The First Male (40 page)

The room was still; eerily so. Slowly, she pulled herself from the floor and stood on shaky legs. She took meek steps forward and then stopped, suddenly. She gasped. The scent of Simon's cologne lingered in the air.

Brooke stood at the bay window in the den of her sorority house and watched, with singular focus, the snow fall at a sharp angle, carried by the moaning winds. It had been snowing almost nonstop for days and the grounds of the house were blanketed in white. She wanted to move away from the window, but something
about the storm held her in place, captivated by the majesty of it all. She wondered when the snow would cease, but secretly hoped for a white Christmas, even if she spent it alone, not that her parents cancelled the cruise. She wrapped her arms around herself; her heart was heavy and she couldn't enjoy the snowfall as much as she wanted, regardless of its simple beauty.

She tried to focus only on the snowfall, but her mind drifted back to last night, when she was in her room. When she thought about her extraordinary experience, she became unnerved, fighting back the tears that formed in her eyes, even though she wasn't sure whether the tears formed because she thought she was losing her mind, or because she missed Simon tremendously. She thought about her invisible lover and his familiar strokes; she thought about the rough and gentle ways in which she was handled, ways that were identical to Simon's techniques. She thought about the smell of his cologne hanging in the air. Had she imagined it all, including his kisses? Even if she had, it only reinforced her need to be near Simon.

She wanted to burst from the room, plow through the snow to run to him, but she resisted the urge; he wasn't safe for her; lately, strange things seemed to surround him. How does someone vomit a live snake? How had she been brought to multiple orgasms by a force that she was certain was him? Still, through the madness of what was happening, she could not stop craving him.

“Hey, Brooke,” a voice called out from behind. Brooke turned and saw her sorority sister, Serenity, bouncing into the room, her long black hair cascading down her shoulders. “What are you doing?” Serenity was dressed warmly, in a thick coat, hat, and gloves in hand.

“Watching the snow. What are you doing?”

Broooooooooke
.

Quickly, Brooke turned around and looked out of the window, hoping to see Simon. She heard his voice; she was certain of that, but when she faced the window she was met only by the bitter gray sky and the falling snow.

“Brooke,” Serenity asked as she stepped closer. “Did you hear me? I said we are going to go play in the snow. Wanna come?”

“Huh? Oh, no.”

“Are you okay?”

Broooooooooke
. She heard the voice again.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Brooke glanced outside the window, half-expecting to see Simon take shape out of the darkness. The whisper she heard was clear and sounded really close to her, yet Serenity was looking at her as if she had lost her mind. “Nothing.”

“That settles it. We are getting you out of this big empty house. Go upstairs and put on something warm. You're coming with me and Jackson. We're going to go out and build a snowman and make snow angels and have a good time. I won't have you moping around by yourself any longer.” Serenity gently took Brooke by the hand and looked into her eyes. “I don't know exactly what's going on between you and Simon, but I can tell that it's not good. You don't have to tell me what happened, but I'm your best friend and I hope you know that I'm here for you.”

For a few seconds, Brooke honestly thought about confessing everything to Serenity. Her voice was full of concern and sounded so sincere; so comforting. Brooke needed to release all the tension that had built up in her bones, but when she thought about what she had to confess, she balked.

“Everything is fine. We had a . . . misunderstanding.”

“About what?”

“It's not important.”

Serenity expelled a puff of air with exaggerated effort. “Fine. But you're coming with us. And I won't take no for an answer.”

Brooooooooooke
.

Brooooooooooke
.

Brooooooooooke
.

Brooke fought hard to not react to the voice. It was like she could hear his voice on the wind, calling for her, each time it blew. Since the moment they separated, she had felt a strong urge to be near him again. She had dreamed of him; last night, she felt him. She couldn't escape him; part of her didn't want to escape him. Now, she heard his voice calling her name, and she wanted to run to him.

And, she did.

When Brooke walked into Simon's house, she was immediately hit with a blast of heat. It felt like it was a hundred degrees in the room. The place was dark and it reeked of funk, like the rank smell of an unclean locker room. She took a deep breath and tried to stop her knees from knocking. This place that used to provide her with solace now filled her with fear. She remembered what happened the last time she was here. She remembered the snake and the vacant look in Simon's eyes. When she burst from the apartment that day, she swore to herself that she'd never come back; yet, she found herself standing with her back pressed against the inside of his living room door. She had tried to stay away, to not think about him, but he was a part of her that she couldn't shake loose. In the deep of the night she felt his fingertips on the small of her back as if he was lying right next to her,
touching her in the ways she had come to love. When she walked down the street she could hear his voice, whispering on the wind. Her body craved him, ached for him, but she resisted. She resisted returning his many phone calls and text messages, even though her nipples stiffened when she saw his name on the display of her phone.

She had resisted the strong yearning as long as she could. She had even prayed that whatever bond he had on her be broken. She knew she loved him; that fact was incontrovertible, but this unnamed craving she felt for him, which seemed to grow stronger each day, wasn't love. It felt unnatural, but it wouldn't be denied.

In spite of the fear she now felt for him, she had braved the storm and trudged through the city streets, hoping for the chance to be near him, if only to smell him. She imagined his manly scent filling her nostrils; the thought of it sent chills throughout her body. Before she entered his building, she had stood outside of it for a few moments and stared at it. Her head had been telling her to flee and warning her
do not enter
, but the longing in her soul, that burned hotter than fear, overruled her thoughts and she found herself inside the building, slowly ascending the stairs that led to his apartment. She felt like an automaton, mindlessly following a set of instructions planted within her brain; the reticence in her heart told her she was more like a moth being drawn to a flame.

After she stopped her body from rattling, she pried herself off the wall, took a few steps, and dropped her keys on the table near the door, flipping on the light switch when she passed it. The clanging of the keys on the table echoed through the house, as if the sound were magnified, three-fold. She jumped, but felt silly. She wiped the sweat from her brow and moved over to the thermostat, intending to turn off the heat, but it was already off.
She flipped the switch to “on” and listened to the machine roar to life, confirming the facts that the thermostat had already told her: that the heat was off and it was almost ninety-five degrees in the room. Quickly, she turned it off, again. She had no explanation for how the apartment could be so hot when the heat was off, especially when it was so bitterly cold outside.

Oh God
, she thought, fearing what lay ahead in the apartment. First it was snakes. Now, it was an interior heat wave in the middle of a blizzard. “Simon? Are you here?” Her question went unanswered. “Hello?”

She moved through the living room and looked around nervously. Nothing was suspicious. She moved into the kitchen, but saw nothing unusual. She noticed the magnetic calendar on the refrigerator in which she had circled his birthday—December 21st—which was only two days away. The special plans she had to celebrate had died when the snake came to life.

She took in a deep breath and propelled herself forward. Slowly, she crept toward the bedroom. An image of the black snake slithering out of Simon's mouth flashed across her mind. Her body stiffened, but she kept walking. When she stepped into the bedroom she immediately noticed that the room was hot and sticky, like a sauna. The linen on the bed was in disarray and one of the pillows lay on the floor near the nightstand. She walked deeper into the room, intending to peer into the bathroom, but when she turned she saw a foot sticking out from the other side of the bed.

She gasped.

Without much thought, she raced over to the body, not knowing who was lying there.

“Simon!” she screamed when he came into view. He lay on the floor completely naked, in the fetal position, covered in a gooey clear substance. His eyes were closed and his body shook, slightly.
Instantly, she knew that the smell that permeated the air emanated from the slimy material that covered his body. Quickly, she reached down to touch him and jerked her hand back instantly, shocked at how hot his skin was. It wasn't hot enough to burn her, but far hotter than she had ever known a human body to get.

She dropped to her knees at his side as panic seized her. “Simon! Simon!” She shook him hard, hoping to awaken him. His eyelids fluttered rapidly before finally opening to reveal his blood-shot eyes.

“Brrr—Brooke?” he said between staggered breaths. “Y—y—you—you came back.” A tiny smile formed on his lips.

“I need to get you to the hospital,” she said. “I need to call 9-1-1.” She leapt to her feet, but Simon grabbed her by the arm, halting her movement.

“No,” he said pleadingly. “That won't help. Help me up,” he said in a much steadier voice. “Please,” he said as he tried to stand, pulling on her arms for support. Quickly, she wrapped her arm around his waist and helped him to the bed. “Water.” She needed no further instructions. She darted into the kitchen and poured a glass of water and then raced back into the room. With unsteady hands, Simon took the glass and emptied it ravenously. “More,” he said. Brooke didn't hesitate.

After seven full glasses of ice cold water, Simon had finally had enough. He set the empty glass on the nightstand and tried to push himself off the bed, but his legs were wobbly. Brooke moved around him and placed his arm around her shoulder. Her hands slipped off of his waist due to the slimy substance that covered his body. “Help me into the shower,” he said.

They walked across the room unevenly, Simon's weight bearing heavily on Brooke's petite frame. She struggled, but did not relent.

When they reached the bathroom, he moved over to the toilet,
dropped the lid and plopped down on the seat, exhaustedly. Brooke turned to the shower and turned on the water. She knew that he usually liked his showers hot, but with his body already close to nuclear, she thought it best to moderate the temperature of the water.

“I wasn't sure you'd come,” Simon said. “I wasn't sure you'd feel me. And, even if you did, I wasn't sure you'd come.”

Brooke turned slowly to him, his words spinning deeply into her mind. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing—just that I love you.” He smiled. She forced a smile in return and moved over and helped him.

“The water's cool,” she said in a meek voice. He stepped into the shower and winced immediately, but continued. Brooke watched the slimy substance begin to fall from his body and get sucked down the drain. She looked at the slimy material that Simon left on the seat of the commode. She reached into the cabinet, grabbed a towel and wiped the seat down. The unusual odor of the substance filled her nostrils and, as far as she was concerned, Simon could not clean himself fast enough; she wanted to be rid of that odor and that slime.