Dwellers of the Night: The Complete Collection (53 page)

∑Ω∑

She has let him undo her top, and now she sits upon the bed, and he sits beside her, massaging her swollen breasts, the nipples hard as hewn ice, and the rings around them tinged like burning chocolate. His bare shoulder rubs against hers, and he pulls her around, and they continue kissing. He presses her down atop the bed, and she swings her legs underneath him. The frills of her dress rub against his trousers, and their stomachs and chests touch. He runs his hand through her hair, and she grips the edge of his shoulder-blade, feeling the blood coursing underneath his skin. They kiss and gently pull at one another, fingers and palms drawing red marks across one another’s skin. She arcs her head back against the mangled sheets, her vagina becoming hot and wet, squirming. She begins unlacing his pants, and he pulls at her dress. A moment later they are naked, lying atop of one another, their hearts beating in romantic rhythm.

Adrian grins sheepishly. “What now?”

“I don’t know,” she replies, biting her lip. “You tell me.”

∑Ω∑

Her phone had rang the next morning. He had apologized, explaining that he was drunk and didn’t know what he was doing. The conversation hadn’t lasted long: she had to run in to work. While at OLD NAVY, working at one of the cash registers, the flow of customers had been slow, as it always was on Monday mornings. She had told one of her friends about Jason, what he had tried to pull in the park the night before, and the phone conversation that morning. Her friend, a wonderful girl named Lyndsey, put her hands on her hips and chastised her: “You don’t need a bastard for a boyfriend, Rachel. You don’t need to settle for shit like that. I can already imagine Jason’s reputation. Tell me if I’m wrong: he’s a jock, he’s popular, he’s the Dream Guy; he’s Anthony Barnhart

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been with several girls, ranging all across the board of the High School social scene. He has a reputation for being sweet, charming, but forceful. He knows what he wants, and he does everything necessary to get it. Am I wrong?”

Rachel had shaken her head,
No
.

Lyndsey had then said, “Take my word for it: you don’t need this guy. You want love just as much as everyone else. But
please
don’t make the mistake of looking for it in all the wrong places. Look at me: I’m a pretty girl, and I’m dating a chubby kid who is home-schooled! People make fun of me. But you know what?
I’m happy
. Ha! Sometimes it makes me laugh, just thinking about it. The irony of it all. Society tells you that happiness comes from having a certain thing that is packaged a certain way and that has certain qualities. But society, ultimately, is wrong. Marketing has determined the dating scene; but don’t let marketing determine your life.”

Jason had called her on her lunch-break and invited her to a party. She quietly agreed to go; Lyndsey was in the bathroom, and she didn’t want her to know what had happened. After work, she spent some time at home, doing chores and laundry for her mother, and then she jumped in her car and began the drive towards College Hill.

She kept hearing Lyndsey’s words throughout the entire drive, but she pushed them from her mind—or attempted to. She found an angel with a halo on one shoulder and the devil with a pitchfork on the other. The angel begged her to turn around, to not give in to Jason, to not fall for his charm and wit and his rugged good lucks. The devil told her that everything would work out, that she had misinterpreted him, that he really did care, that he was a good guy and would treat her right. She reached the house after night had fallen. Stars twinkled in the sky. Storms were coming later in the week. She got out of her car and made her way into the house. People were everywhere, and a keg of beer sat half-drained in the kitchen. A joint was passed around, and the rooms were drenched in smoke from the cigarettes. She searched for Jason but couldn’t find him. She asked a few people where he was, but she was ignored. Eventually a girl told her, “He went upstairs with my friend Jasmine.” At the news, Rachel’s face flushed a myriad of scalding colors. She trudged up the steps, each step heavier than the one before it. The angel and the devil returned. She blocked them out. She reached the upper landing and found the door. It was shut and locked. She knocked a few times, heard Jason’s voice: “This room’s taken!”

She knocked again.

He shouted, “You’d better not come in here!”

She stepped back and threw her foot into the door. The lock splintered and it swung open. Meager light from a bedside lamp illuminated the two figures on the bed: Jason and another girl. His shirt was off, and he had her fingers inside her pants, and her breasts hung limp as she stared at Rachel in the doorway.

Jason’s face went ashen-pale. “Rachel…”

She turned and left the doorway.

She had exited the house and was nearly to her car.

Jason came from behind, still shirtless. “Rachel…”

She swung around; he came forward, “Rachel, please…”

Her fist swung out, cracking against his chin.

He stumbled back, fell into the grass.

A few onlookers near a lone tree laughed.

He rubbed his chin. “You bitch,” he growled. “You fucking
bitch
.”

She moved forward, kicked him in the groin.

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He buckled over.

She leaned over him as he curled into a fetal position, and she snarled:

“I’m
not
your bitch.”

∑Ω∑

She lies on the bed, and he is atop of her, and she closes her eyes and enjoys how he sucks her all over: her breasts, her neck, her stomach. He is moving downwards, and his head is between her legs, and he begins to suck on her clit. Her legs shudder and wrap tight around his head. She grips his arms as if in a vice as she moans, drawing in succulent and sharp breaths. She raises her head: “You should let me get on top of you.”

He looks up from between his legs, grins. “Okay.”

Now he is lying on his back. She swings her leg over him, and she looks down at him. She can see his eyes exploring her body: her round tummy shuddering with each piercing breath, her swollen breasts hanging like church bells, the goose-bumps spreading in anticipation over her arms. She slowly begins lowering herself onto him, but she grits her teeth, feeling the pain. She can get it only halfway inside her, but it hurts, and she wants him to be able to really get inside her; she wants to feel his weight upon her. She mentions this, and they change positions. He mounts her, and he places his erect penis near her vagina.

“You should move your hips,” he says. “Rub them against me.”

She closes her eyes and obeys, feels butterflies spinning in her stomach.

“Are you ready?” he asks, hovering over her, his nipples gracing hers. She takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“It’s going to hurt a little bit.”

“I know.”

He pauses. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Adrian,” she moans. “Stop talking.”

∑Ω∑

She knew that Jason wasn’t what she needed, even if he
was
what her desperate-for-love mind craved. She knew he was nothing but a jackass, and for the next few days, she was resolute. He didn’t call her. She went to work, and she told Lyndsey all about what happened; while disappointed that Rachel had actually gone to the party in the first place, she was glad—despite the emotional pain it had caused her friend—that Jason’s
true
colors had burned so brightly. On Wednesday night, Jason tried to call, but she ignored his calls. On Thursday, a sudden bout of storms had swept in, and rain had fallen nearly all day. Most of the rain had dissipated over Cincinnati and northern Kentucky, but the rain still fell in a cool and calming drizzle. Jason hadn’t called that night, and she was thankful; but loneliness had consumed her: she had sat out on her back porch, lying in the hammock under the overhang, watching the lightning crisscross in the distance, the thunder shaking the house. The next evening, Friday, he had called again. This time she answered, loneliness getting the best of her.

“Hi, Baby. You want to come over to my place tonight? I’ve got the house all to myself.”

“No thanks,” she said grimly. “Why would
I
want to spend time with
you
?”

“What are you talking about, Baby?”

“You’re an ass. Or were you too drunk to remember what happened at that party?”

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“What party? The party on Monday? Oh. Don’t worry about that.”

“You were with another girl, Jason. And you expect me not to be concerned?”

“I’m sorry about ditching you at the party, Baby. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“And that gave you every right to cheat on me?”

“I thought you had broken up with me, Baby.”

“Oh, really?”

“Come on over, Baby. Don’t worry about that other girl. I could smell her dirty cunt from a mile away. You don’t have a dirty cunt, Baby.”

Rage blossomed within her at his words, tracing white-hot lines through her veins. Her temples bulged, blood vessels flaring.

Her eyes became the haven of madness.

“You want me to come over, Jason?” she cooed.

“I want you and only you, Baby. You and
only
you.”

“All right,” she said, heart calming. “I’ll come over.”

∑Ω∑

He feels so warm and hard as he slides into her. She can feel him deep inside her, and she tries to mask the pain that travels up her spine. She squirms and bites her bottom lip, closes her eyes. Adrian lies on top of her, inside her, caresses her cheek, kisses her forehead; it is warm with blood flowing underneath her skin.

He asks her, “Is everything okay?”

“It just hurts,” she answers.

“It’s your first time.”

“I know. That’s why it hurts.”

“We can stop if you want…”

“No,” she says, kissing his cheek. “No. I don’t want to stop.”

“It’ll hurt worse.”

“But then it’ll start to feel better. It’ll start to feel good.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll go slow.”

∑Ω∑

She drives along country roads, the stars twinkling high above in the clear sky. She listens to the radio.

♫It’s the end of the world as we know it.

It’s the end of the world as we know it.

It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.♫

She turns the radio off, drives in silence, her headlights washing over the trees along either side of the road. She passes several gravel driveways, and she barely notices a family of deer watching her with stoic bodies as she drives past. Her heart sprints in her chest, hammering against her ribs, threatening to break free from its cartilaginous prison. She slows the car down, and she pulls into a gravel drive. She extinguishes the headlights and drives slowly, the oaks and maples and pines closing in on either side. A fox scurries in front of the car, a mere shadow in the darkness. The gravel Anthony Barnhart

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drive twists to the right, and she sees the ranch-style house sitting quietly among a manicured lawn with potted plants and a wooden swing sitting still in the absent breeze. A single window is lit in the front of the house. She stops the car and rolls down the window, hears the cicadas and crickets playing their melodious sonnets in beautiful harmony. She takes several deep breaths and undoes her seatbelt. She leans to the side and opens the glove compartment. She withdraws something and holds it in her hands. It is heavy and cold. Fireflies hover around the car, and their illuminating bodies send spasms of faint light across the polished blade. She fondles the knife and closes her eyes, hears only the resounding
thump-thump
of her heart. She takes a deep breath, tries to swallow her nervousness.
I’m going to cut off that bastard’s balls
.

She opens the car door and steps out.

∑Ω∑

The pain subsides after about seven or eight strokes, and they find themselves in a steady rhythm. She stops having to cringe with pain, and she begins to gasp for breath, her lungs diabolically shrieking with the pleasure. She grips his shoulder-blades as he moves atop of her, and he is surprised when she starts to shout, “Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!” He puts a hand over her mouth, a cue to keep quiet, but she rips his hand away and begins screaming. Yelling makes it so much better, the enjoyment so much more intense. Her vagina wraps tighter around his penis as he thrusts into her, and in a moment she can feel him explode inside her; he falls atop of her, breathing hard, panting, sweat streaming down his face; he continues to thrust, jamming his cum deep into her, and she kisses his neck over and over. In a few moments, they are lying beside one another, looking deep into one another’s eyes, bodies slowly recharging.

“I hope you weren’t screaming in pain,” Adrian murmurs with a whimsical grin.

“Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head. “Oh,
God
, no.”

He muses, “You probably woke up half the church.”

“I don’t care. They need to know that life can still hold meaning.”

“Life still holds meaning?” he asks rhetorically. “You can’t prove that.”

“Of course I can,” she says. “All I have to do is point to you.”

∑Ω∑

She walks up to the door, gripping the knife in her hand. She stands before the heavy oak door for what seems hours, her mind spinning, the world going fuzzy as tunnel vision wraps around her. She prepares to knock, but in the starlight sees a sign on the door inviting her in. She grips the door handle, twists, pushes it open. It creaks loudly, the sound spreading throughout the house. She steps inside, her shrieking heart nearly bursting from her chest. The house is quiet; all she hears is the grandfather clock in the far room, the crickets and cicadas in the yard, the blood pulsing in a marathon through her veins. She glances up the stairwell, doesn’t hear anyone or anything upstairs. She moves through the hardwood parlor, her shoes rapping quietly on the polished timbers, and she enters the kitchen. Moonlight comes through one of the windows, sparkling over the magnets on the refrigerator and the kitchen knives stacked in their display case. She takes a deep breath, imagines he has yet again run off into the arms of another girl, that he has once again—