“Yeah?” Brody said, sitting nearby.
“Yeah, buddy. You blind? They’re still frozen, dipshit.” The skin was still white, the lips blue. And Teeth, her eyes were still open and pale and clouded. Their arms and legs had started to marble, the veins long dark lines creeping from shoulder to hand and hip to toe. More thick rivers of black peeking from their armpits to wander along the ribs. And Tits, the first click, her stomach had started to swell, the skin turning a gentle shade of green.
“Fuck, man, you see that?” Brody said with a laugh.
He smiled. “I wonder what it’d be like to screw that?”
“Oh snap, dude.” Brody moved closer, his eyes on Tits. “For real?”
“Yeah, for real. Like, would it be like a balloon or something? Would the stomach deflate when I pulled out?”
“Would your dick come out green?” His friend squatted next to Tits.
He laughed, ignoring the desire buzzing in his hips. “Good one.”
The dead waited near coils of rope and jumbo-size silk laundry bags. Soon their elbows would be drawn in, knees drawn up. Heads tucked to chests. The whole package wrapped and tied tight.
He knelt next to Tits. A skinny girl with honey-blonde hair, her body small and light and completely forgettable, the two awkward melons jutting from her chest at odds with her thin arms, miniscule waist and xylophone-like ribs.
“It was supposed to give me confidence,” she’d said as she sat on his couch three months ago, her shirt laying next to her, her bra on top of that, her arms crossed over her new acquisitions. “But they just feel weird. And wrong.”
“You’re beautiful.” He’d convinced her he was a medical student, an easy lie to tell. And she believed him, her worry about the small red scars tucked beneath her breasts overriding her nerves as buttons were unbuttoned and fabric was pulled free and fingers fumbled with the hook of a bargain basement bra.
He slowly reached up, his hands taking her arms away, his fingers caressing the silicone swollen skin and delicate slashes of crimson as the blush rose in her cheeks. “Everything about you, it’s beautiful.”
“You think so?” She looked at him, her eyes welling with tears.
He nodded. “Uh huh.” And then he moved close to kiss her cheek, the monster living inside him snapping and snarling at its chain, desperate to be coarse and cruel.
Soon, he’d promised.
“It’s getting late,” he said, shaking off the memory as he stood over the bodies. “Sun will be going down soon.”
Now he grabbed the long-dead Tits by the ankles and dragged her away from the others. Unlike them, she was naked, her flesh so pale it’d turned a darker blue, save for the green of the stomach and the patches of purple near the armpits and clouding the feet. He tested her arm. It was stiff and cold, but still moved. “Fucked up, man.”
“Not our problem, dip shit,” Brody said as he walked to the window.
“Fuck it,” he said. “And fuck you, man. Whatever. I can snap the elbows and break the knees. Pop the hips out of their sockets. Everything will bend. It’ll be fine.”
He dropped the corpse, Tits’ head hitting the floor with a sharp knock. “Fucking cock tease.” He knelt next to her. “And dad would have let her go. Been polite. Sat there with a hard-on and apologized while the bitch led him on, shit all over him and then just walked away.”
“For real?” Brody said.
“Yeah, for real. But she forgot who she was fucking with. Thought I was, I don’t know, weak or something.” He stood and looked down at her. “It would have been easier if she’d just stayed.”
“Was she even anybody, man?” Brody said as he crossed his thick arms over his massive chest.
“Naw. She was a nothing.”
“I’m gonna hit it, man.” Brody said, standing, his hand gripping his crotch.
“Fuck you. It’s not yours. It’s mine.”
Brody sat. “What-the-fuck-ever, man. Like you said, bitch was nothing anyway. Just like you,” he then said, his eyes on him, a small grin on his lips.
***
He’d first seen Tits in the park. Far from the crowds in a quiet alcove shaded by trees, she’d sat with a book on her lap. He’d just left behind Giggles, a girl with wide hips, small eyes and a clumsy mop of black hair. The first time they met, day before yesterday, she was sweet. An easy smile. A tendency to blush when he winked at her. His taking her hand resulting in a fit of giggling.
So, Giggles it was.
But unlike that first day, this time she sat too close. Leaned in too quick. There was a whiff of desperation, of blatant need. When he went to hold her hand, she placed her palm on his upper thigh, without his invitation, her fingers inching way too close to his dick, and, with a breathy “Oooo, such big muscles,” had squeezed.
And like that, he was done. Stood. Walked away without a word, content Giggles would be left confused and hurt. Would be heartbroken and unwilling to trust the next guy who gave her the time of day. Would be emotionally scarred and riddled with doubt for years. Would be eating her emotions within the hour.
Served her right. He didn’t like them too easy.
He was in charge. Always.
New girl. Fresh beginning. The blonde with the fake tits sitting out of sight and alone, her nose in a book. He approached and asked if he could share her bench.
“Yes,” she said, her finger bookmarking her space. She glanced around.
“I’m not bothering you, am I?” He sat forward, ready to leave.
“No, no, not at all.” The book opened and then closed, and opened again. Her legs crossed and uncrossed. “It’s just . . . ”
“What?” He smiled. One of those full-bore turn on the charm-type of deals that always made hearts flutter and panties drop.
“I mean, you know, you’re you—I mean, I know who you are, of course—and, I don’t know . . . ” The book set aside, she folded her arms over her ample chest and then took them away, her hands landing in her lap where the fingers laced, the knuckles turning white. “And so I’m, like: Why would he want to sit here?” A weak smile.
“It’s just sitting.” A kinder, gentler smile this time. “We’re not getting married or anything.” A small laugh. “You haven’t even kissed me yet!” A sly wink.
She laughed. “I’m sorry. I just don’t . . . I’m not . . . Oh geez.”
He heard her take a deep breath as she looked to the fountain and then to the great stone arch in the distance. The students milling about in the last of the summer sun. A couple sitting on a far bench, his arm around her, her head resting on his shoulder. The lithe blonde in the sundress strolling in the distance, her eyes catching theirs for the smallest of seconds before looking away with the smallest of grins. “I’m not like you, Mr. Colton Carryage,” she finally said, her voice quiet.
“I know. I’ve seen you. I’ve watched you.” The lie being said, he shifted, facing her, his knees now pointing toward hers. “And that’s why I’m talking to you now. You seem unlike anyone I know. That’s why I’m intrigued. Why I want to learn more about you.” He paused the eyes looking up at her, shy and vulnerable, the lips lifting in a light, embarrassed grin. “If you’ll let me.”
She smiled. “Of course. I’m sorry. I’m just . . . Ugh, whatever. Please, just ignore me, or something.” An embarrassed laugh.
Another full-bore smile from him.
They spent the next hour talking. About school. Classes. Teachers and tests. Her dorm. His small first floor apartment a block away on Eidolon.
“I’m happy your dad got out,” she said before offering an embarrassed shrug. “I mean, I try not to pay too much attention to it, but, still, for what it’s worth, I’m glad everything’s okay, I guess.”
He sat back, his long arms spanning the length of the bench as he stretched out. His fingers sat close, almost too close, to her shoulder, her soft hair, the back of her neck. “Well, you seem to be the only one to feel that way.”
“People can be cruel.” She leaned f
orward. He moved his fingers back, the tips caressing wood instead of skin. “I wouldn’t pay any attention to what they’re saying online or anything,” she said. “I mean, I refuse to believe someone can just buy their way out of Federal prison, right?”
“I wasn’t even aware they were talking about it online.” He turned to her. “Do I want to know what they’re saying?”
She chewed her bottom lip, her hand flying to her book, and then to the hem of her thin cardigan, and back to the book again. Finally, she shrugged.
“Ah, I thought not.” He gave a light laugh.
“So,” she said, “it must be a lot different coming here. I mean, we’re not exactly Ivy League.”
“The people here are better.” His fingers moved from the bench, the tips finding her and picking an imaginary piece of lint off her shoulder. “Sorry. Lint.” A small smile, his hand returning to the bench. “Anyway, I’m happier here.”
“Why’d you leave?” She turned to him. Her legs crossed and then uncrossed, her hands first in her lap and then rubbing her arms. “We could never figure that out.”
“We?” He offered a tight-lipped grin.
“Oh, my friends and me.” Her arms folded over her chest. “No biggie.”
“You seem uncomfortable.”
“I’m sorry.” She uncrossed her arms, her hands once again in her lap. “It’s not you.”
A dramatic sigh of relief. “Oh thank god.” A smile. “Had me worried there for a sec.” A brief pause. “Want to talk about it?”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t.”
“Of course you can.” A slight furrowing of the brow. “Maybe I can help.” A small playful pout. “Please?”
“You’re here studying to be a doctor, right?”
“Right,” he said, wondering where in the hell she got that idea. “Have one year left and then, you know, probably some more after that.” Another small grin.
“I can only imagine.”
“Yeah, I know, right?” A shake of the head. “So, you know, we doctors, or doctors in training, in this case, we’re pretty good at keeping secrets.”
“Oh, I don’t know . . . ”
“Doctor/patient confidentiality and all that stuff.” A wink. “C’mon. I’m all ears.”
She paused. “Okay.”
He leaned forward, his hand dangerously close to hers.
She stared at his hand near hers. He could see the tears begin to well in her eyes. “It’s these,” she said with a glance to her chest.
“Your—?” He indicated her obviously fake breasts. For someone with her small frame and delicate limbs, the two swollen melons jutting from her chest were a jarring sight. A look that belonged on someone much more daring than the little mouse tucked in the shade of a great tree, a serious tome balanced on her knees.
She nodded and then sighed.
“What about them?” He inched his hand closer.
“They’re not me.” Her eyes closed and she shook her head. “I hate them. And they hurt. Like, all the time. It’s hard to close my arms or run or, I don’t know. I just don’t feel like me anymore.”
“Why, then?” He moved closer, their knees touching, his hands not yet holding hers. “Why’d you get them?”
“Mom and Dad thought it’d be a good graduation present.” She shrugged. “Thought it’d give me a lift in life, so to speak. Help me find a great husband or a great job or have a great career or something. I don’t know.” She turned away, her eyes once again on the students, the arch, the trees. “They always said I was too shy. That I read too much. Never had a boyfriend, or whatever.”
Perfect, he thought. There would be curiosity. The rush of her body discovering passion, need. The excitement of his touch. The predictable fear of something new as she opened to him and readied herself for that first stab of gentle pain. There’d be hunger and need and want. Even love. Maybe first love.
Perhaps even surprise and bliss followed by regret and shame when I leave without a word? Just like with Giggles?
Ha! Didn’t get better than that.
“And you said they hurt?” Trying not to smile, he leaned a little closer. “How?”
“The scars, they’re not fading, and sometimes they kinda sting or itch or something.”
Jackpot.
“Have they been looked at?” He leaned closer still, his eyes looking into hers. “You should have someone look at them just to be sure everything’s okay.”
She shook her head. “No way. Because A: I can’t afford a doctor on my own, and B: if I went to our usual doctor, my parents would find out and that would so not be a good thing, if you know what I mean. It’s like they think I’m some ungrateful little something-or-other already, so, like, you know, to complain about these? Ugh. I can’t imagine the shit fit they’d have.”
“I know what you mean.” A rueful grin. “So, listen, I could take a look, if you want. Scars are scars, regardless where they are, and you can usually tell from the smallest of peeks whether or not something needs attention. A peek in the most professional of ways, of course.” A sudden laugh. “You know what? No. I’m sorry. That’s just . . . that’s a dumb idea. Forget it. What was I thinking?” More laughter. “You must think I’m some pervert now. I wasn’t thinking. Forget it. We’ll, uh, we’ll find you a doctor. Someone affordable.”
“No, no, no.” She’d turned to him. “As a professional, or an almost-professional, you’d do that for me?”
“I don’t know. It sounded good in my head and my first inclination is always to help, you know. I try to be a nice guy. It’s how I was raised and it’s just who I am.”
“Of course—”
“But wouldn’t it be weird me seeing you . . . you know, so intimately so soon?”
“Maybe.” Her fingers gripped the edge of her book. “But it’d be just a peek, right?” Her eyes found his.
“That’s all it’d have to be, generally speaking.” He looked away. “Strictly professional. All about the scars. Their color. Are they raised? Blistered? Are there signs of metacarxolottalatedsipsis?”
“Metacarxolottalata-what?” Her eyes grew wide. “That sounds horrible.”
“Oh yeah.” A serious look for the made up word he’d already forgotten. “Nasty stuff. Too complicated to explain, of course, but definitely needs a trained eye to spot.” A look away. “Anyway, it was a dumb idea. I was just trying to help. We’ll figure something else out.”
“Okay.”
“You know, I might know someone. A girl in one of my classes. Really nice. Maybe she could talk with you and perhaps—”
“No, you.” She stood, her book clutched to her chest. “Let’s do it. I mean, this has been bugging me and it hurts, like, right now and, heck, you’re right here and you’re free, so . . . let’s just do it.” She bent to lift her canvas bag from the ground. “Okay?”
He stood, moving close to her. “You sure?”
She nodded and then turned to walk away. “My dorm room is this way.”
“My place is this way, over on Eidolon. More private, I think.” He took her hand, the two of them leaving the anonymity of the shade. “Don’t worry. It’ll be quick.”
***
“She was the first.” He traced his finger over the web of red stealing from beneath Tits’ armpit.
“Liar.” Brody still sat at the window, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
“The first here on Eidolon, I mean.”
“You were too quick, amateur,” his bro said.
“Yeah, I know.” The click had happened too fast, his impatience stealing the joy of the experience. Her bra barely fastened before his hands were on her neck and her fists were gripping his wrists and the blubbering began as the tears fell while confusion fought fear, fear turned to realization, realization turned to terror, and terror tried to scream before he snapped her quiet with a click.
And then, moving quick, he’d dragged her off the couch, her broken neck cracking against the wood as she landed on the
floor. Her skirt lifted, her cotton panties dragged down and wrestled from her ankles and, his dick out, he was on top, moving inside her. She was still warm. Still smelled alive. Still yielded to the weight of him. The thought that somewhere her spirit stood watching, confused and filled with regret for a life unfinished, for a trust betrayed, excited him even more.
This is what worked for him. With her quiet and still, he could do what he wanted. It could be too fast and finish too sudden and she’d show no disappointment or judgment. There would be no laughter. No loose lips sinking ships as she ran home to whisper to her friends. He could be cruel and she wouldn’t wince or cringe or beg him to be gentle or go slower. No quiet “ow” to kill the mood.
He could move her any way he wanted, bend her this way and that, slap and punch and, driven by passion, rip her hair out, if he wanted, and she’d never complain. Bite her flesh and hear nothing but silence. Lick the tears still staining her eyes and feel no reproach. Use her again and again and again and never hear “no.”
The first time with these anonymous playthings was always quick. Staying in them, staying on them, he could finish, rest, and then move slow, finding his excitement again and build to a second time before things became unpleasant.
“You know she’s gonna shit and piss, right, bro?”Brody lingered, his eyes on Tits on the floor, her arms to the side, legs spread, her body dead. “And her skin’s gonna turn grey and get tight and shrink.”
“I know.”
“Her lungs will, like, breathe out some noxious shit, man.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s gonna make you blow chunks, bro.”
“Dude, stop.”
“And her eyes are gonna go into the sockets or something.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. And she’s also going to blister and swell and her skin’s going to tear and turn blue and red and purple and black, man. I know, so just chill, ‘k?”
“Fuck that, man.” Brody walked to the door. “You gotta stick her with the ice cream. Or the meat.”
“I’m on it.”
Brody walked to the door and stopped “We need a walk-in, like back at school.” Leaning back, he crossed his arms. “Remember that, bro?”
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