“You’re drunk,”
he insisted, hoping that saying so would somehow negate the impact of what she
had just said. He stepped closer to her, looking hard into her eyes. “You don’t
know what you’re saying.”
She took a drag
of her cigarette and exhaled away from him.
“He told me he didn’t
ever want kids. And that I…” she paused for a moment and looked away from him. “That
I wasn’t the maternal type.”
He wondered for a
moment if she might cry, might step forward and lean her head against him,
softening against his chest, allowing him to wrap his arms around her, comfort
her, care for her. Instead she dropped what remained of her cigarette to the
ground, turned, and began walking briskly away.
He caught up to
her quickly, but she remained quiet as he fell in beside her and rounded the
corner onto his street.
“So what did you
do?” he asked.
“I had an abortion,”
she said, her voice steady and firm. “It was what he wanted.”
She stopped
again, looking across the street. He could see his apartment building, could
see his living room window on the second floor. He was eager to get her inside,
to shut the door behind them and lock out the rest of the world. She was open
and exposed out here on the sidewalk, under the expanse of the sky, where
anything could swoop in and snatch her away from him. He needed her contained.
“Hey, isn’t there
a park over across the way?” she asked.
“Yeah, a little
playground-“
“With a slide?”
Her eyes were bright and she moved in close, looking up at him with a sly smile.
“Let’s fuck on the slide,” she whispered.
“I don’t think-“
“Don’t think!”
she laughed and in a flash she was running away from him, darting into the
quiet street, unsteady with drunkenness as she turned to look over her shoulder
at him.
“Come on!” she
called. He was too drunk to run smoothly, so he stuck his hands in his pockets
and strode across the street.
Contained. He
needed her contained, but she was so damn fluid, so utterly uncontainable.
She was walking
backwards, looking at him, making sure he was following her. She passed beneath
the glow of a street light at the park’s entrance and disappeared into the
darkness behind it. It had engulfed her completely; he could no longer see her.
His heart was suddenly pounding, his palms sweaty.
“Where are you?”
he called.
She stepped out,
laughing, from behind a small field house to his right.
“Kyla, let’s go.
My apartment is right there.”
But she did not
respond, instead pulling off her top and tossing it aside. She was walking away
from him again, heading past the swings and toward the slide at the back of the
fenced in playground. He followed, his pulse quickening as she reached around,
unhooked her bra, and let it slide down her arms and to the ground. He had
always found her bare back beautiful, long and smooth until it widened out at
her hips. God, he wanted her.
She was already naked
when he reached the slide.
The taste of
alcohol was heavy on her tongue as she wrapped an arm around his neck and
pulled him in for a kiss. He was overwhelmed by the cocktail of cool night air,
whiskey, and her skin, unsure of where to touch her first. He wanted to touch her
everywhere at once, wanted his hands in her hair, on her face, on her hips, on
her back, on her breasts, sliding between her legs. He was dizzy with wanting her.
Her hands were at
his waist, fumbling with his belt buckle. He looked quickly around the park. The
back fence was lined with trees and the streetlight at the entrance was far
enough away that they would be protected by the darkness.
She was breathing
rapidly, her chest rising and falling urgently as she pushed his pants down. He
normally loved the feel of her hands on him, longed for her to touch him more,
but tonight he did not care that she was barely touching him. She had grabbed
his wrist and was climbing onto the slide.
“Hurry,” she said
breathlessly as she laid down. Maneuvering on the slide was not easy, but it
only took him a moment to get his footing.
He felt the weight
of the night fall off of him the instant he slid inside of her. She grabbed at
his back, digging her nails into him as she pulled him deeper. He felt a rush
of excitement that went beyond anything sexual; he would erase the night with
every thrust inside of her. There was no abortion, no Facebook status, no ex,
no fiancé. He would erase it all until he felt sure none of it had actually
happened.
“Wait,” she said.
“Condom.”
“No,” he said
and moved faster inside of her.
“Get a condom,”
she repeated, her words slightly slurred.
He ignored her,
instead taking her wrists in his hands and pinning them up over her head. She
arched her back and moaned. Her breathing was fast, her eyes shut, her legs
wrapped tightly around his waist.
“Look at me,” he
told her. He wanted to see her need for him in her eyes.
She opened her
eyes but quickly turned her head away.
“Harder,” she
half moaned, half whispered. He obliged, but as he looked down at her face
turned to the side, he saw her cheek was wet.
“Are you crying?”
he asked.
“No,” she said
quickly. “Now don’t stop, keep going.”
But even as she
insisted that she was not crying, a fresh tear slid down her face, disappearing
into her hair.
“You are,” he
said. He let go of her wrists but did not move off of her. Her legs remained
tight around him.
“It’s fine,” she
said, wiping the tears away as new ones fell. “Just keep going.”
He touched her face
tenderly. Finally, she was soft and small beneath him. Finally, she was crying
before him.
“What’s wrong?”
he asked softly.
She kept her head
turned to the side, looking, it seemed to him, at some distant, invisible spot
in the trees.
“He said he
didn’t want kids,” she said, her voice so quiet he could barely hear her. “But
she’s having his baby. And he’s going to marry her.”
Adam Greene. All
of her fucking, her wanting, her urgency, it had all been about Adam Greene. He
felt a wave of heat and adrenaline wash over him, a rush of fiery anger like he
had never known before.
His hands were
around her head in a flash, without thought, lifting it and slamming it repeatedly
against the slide, 1-2-3-4, with as much force as her betrayal warranted. She
grunted, a stunned look on her face, but before she could make another sound he
had released her head and clenched his hands around her throat.
Her throat. Her sweet, delicate throat that he
loved to run his tongue along, loved to kiss, loved to smell, felt small in the
fierce grip of his hands. She was panicked beneath him, her eyes wild as she
clawed franticly at his arms. This was just like Kyla, to be so full of fight.
His sudden anger had caused him to go limp, but he felt himself grow hard again
as she struggled, the crushing of her windpipe within his hands leaving him in
awe of his own strength. He squeezed tighter as her eyes rolled back in her
head and she slipped from consciousness, but he did not let go, not until her
chest had stopped rising and her throat was no longer pulsating beneath his
fingers. Only then did he release her, stepping back from her body to catch his
breath.
She was more
beautiful than he had ever seen her, lying there naked and exposed, one leg
draped over the side of the slide, the inside of her pale thigh still shiny with
fluid from their sex. Her neck had turned a brilliant shade of purple and he
was glad for it. It was a tangible sign that she was his now, that he had
finally, at last, contained her. Her head was resting at an unnatural angle
against the rail of the slide.
He wanted
pictures. He wanted to be able to remember this, to look upon the photos whenever
he was feeling low or insecure. His phone was in his pants which, with his
shoes, were next to the slide. He hadn’t bothered to remove his shirt.
He no longer felt
intoxicated, he noticed, as he was easily able to balance as he stepped into
his pants. It wasn’t until he had pulled up the zipper and buttoned them that he
realized his belt was no longer strewn within his pant loops. He peered around
the area surrounding the slide but could not see it. He tried to recall Kyla
taking it off him, but it seemed her hands had gone from struggling to taking
his pants off in an instant. She had most likely pulled it out of the loops and
tossed it aside, he rationalized. No matter, he had others. And he wanted to
get pictures of her body while it was warm.
He began photographing her from afar in order
to capture the hard sloping line of the slide in contrast to the soft curve of
her leg dangling over the side. As he moved closer to take pictures of her face
and neck, he scowled with the realization that he hadn’t had the release of an
orgasm. He briefly considered masturbating right there, next to her body, but
ultimately decided against it, as it was beneath him to do something so lewd in
a public place. No, he would go home, take his time viewing her pictures, and let
his excitement rise and fall until he could no longer contain himself.
The pictures were
stunning. He felt confident that he had successfully captured every angle of
her that he would ever desire. Satisfied, he made his way back to the park
entrance. He was eager to get home and as he crossed the street toward his
apartment, he found that he felt happier than he had in months. For once, hue
felt a sense of pride in himself as a man. He had asserted control in an
out-of-control situation. He had contained the uncontainable. He was the master
of his own universe, he thought as he strode up the stairs of his building and
let himself into his apartment. All was right in his world. He would sleep soundly tonight, of that he was sure.
It was the call of approaching sirens that woke him the next morning.
