“Twilight.”
I startle.
“I’m taking you to a place where you can cool off and process this, okay?”
I stare at her blankly for a few seconds, then focus. “A place…here?”
“It’s on camp grounds, but it’s a private home. Off-limits to campers.” She smiles. “The safest place I can think of. Truly. You can have whatever kind of meltdown you need to there. Or not. You can sleep it off and… Well, you’ll see. This is the right choice. Promise.”
I give her a long, careful look. She seems earnest. And trustworthy. Also, my knees have now turned to jelly. I look down. And I’m only wearing one shoe. “Is it close?” I ask, staring at my own feet like they don’t belong to me. “I don’t think I can walk far.”
“I’ve got you. Come on,” she says, offering me her arm and setting off into the darkness. “You’re gonna love Lamé.”
* * *
Zion
Twyla’s gone.
I’ve searched every single space I can think of, including doubling back to the Black Hole—again—which made me horny and frustrated and pissed off.
Why was she here? Why the fuck would she do that? Why would she…
I shove my way out of the dungeon and walk right into a swarm of gnats. How the fuck will I even recognize her in that outfit? Every third person here tonight seems to be wearing a vinyl body suit with a little skirt and a mask.
Twyla.
Her cunt…I can still smell her, still taste her. My dick’s still hard.
My insides are still in knots. I bend at the waist, put my hands to my knees, breathe deep.
My head’s fuzzy, weird. I’m a mess.
Maybe I can run this thing off, catch some sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll feel clearer.
My body’s already moving
After a few steps, I kick off my flip-flops, leaving them wherever they land, and take off, her sparkly sandal still held tight in my hand.
It feels good to run, to let my body work hard and my mind shut down for a while. It’s funny—I guess—how I’m the one usually doling out the pain here, not craving it. Right now, it’s all I want. The burn, the effort. I’m pushing myself harder than I should, sprinting for longer than my muscles are used to, sticking to the lit paths, since it’s dark as hell out and my feet are bare and the last thing I need is to trip and fall and break a leg or something.
People I know fly past me, their bodies and faces a blur. Their hellos just background noise to this thing eating me up from the inside.
Fifteen minutes later, I yank off my mask with relief as I push through Liev’s front gate and walk up the stone path, surprised to see the light on in the massive studio behind his house. As I get closer, the sounds of Rage Against the Machine get louder. The screaming, the anger, the noise all hit the right chord inside of me. I shove open the giant metal door and spot him up at the top of a massive scaffolding, working on another obelisk—this one unflinchingly explicit and clearly not meant for the same audience as his last one.
I head straight to the fridge, pull out a beer, and at Liev’s nod, grab a second.
I don’t shut off the music like I usually would, partly to annoy him and partly so we can talk.
Tonight, I don’t want to fucking talk. I want to—
Twyla.
Her name hits me like a blow from Liev’s hammer.
I want to… I want to… Fuck, I want to talk toher. Make sure she’s okay, then send her away. Once I do that, I’ll be good. That’s all this is. I’m worried about her. Concern for a fellow human being.
Relief floods me at the realization. I can fix this. We can talk and laugh over the mistake we made.
