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She nodded, my dismissive words finally calming her interest. The status quo remained. Manson, Lucas, Vincent, and Jason existed in their world, and I stayed in mine.
It wouldn’t work. Itcouldn’twork. My mom would freak out. My dad would never understand. My friends would think I’d lost my mind.
There was nothing there but lust, and what had happened at the party was a result of that.
Never mind that I’d never felt so free, so wildlyaliveas I had last night. Entrusting myself to those boys in the pursuit of pleasure had awakened a part of me I never knew existed.
God, I’d even let the word “Master” roll off my tongue as I’d said my goodbyes to Manson.
It made my heart beat fast and my palms sweat thinking of them as if every inch of me ached for their presence, for the slightest touch, for the breathtaking experience of being surrounded by the four of them in the dark, all of their attention on me and me alone.
I’d been dared to do a lot of things last night, but this morning, my bravery was gone. I had years of college ahead of me and a reputation to uphold.
What happened in the dark had to stay there.
3
Manson
Present – 2 Years, 8 Months Later
I woke up feeling like the world was caving in around me.
My heart was pounding, adrenaline pumping through my veins. My fingertips were cold and tingling, but all these symptoms were familiar. Maybe a floorboard creaked, and it prodded an old memory, or perhaps one of the boys had raised their voice and my brain latched on to the potential danger. Whatever it was, the anxiety had wrenched me out of my sleep.
I’d been dreaming, and although I rarely remembered my dreams, this one was fresh in my mind. It was a memory really, dug up from the recesses of my brain and replayed like a shitty childhood VHS tape.
I’d dreamed I was sitting against the back wall of Wickeston High between the dumpsters. I could smell the stink of rotten food, and there was something sticky under my hand, squashed against the concrete. My abdomen ached, my diaphragm was spasming, my arm curled around my stomach as I held down the urge to vomit. Getting punched in the gut sucked no matter what, but Kyle could hit particularly hard, even in dreams.
But he and his friends faded into the background; theirpresence inconsequential to me. I didn’t care about them or the pain they caused me. I only cared abouther.
Jessica stood over me, arms folded, her legs looking a million miles long in heels and a tight plaid skirt. Her blonde hair was so long it brushed her waist, and I imagined wrapping it around my hand to pull her head back and hear her moan.
Did she think Kyle was impressive because he could push me around? Did it turn her on? Did it thrill her? I wished I knew what was happening behind those bright green eyes.
In my dream, she stood over me with her hand leaning against the wall over my head. She whispered, “Don’t let the loser forget his place.”
Yeah. My place was here, on the ground, staring at the woman I couldn’t have. She was so fucking beautiful. Heartlessly perfect. The cruelest joke life had ever played on me.
I would have rather not woken up. I wanted to linger in that fantasy. All I had left of that woman was gut-wrenching memories and wild dreams.
With a heavy sigh, I sat up in bed, rubbing my face. The sun was a hazy glow through the metal blinds covering my window, and I picked up my phone, groaning when I saw the time. It was even later than I’d thought.
I brushed the used tissues from last night off my bedside table and grabbed the bottle of lotion to take back to the bathroom. But my real shame was the crumpled fabric next to the tissues — a lacey thong stiffened with cum because I’d jacked off with it,again.
It was Jessica’s. I’d wash it in the sink later, there was no way in hell I was putting it in the regular laundry and risking one of the boys finding it. I’d never get it back.
It was too hot already, the air sticky with humidity as I stumbled into the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face and shoved back my hair as best I could. It was getting too long;I needed it cut. The world was a little clearer once I had my contacts in, clear enough to grab my bottle of pills off the shelf and swallow two.
After about forty-five minutes, maybe an hour, the tight feeling in my chest would mellow out like melting butter. I’d be able to breathe again. I’d be in control.
I filled my diffuser and switched it on before I headed out. Chamomile, lavender, and lemon wafted into the air in a gentle mist, covering the stale old smell of cigarettes that clung to the walls. Kathryn Peters, my former social worker, suggested I try aromatherapy when I was living with her family, and the habit had stuck. Without Kathy, I would have ended up on the streets. Another kid on probation who should have fallen through the cracks. Instead, she gave me a safe place to stay until I had a house of my own.
I still called her often to talk, and I’d gotten close with their son Daniel too. But Daniel lived overseas now, so when I moved out, Kathy and her husband James sold their house in Wickeston and started traveling. She was on a cruise headed for the Alaskan coast when she called me last.
I made a mental note to text her today. There weren’t many people outside my household that I considered myself close to, but Kathy had saved my life. I’d never forget that.
The room closest to mine was Lucas’s, but the door was open and his messy bed was empty. He was probably in the shop working, already pissed that I’d slept in. Vincent’s room was in the attic and Jason’s was further down the hall, although he spent most nights in Vince’s room anyway. The house was big enough for all of us with a bedroom to spare, but that extra room stayed shut and locked. It was used for storage now, nothing more. No memories, no ghosts in the walls. Only a room.
