One set for small talk. One for fucking.
A glut of bile leaps into the back of my throat and I swallow it down, opening my door, unlocking hers at the same time. “You coming?”
She does. Surprising us both, judging by the strange array of emotions that play across her face.
Inside, I shove a handful of notes at her. “Get me a double cheeseburger meal and whatever you want for yourself.”
There’s probably a hundred there, not something I’m worried about losing but the moment I walk into the bathroom,I realise she’s probably walking out the opposite door, going to hunt down replacements for the drugs I still have tucked in my back pocket.
Idiot.
And that’s the best-case scenario.
She could just as easily be calling the police. Telling the counter staff. Finding the security guard who patrols this central strip and laying a complaint that the man in the bathroom stuck a loaded gun into her mouth, the same gun he put into the glovebox right in front of her.
The one they’ll find with a cursory search of the car.
I stare at my face in the mirror, gripping the sides of the sink, concentrating until the reflection ceases to make sense. When my image reduces to disconnected blobs of light and shadow, I break my gaze, splashing water over my face, rubbing a hand through my hair.
The stalls are empty, and I choose the one nearest the door and lock myself inside, undoing my jeans with a moue of distaste, lifting my shirt clear of the mess. The smell makes my nose wrinkle and I swab at the sticky fluid with paper, then flush, then repeat until I convince myself it’s as close to clean as I’ll get in here.
Eighteen years old and the only other times I’ve dealt with this mess was following a few nocturnal emissions and one ruthlessly applied masturbation session.
Just to prove I could. To prove I’mnormal.
The aftereffects that time had turned my skin clammy, adrenaline surging until I was a taut mass of clenched muscle, mind awash with despair. The lingering effects left behind a bitter taste, like chewing on aspirin.
There’s a taste in my mouth now, but that’s not it. This is sweeter, enticing enough to be habit-forming.
It must be the gun. The weapon… and the sensation of complete control it gave me. A force to make her obey. Just thinking about those reactions, those noises,that girl,makes something stir.
I think how it would be to try again, this time without the bulk of fabric between us. Just me burying myself inside her tiny body, cum soaking her insides instead of my jeans.
The remnant tug of desire hits me again, then I shake my head. She’ll be long gone. She didn’t give me her name.
The fluorescent light flickers and ticks above me.
Game face on. You can’t hide forever. Get out there in five. Four. Three. Two…
I launch through the door, halfway across the lobby when I misstep, struck by the sight of the girl standing near the order station. My pulse jumps, relief easing the bands of tension across my temples.
She stayed.
Her arms wrap tightly around her thin form, hip resting against the counter. Those big eyes drill straight into the floor.
My body turns, barely breaking stride as I change direction. “Hey.”
She glances up and immediately stares down again, arms pulling tighter. Small white teeth nibble at her lower lip, catching the corner and releasing.
“It’ll just be a minute,” the guy behind the counter says.
I nod and the girl frowns more deeply. She shoots another troubled glance my way, then stares at the door, at the counter, back at the floor.
“I ordered enough to take some home to my brother,” she whispers, loosening her arms so she can cup her throat. “Hope that’s okay.”
Her hand jerks towards me, and I jump back, then realise she’s returning my change. “That’s fine. You keep it.”
She stuffs her hands deep into her pocket as she turns aside, the sharp lighting picking out the delicate curve of her throat, the spots of colour on her cheekbones, the splash of crimson where her teeth keep worrying her lip.
