I look away, ashamed.
“I should go,” I mumble incoherently, my fingers closing tighter round the sheet as I bend to pick up my messy pile of clothes from the floor at the end of the bed. I wish I could close my eyes and disappear.
“Chris, wait!”
Finn tries to grab me as I push past through the doorway. What was he thinking bringing her in there? I feel sick all the way down inside.
“Chris,” Pixie says quietly. Her hand brushes my arm. “You really don’t have to go.”
I swallow thickly. The living room is flickering with candlelight, a hundred tiny tea lights spread over every available surface like the worst sort of fire hazard, like votives in a church. It’s both eerie and beautiful at the same time.
“Yeah. I do,” I say without turning round.
“It’s okay,” she says, still behind me. A hand strokes down my back. “Have a drink with us, and then, if you want, I’ll take you home.”
Feeling a little mesmerized by the lights and weak at the thought of walking home in the dark (because I don’t want her to drive me, I’m too ashamed of being here in the first place), I nod and sit down in a pool of yellow light at the end of the sofa.
They bring me beer, we smoke a joint, and everything gets surreal again when Finn tells Pixie how easily I come, how he barely has to touch me. She smiles, her mouth all red and viper-like, and tells me she wants to see.
Someone places a tablet on my tongue. It fizzes. “What is it?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“Trust me, it’ll make you feel good. Relax.” Smiling, Finn crouches down and places a white pill in Pixie’s mouth and then one in his own. He reaches over to an old CD deck and switches it on. Music, like the stuff I hear blasting out the Tavern late at night, only he puts it on quieter and the effect is much more mellow.
He hums along as I swallow the tablet.
I fix my eyes on his as Pixie pulls away the sheet covering my lap. I lean towards him as he runs his hand over my head and kisses me.
“Let’s make you more comfortable,” Finn says.
They leave me to go get the mattress and pillows from the bedroom. It’s not cold, but my hands are shaking. Whatever effect the tablet is supposed to have, I don’t think it’s working. It’s definitely not making me feel good.
“Come here.” The mattress nearly fills up the living room floor. Finn beckons me to lie between them.
My legs are like jelly as I stand up. Dizzily I stare around at all the candles, suddenly scared the curtains are going to catch fire, the whole van go up in flames, and we’ll be trapped here inside an oven.
“Chris,” Finn calls softly, and I remember what I’m doing.
We kiss. It’s all I want to do, just kiss and kiss and kiss, even Pixie at one point, both their tongues in my mouth. I never want to stop. I think I say it out loud, and Finn reaches down and squeezes my shaft in agreement.
I understand everything.
Time becomes giddily irrelevant. Words don’t even make any sense.
When Finn pulls me up onto my knees, my limbs are like water and I just want to fall into him, collapse into his skin, into something that’s more than sex, more like being . I can’t think. All I do is feel—the sensation intensifying more and more, bringing me closer to the limit. But when my orgasm hits me, it happens suddenly, drowned in a wave of pain.
With difficulty I reach around to touch my lower back, where the pain was centered.
Wax. There is a softening river of wax along my spine.
He poured hot wax onto me. The realization is clear as a candle flame before I pass out.
I WAKE up on deck. It’s early dawn, the sky is a beautiful rose gold, the birds are singing, and the air has the scent of rain. But I feel so sad. Tears pour down my face, and my chest is heavy and tight. Bits and pieces of the night come back to me, but they’re so disjointed it’s like a dream. Somehow I crawl down the wooden steps into the galley. Dad is asleep on the sofa,
“I should go,” I mumble incoherently, my fingers closing tighter round the sheet as I bend to pick up my messy pile of clothes from the floor at the end of the bed. I wish I could close my eyes and disappear.
“Chris, wait!”
Finn tries to grab me as I push past through the doorway. What was he thinking bringing her in there? I feel sick all the way down inside.
“Chris,” Pixie says quietly. Her hand brushes my arm. “You really don’t have to go.”
I swallow thickly. The living room is flickering with candlelight, a hundred tiny tea lights spread over every available surface like the worst sort of fire hazard, like votives in a church. It’s both eerie and beautiful at the same time.
“Yeah. I do,” I say without turning round.
“It’s okay,” she says, still behind me. A hand strokes down my back. “Have a drink with us, and then, if you want, I’ll take you home.”
Feeling a little mesmerized by the lights and weak at the thought of walking home in the dark (because I don’t want her to drive me, I’m too ashamed of being here in the first place), I nod and sit down in a pool of yellow light at the end of the sofa.
They bring me beer, we smoke a joint, and everything gets surreal again when Finn tells Pixie how easily I come, how he barely has to touch me. She smiles, her mouth all red and viper-like, and tells me she wants to see.
Someone places a tablet on my tongue. It fizzes. “What is it?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“Trust me, it’ll make you feel good. Relax.” Smiling, Finn crouches down and places a white pill in Pixie’s mouth and then one in his own. He reaches over to an old CD deck and switches it on. Music, like the stuff I hear blasting out the Tavern late at night, only he puts it on quieter and the effect is much more mellow.
He hums along as I swallow the tablet.
I fix my eyes on his as Pixie pulls away the sheet covering my lap. I lean towards him as he runs his hand over my head and kisses me.
“Let’s make you more comfortable,” Finn says.
They leave me to go get the mattress and pillows from the bedroom. It’s not cold, but my hands are shaking. Whatever effect the tablet is supposed to have, I don’t think it’s working. It’s definitely not making me feel good.
“Come here.” The mattress nearly fills up the living room floor. Finn beckons me to lie between them.
My legs are like jelly as I stand up. Dizzily I stare around at all the candles, suddenly scared the curtains are going to catch fire, the whole van go up in flames, and we’ll be trapped here inside an oven.
“Chris,” Finn calls softly, and I remember what I’m doing.
We kiss. It’s all I want to do, just kiss and kiss and kiss, even Pixie at one point, both their tongues in my mouth. I never want to stop. I think I say it out loud, and Finn reaches down and squeezes my shaft in agreement.
I understand everything.
Time becomes giddily irrelevant. Words don’t even make any sense.
When Finn pulls me up onto my knees, my limbs are like water and I just want to fall into him, collapse into his skin, into something that’s more than sex, more like being . I can’t think. All I do is feel—the sensation intensifying more and more, bringing me closer to the limit. But when my orgasm hits me, it happens suddenly, drowned in a wave of pain.
With difficulty I reach around to touch my lower back, where the pain was centered.
Wax. There is a softening river of wax along my spine.
He poured hot wax onto me. The realization is clear as a candle flame before I pass out.
I WAKE up on deck. It’s early dawn, the sky is a beautiful rose gold, the birds are singing, and the air has the scent of rain. But I feel so sad. Tears pour down my face, and my chest is heavy and tight. Bits and pieces of the night come back to me, but they’re so disjointed it’s like a dream. Somehow I crawl down the wooden steps into the galley. Dad is asleep on the sofa,
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