingling everywhere, on my nipples, my toes, the pads of my fingers, in the deep well of my stomach. In my core. I rub my thighs together.
“Why can’t you sleep, baby?”
“They’re not looking for us, Abel.”
He tenses behind me. “What?”
I haven’t told him about the conversation I had with Sky days ago. I didn’t know what to tell him, how to explain what I was feeling. I thought it would pass. But I can’t forget. I can’t forget that night. I can’t forget their evil, mean eyes. How my dad threw the boy I love in jail. How he beat him up. My mom’s accusations.
This is how innocent girls end up on the internet. You bring them up a certain way and this is how they repay you.
Now, I know he’s been feeling it too. The anger at the unfairness. The anger at being called what he’s not. We couldn’t do anything about it before. We kept it inside. We were helpless.
