For a while after she woke, Macy didn’t open her eyes. Instead, she thought very hard about her bedroom, recreating it in her mind. Magnolia walls and venetian blinds. The cluttered dressing table and the chair with her clothes on it. Her clothes. The first giveaway was the feel of the sheet against her skin. Naked. But that didn’t mean anything.
She frowned, eyes still closed as she tried to focus. Her room. The mirror leaned against the wall opposite. The clock ticking on the wall. She listened for it and heard nothing but of course she was thinking too hard to hear anything, so that didn’t mean much either. She swallowed hard. She almost couldn’t bear to open her eyes and dissolve the fantasy. Because even as hard as she tried to believe it, nothing felt right.
She clenched her hands into fists, feeling the foreign sheet against her fingers. And there was warmth. More warmth than one person warranted. She didn’t want to accept it. It had been – what? Six months? So much self-control. But now, last night was coming back to her in multicoloured flashes of strobe lights and she tried to stop the express train of thoughts because maybe if the train didn’t arrive, everything on it didn’t exist and she hadn’t let herself down for the hundredth time. But how could she stop something so heavily significant? She wasn’t strong enough.
She opened her eyes. She was lying on her side and there he was. Half a metre away. Dark hair. She blinked but he didn’t disappear.
Everything in her life had accumulated, everything felt precious and valuable and golden but for her own naked self. So cheap. Macy couldn’t even use drunkenness as an excuse. A choice. A choice to get dressed up and go out and drink enough to forget her insecurities. A choice to dance when he asked, a choice to kiss him back, a choice to get into the back of the cab, through his front door, into his bed.
She pushed away the sheet and swung her legs to the side, sitting on the edge of the bed. There was a glass of water on the bedside table and she took a small sip and then a larger one. The smell of last night’s sweat cut through perfume and stale cigarette smoke.
Macy’s hazel eyes flicked around the room warily. Nothing moved. The door was closed. Did he have a roommate? She made a futile attempt to remember the living room they’d stumbled through last night. Newspapers and magazines. An oversized television for an underloved apartment. She listened hard for sounds, anything, the clink of a cup, the beat of music. Nothing. She set the glass of water down softly and wiped her mouth.
She looked over her shoulder. Abel slept soundly, harmlessly. She felt faintly proud to have remembered his name. Slices of conversation flicked through her mind. “I’m Abel,” “As opposed to disabled?” She wanted to slap herself. Stupid lines, the kind that came out when she didn’t even know who she was, let alone the part she was playing. Words were too hard to come up with. There was a silent, wordless synchronisation to the physical. Body parts knew where to go.
Macy closed her eyes momentarily. When she opened them, he was still there. Abel. He didn’t seem quite as arrestingly good-looking in the early morning light of regret. But still. Enough. More than enough. She extended her hand to touch him and then pulled it back, appalled at herself. Her dress was on the floor next to the door. Silver, sequinned and far too short for a Sunday morning. She purposefully didn’t deliberate on the day but then she caught sight of the Bible on the bedside table and the memories rushed in condemningly.
Sunday morning service. It came back to her like it always did, the smell of varnished wood floors, the hat her grandma wore, the droning voice of the vicar. A long time ago. Too long. She craved the innocence of it now, imagined how it would contrast with the stranger’s untidy bedroom. Craved the way her seven year-old feet didn’t quite touch the floor from the wooden pew. Youth is wasted on the young, even when the young behave impeccably. Good grades. Perfect manners. Clean hands, clean face. How did it translate to the present? She still wasn’t sure and yet the immorality of it all made her ache with shame.
Her eyes burned but she blinked away the tears and held back the thoughts long enough to recover. She touched the Bible. Picked it up and flicked through it like she’d find something worthwhile within the pages of doom. Proverbs. At least they made vague sense.
20:20
If a man curses his father or mother, his lamp will be snuffed out in pitch darkness.
Macy considered her parents briefly. She’d never cursed them, had she? Maybe in a diary. Did that count? She tried to remember but then fingers touched the base of her spine, and she started and looked back over her shoulder. He was awake. Too awake. Maybe he’d been watching her. The thought both thrilled and infuriated her. He walked his fingers up her back and tugged a lock of her dark hair.
She blinked.
“Hey,” he said, and he reached for the glass of water and drained it in one long gulp.
“I’m sorry,” The words finally came. “I was just going.” Macy set down the book and made to stand up but he caught her wrist fast.
“Why’re you going?”
She blinked again. It made her feel stupid but she didn’t do it consciously and her mouth refused to move. She felt enormously embarrassed to be there naked in front of him. Daylight felt like a blinding, condemning spotlight.
“Don’t you wanna stay, Lacey?”
She looked down at the strong fingers around her wrist. He loosened them a little and she swallowed hard.
“It’s Macy, actually.”
His smile was beautiful in the way dangerous things were. Fast cars, jungle cats and torrential rain. There was a yearning violence to it, something so much bigger and more important than his surroundings.
“I’m sorry. Macy. You remember my name, don’t you?”
She jerked her wrist away from him.
“I couldn’t care less.”
He’d caught her before she could stand up and he yanked her back down onto the bed. Macy almost gasped but he’d moved on top of her before she could even process what was happening. His body was wonderfully warm. His face hovered above hers, disarmingly pretty now that his eyes were open. Good things looked good, didn’t they? She wanted to believe it. The tip of his nose touched hers. She thought he’d try to kiss her but he hesitated
“You really don’t care what my name is?” he asked.
“I couldn’t care less,” she repeated defiantly.
“You cared last night,” He flicked up an eyebrow. “You know, when it was all you could say? Or moan. Or scream.”
Macy jerked her head to the side and felt his laugh pour through his body. The warmth of it made her want to kiss him. She didn’t.
“You remember, don’t you?”
She didn’t look at him. The weight of his hand roamed down her body and she didn’t stop him. It felt inordinately good to be touched. Lower. Lower. She realised she was holding her breath and let it out in a whoosh as his hand curled possessively between her legs. His eyes read the expressions in hers. She blinked and swallowed hard.
He didn’t move his hand.
“D’you remember how good it was?” he pressed. “Or did you toss that out with my name?”
His tone was indecently soft. Almost mocking. Macy tried to close her legs but his knee lodged between them and pushed them further apart.
“You remember,” he insisted. “When you came so hard you bit me. Was that after you sucked my cock, or before? Or did you do it twice? Help me out, Mace. It’s all a blur now.”
She blushed furiously.
“You are – unbelievable.”
His finger slid inside her.
“I think you came with my cock in your mouth too. Did you?”
“I don’t fucking know,” Macy snapped, but she did. She could remember it vividly; on the bed beneath him as they sixty-nined and he stroked his tongue over her clit before spanking his fingers down hard on her dripping snatch. The memory made her clench all over again.
“Yeah. You damn near scratched the life outta me. You fucking loved it, princess.”
The words made her surge with wetness and she hated herself for it.
“You can’t talk to me like this.”
“What do you want? You want pleasantries after we’ve been as close as two people can be? What do you want, Macy? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”
She looked at him. He looked back. The laughter was gone and she knew by now she should be dressed and out of the door but wasn’t this so much better than wallowing in guilt and self-hate? But it didn’t make any sense. What did he want? What more could he possibly want from her? Things like this weren’t supposed to happen.
His finger pushed into her and then retreated, only to return with a second. He watched her silently, his eyes almost curious. Daylight changed everything. No more excuses. No shadows to hide in. Everything was real; bright and tangible.
“Don’t look at me,” she said and as hard as she tried to control her voice, it slipped on the last word betraying everything she’d ever been.
His brows pulled together.
“Why not?”
Macy looked away but he didn’t.
“’Cause.”
There was a pause.
Then, “You’re really beautiful, you know,” he said.
“For God’s sake,” She tried to turn away.
“What? You are.”
“You don’t have to say that just because,” She felt angry with him all of a sudden. Angry that he should think she needed his compliments even though she did, even though despite the rush of warmth she wouldn’t have believed him if he’d said it a thousand times. She looked at him. He looked at her. Her eyes. Her nose. Her mouth. His dark eyes seemed to know too much, to see too much.
“I’m not even kidding,” he said. “You’re perfection, Macy.”
She’d never been able to take a compliment. Macy’s a hard worker. No, I just find stuff easy. Macy’s intelligent. No, I get that from my parents. Macy’s self-deprecating. No, I just can’t take a compliment. It would have been funny if it hadn’t made her want to cry.
Abel wouldn’t stop looking at her and if it hadn’t been for his fingers inside her, she might have pushed him away.
Instead, she said, “You’re unreal.”
She reached up and put her hand over his eyes and felt the flicker of his eyelashes against her fingers. Beneath her hand he smiled. If anyone had ever been beautiful, it was him. His hand moved between their bodies, his thumb pushing against her clit. She arched against him instinctively and he moved his thumb in a slow circle. His legs were between hers, holding her open as his fingers moved in and out of her. Her hand slipped and his fingers moved faster, his eyes drinking in her reaction. She didn’t want him to stop. She wanted more. She wanted every single thing he had to give.
“You gonna come?” With his free hand, he pushed damp strands of hair back from her forehead, his hand lingering against her cheek. “Or do you need more?”
She pushed against his hand, her pussy wetter than she could ever remember.
“I just – just - ”
“Just what?” His fingers curled and she gasped.
“How do you – please.”
He kissed her very softly and she kissed him back, her mouth pushing hard against his. She felt him smile.
“Oh, now you want me?” He spoke against her mouth, his teeth sinking into her lower lip and tugging. “You sure you don’t wanna leave now?”
Macy moaned. His fingers stilled and she ground against his hand desperately until he finally relented and touched her the way no one else had ever touched her.
“Fuck,” She grasped at him desperately, fingers digging into the broad muscle of his shoulders. Her body was pushed up against his, needing contact. His thumb moved faster, his mouth covering hers hungrily until she shuddered hard against him, her body craving the pressure of his fingers until it was too much and he finally stopped.
