Under the thumb of the controller…
“I dreamt about you all these years. I knew we’d find each other again.”
She’s a user…My thoughts are wild and unrelenting, pounding away at my skull.
I need some aspirin.
Drum drum drum…
Carrie pulls her hand out of mine. “Don’t, Ethan. Please don’t.”
“Sorry,” I say. But I don’t know why I’m saying sorry. She should be the one to say sorry. “I just…” I can’t finish my sentence.
“You can’t go backwards,” she says.
I look up at her, trying to fathom what she’s saying. “You can’t?”
“No,” she affirms. “You can only move forward. Backwards is where the bad is. Forward is where the good is. Somewhere.” She swallows. “I’m still searching for it. For the good,” she clarifies.
“Me too,” I say, to show her that we have this in common, even though I know it’s a lie. It’s only a white lie though, and white lies are okay to tell if they are for a good reason.
“Really?” she asks.
“Really,” I say. “I’m looking to the future, trying to find the good. The past is where it’s bad, and I’m still running from that.”
I’m not.
The past is over.
I’m glad.
I miss my mom and my dad and Carrie.
And I know that they will be in my future, so I’m running flat-out toward the future and I’m smiling because I know that I’ll get there in the end. I know everything will work out okay.
“We can make this work,” I say, reaching for her.
She moves, and the covers slip. Her breast is on show, and I can’t help but stare at it, transfixed.
“You’re so beautiful, Carrie.”
She sees my stare, but can’t do anything to cover herself.
Or maybe she can and she chooses not to because she wants me to see her.
She wants me like I want her.
Like I wanted her in the bathroom but I wouldn’t take her because she wasn’t ready.
But I think she is now, so I reach out and I touch her breast and she shivers, and I sigh.
She doesn’t try to stop me, and I look into her face and it shows no fear of me so I gently squeeze her breast, and then I reach over and I pull the covers down so that I can get to the other one.
Andhow did this happen?
Andwasn’t I mad at her?
I lean over and I wrap my lips around the breast I exposed. Her nipple is soft but it grows hard and puckers as I lick my tongue against it. I groan and sigh all at once because she is perfection.And she groans too.Because my Carrie is perfect and she was ready.
I’m panting, and I’m hard against my jeans, and she is soft against the mattress. I pull the covers away—out of our way—and I pull my T-shirt over my head. Her fingers trace the many scars across my chest. The ones I got in the hospital when I first arrived. The ones from when I was a pussy and they used to beat me and kick me and burn me and hurt me all the fucking time.
“It’s okay,” I say against her skin. “I’m not a pussy anymore,” I promise.
