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Her grip grows tighter, but around my arm and not Erica. Quickly I pull my arm back, keeping Erica safe and then use a metal pipe I have to pry Bojana loose before she cuts off my circulation, crushing me and then proceeds to devour me.
Erica swats at her leg like there’s a fly there. If only she knew.
I work Bojana back in her box and slide it back under the bed, scolding her with a, “Bad bitch.”
My movements become frantic, realizing how close I almost came to hurting my doll, my new friend, my soon-to-be sexual partner. The woman who trusted me. Mistake. Because I almost betrayed it, and while she slept no less.
Moving to the kitchen the series of events that I always follow in these kinds of circumstances takes over. That’s how this works. I need to stick to the plan or things get fucked up, exactly like this.
I pull out the silverware drawer and stick my hand all the way to the back. I wiggle my fingers around until I find another of the plastic baggies of Halcion I have stashed in my place.
I crush it in between my fingers into a glass, dump water with a shot of Gatorade on it and then swirl it around, stirring it with my pinkie finger.
This is the sedative that will really put her under, and keep her from ever leaving my place, my life…me.
Taking a step toward her I stop, doing the calculations which seem obvious now. She’s drunk. Adding another sedative on top of the alcohol could kill her. And what fun would that be?
When a cat catches a mouse does it kill it? No, it keeps it alive, swatting it around like a member of the Dodgers taking batting practice.
Having fun.
I need to have fun with my friend. She’s not one of them. She’s nothing like them, the men I’ve done this to so many times before.
She’s me, and this time I’m being the exact person I despise. The bully.
She doesn’t deserve the pain.
I do.
Guilt and irritation fill me as I tip the elixir back and down in myself. Sliding into the bed next to her I feel everything getting foggy…fast. And then I pass out right where I belong.
Side by side, with this young woman who means so much. More than a lot. Everything.
And I’m going to show her when we wake up. Together.
4
Erica
Islowly lean into the double doors at the back of the classroom, squeezing through the tiny space as I scan the room frantically for a seat in the back row of the tiered seating.
The smell of floor cleaner and coffee together almost makes me puke, but placing my hand on my stomach and the other on the back of the hard plastic seat I do a quick one hundred and eighty degree turn and plop down in the seat.
The thing leans forward too far so I overcompensate in the other direction, darn near falling out the side as I rummage through my backpack and place my lead weight of a textbook on the too-small desktop in front of me.
Squinting to see the board in front of me I take in the sight of something else instead…my professor, arms crossed over his chest staring right at me.
It’s as if all the laptop keys being clicked just stop, the loose papers that were rustling settle, and the textbook pages that were being turned find the page they were looking for as the creaking seats from students shifting around go silent.
“So nice of you to join us, Miss?
“Watson,” I say.
Moving back to his podium the professor drags a finger down the page. “Erica Watson?”
He makes a forward head gesture and his glasses fall from his receding hairline to the bridge of his nose.
“Yes,” I confirm.
