Collide

by Megan Hart

  Johnny moved his hand low to push his fingers into me, fucking just as slowly as he’d stroked. A different kind of pleasure, easing off and pushing me forward at the same time. “Yeah. It did. Why do you think I was such a raging prick to you?”

  More breathless, panting laughter trickled out of me, and I thought I was finally going to tip over the edge. But I didn’t. “Oh, baby, you have such a fucking strange way of being sexy….”

  I loved it, though. Just like I loved him. Everything about him, including the fact I’d pissed him off the first time we met without ever having said a word.

  “You’re so hot, and wet. I can feel how close you are. You’re gonna come for me, Emm.”

  “Yes.”

  He nuzzled into my ear, tongue flicking the skin of my neck and sending sharp, bright sparkles of pleasure coursing through me. There could be no more talking, not on my end. Voiceless, I moved with his touch. Closer and closer. Nothing would stop me, nothing could.

  “Seeing you was like being hit by a truck going ninety,” Johnny whispered. “I walked past you like you weren’t there, but I thought I was going to trip on my own fucking feet. That’s what you did to me that day, when I saw you there. And you looked at me.”

  Somehow, I found words and the breath to speak them. Somehow, I found my voice. “I saw you. Didn’t know you, but I felt…I felt like… Oh, God, Johnny, just like that. Just a little more.”

  It would only take a bit more. Just a bit. I was surging, cresting. Falling. Flying.

  “You hit me, too,” I managed to say, not sure what words were coming out or what sense they’d make. Speaking from my heart, not my mind. “We crashed, didn’t we? Right then. You and me, moving toward each other…at the right time….”

  “Finally, the right time,” Johnny murmured into my hair, and I felt his cock throb against my hip, though I wasn’t touching him at all.

  I came. Hard. I heard his moan in my ear and felt him pulse and throb against me. I felt his heat, the wetness. I smelled him, and aftershocks rippled through me hard enough to make me gasp.

  I drifted again after that, dozing and quiet with Johnny’s hand still on me. It was sticky between us; I idly thought I should get up, maybe take a shower. I didn’t, though. I wanted to lie here forever with him, not moving.

  “We didn’t crash,” he said after a few minutes, in a sleepy voice.

  “No?” I turned to cuddle against him, tangled up in arms and legs.

  “No, what’s it called when two objects in motion…fuck,” he murmured. “You gotta get special insurance for your car.”

  I loved that I could follow this, even though he was obviously fuckdrunk and on his way to sleep. I laughed softly, nudging my face into the sweetness of his neck. I thought back to high school physics. “Two objects in motion collide, Johnny.”

  “That’s what we did,” he whispered. “Collide.”

  Chapter 28

  Things were good.

  Not just with Johnny and me—I wasn’t so swept up in love that I believed our relationship should matter more than anything else. I loved him, but that didn’t mean that’s all there was to me, or to him. I understood that. No, everything was good. I wasn’t going dark. I was firmly entrenched in the now, and even though I couldn’t pretend I didn’t sometimes miss the excitement—the sheer freedom of those imaginary days with Johnny-then—I was much more appreciative of what we had for real.

  I thought often of what he’d said, though. Of what had happened to us both that first day in the coffee shop, when he’d walked past me and pretended I didn’t exist. I thought of what he’d said we’d done.

  Collide.

  I thought, too, of what he’d said just toward the end, when orgasm was making us both mindless. The right time, he’d said. Finally.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  “Who knows what he meant,” I told Jen over tall coffee drinks and plates of pastry in our old hangout.

  The Mocha was crowded as usual, but it had changed for me. I still loved it, but I didn’t look up hopefully every time the bell jangled. Carlos had finished his book and stopped coming every day—taking a break, he said, before starting in on the next novel. I saw some new faces, missed some old. I understood, too, that the Mocha hadn’t changed; I had.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was just fucktalk, you know. People say some crazy shit when they’re coming.” Jen sipped her drink, then leaned forward. “I mean, once, Jared yelled out, ‘Saint Peter on a pogo stick!’ when I was giving him a blow job and I rang the back doorbell, if you know what I mean.”

  I burst into laughter. “What the hell?”

  Jen laughed, too. “You know what I’m talking about. Don’t act like you don’t.”

  I raised a brow, feigning innocence. “Not a clue.”

  She gave a quick glance around and then demonstrated, miming sucking a cock while she used one finger to…well, ring the back doorbell. “Girl, I thought he was going to take the top of my head off, he came so hard.”

  I laughed harder, covering my face for a second, trying not to picture it and unable to stop myself. “Wow.”

  “He loved it,” she said with a satisfied nod. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not really a fan of that sort of action, you know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  She shrugged, looking happy. “But when you love someone…and you want them to be happy…not that I’m saying Jared needs that to be happy.”

  “Of course not.”

  She grinned. “But he fucking loved it.”

  We laughed together. “I’ll take your word for it. I’m not sure Johnny would love it.”

  She scoffed, waving a hand. “You never know.”

  I shook my head and sipped coffee. “That is some kinky shit, girl.”

  “I know it.” Jen waggled her eyebrows. “Who knew, right?”

  A matronly woman passed us, her hair in tight gray curls and her sweater set perfect. She gave us a stern look. Jen waited until she’d gone by us before rolling her eyes.

  “Different sort of crowd in here today,” she said. “Old people, geez. No offense to your main squeeze.”

  “None taken. He doesn’t count.”

  “Nope.” She licked icing from a fingertip. “Johnny fucking Dellasandro doesn’t get old. So, when you two get married, are you going to change your name?”

  I laughed. “I don’t know that we will get married—God, you and my mom. Let us just…you know…hang out for a while.”

  “You’re not just hanging out. Girl, you are full-on in love,” Jen said. “Fuhrealz.”

  “Fuhrealz,” I echoed. “But I don’t know about that marriage business. He’s been married, what, three, four times? Maybe he doesn’t want to go through that again. And since we can’t have kids, does it really matter? We don’t even live together.”

  “C’mon, you think just because he went through it before he’s burned? Let me tell you something, a dude doesn’t get married four times without being the sort to get married.”

  “Very deep,” I teased. “Wow, that was philosophical.”

  She tossed a napkin at me. “Shaddup. It’s true. I bet you’re married before I am.”

  “You planning on getting married?” This was news, and good news. I leaned forward. I’d been a little worried that things with Jared were rocky.

  She shrugged. “Maybe. He says it’s a shit life, being the wife of a funeral director. I said how is it any worse than being the girlfriend of one, except for the part where I have to live with a basement full of dead bodies instead of just visiting them?”

  I made a face. “You don’t have to live there, do you?”

  “No, but it makes his life easier.” She shrugged again, toying with her brownie, breaking off a piece and nibbling it. “I don’t know if he’s trying to convince me, or just hold me off. Then other times, he’s all over me about it. Talking about how we could elope to Vegas.”

  “Do you want to marry h
im?”

  Jen looked thoughtful. “I don’t know. But I don’t know if I’m not sure because I really don’t know, or because I don’t want to be sure in case it doesn’t work out.”

  “Complicated,” I said sympathetically.

  “Yeah,” she said cheerfully. “But back to you. So, change your name or not?”

  “Why does that matter if I’m not even sure I’m getting married?”

  “Because just think,” Jen said as the gray-haired woman started weaving her way back down through the tables, “if you did, you’d be Mrs. Emm fucking Dellasandro!”

  I burst into laughter again as the woman gave us a snooty glare. “Oh, yeah. Think of how I’d answer the phone at work. ‘Hi, this is Emm fucking Dellasandro, how can I help you?’”

  Jen giggled. “You have to admit, it’s catchy. Maybe I should stop calling him that, now that you’re all smoochy with him and shit.”

  “No,” I said. “Don’t stop. He’s still Johnny fucking Dellasandro to me even now.”

  She looked a little more serious. “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s cool. He’s cool,” she added. “Even if I can’t watch his movies anymore since all I can think about is the fact he’s banging my best friend.”

  “Oh, like I’ll be able to look Jared in the face after hearing about you ringing his back doorbell?”

  We laughed, loud and hard, turning heads and not caring. That’s what friends are for—raucous, slightly rude laughter in coffee shops. Jen ate more brownie, and I finished my apple dumpling.

  “I’m so freaking nervous about the gallery show, though,” she confided. “I mean, joking aside, he is Johnny effing Dee, you know what I mean?”

  “You shouldn’t be nervous. Johnny loves your stuff. He told me, and he’s not just saying it because you’re my friend. I might be fucking him, but he’s serious about art. He wouldn’t mess with you, Jen. It’s going to be great.”

  “My first show.” She pointed at the blank spots along the wall where her pieces had hung. “Not like this, that doesn’t count. This is real. It’s important. I don’t want to screw up, you know?”

  I nodded. “I know.”

  “Not that I think I’m going to have some great, famous career or anything,” she said hastily. “I don’t expect to quit my day job. I just want people to see my stuff and like it. It’s not about the money.”

  “I envy you. And Johnny. I don’t have a creative bone in my body…” I paused, thinking of the complicated stories my brain wove. “Not anything I can do anything with, at least.”

  “Yeah, well, I can’t add or subtract without a calculator. The world wouldn’t spin without people who can do math.”

  “The world wouldn’t spin without people who can create beauty, either,” I told her. “Your show is going to kick ass. I can’t wait.”

  She made a face, but the grimace became a smile. “I guess I can’t, either.”

  We chatted and drank coffee. We judged the outfits of everyone who came through. I looked at my watch after a while and sighed.

  “I should get going. I promised Johnny I’d make dinner tonight, and I thought I’d actually make something. Stupid.”

  “So. Fucking. Whipped,” Jen said.

  “Not,” I protested, without much heat.

  “You’re totally gonna marry that guy,” she teased. “Next thing I know, you’ll be answering the door in high heels and pearls, a little apron on. Cooking him a heart-shaped meat loaf.”

  It wasn’t such a bad idea. Not the heels and pearls, not even the meat loaf, though I thought it sounded cute. Just the idea of being domestic like that.

  “I never thought…” I began, and stopped myself, dismayed to discover I was suddenly close to tears.

  Jen, like the good friend she was, didn’t tease. “Didn’t think what?”

  “That I’d ever have it. Any of it. I thought I would have to live at home forever.” I drew in a shaky breath, fighting tears. “Sorry.”

  “Hell, no, girl, don’t you dare apologize. How’s it been lately, anyway?” She made a whirling gesture by her temple.

  “The insanity?” I asked, just to give her a hard time because I knew she didn’t meant it that way. “I haven’t had a fugue since the day we tried it. I keep waiting, though. I’m always waiting.”

  “Probably always will, don’t you think?”

  She’d hit that right. “Yeah. I guess so. Though when I was clear for that couple of years before I moved here, I was hoping… Well, I guess I was always waiting then, too. Just more hopefully.”

  Jen nodded. “I bet. But maybe they’re gone for a while now.”

  “Yeah. I think so, maybe.” There was no way for me to tell, of course.

  “Do me a favor, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  She laughed a little, looking sheepish. “Don’t try to make yourself, okay? I thought Johnny was going to slaughter me.”

  “He was just worried. He’s not mad at you.”

  Jen shook her head. “Girl, you should’ve seen him. He was scared out of his fucking mind. Not like the night of the dinner party. I mean, then he was anxious, I could tell. It was very sweet, very cute. But that day when you put yourself under, I really thought he was going to bust something. Probably my face.”

  I laughed uncomfortably. “It was a pretty stupid thing to do.”

  “Was it?” She eyed me curiously. “I don’t know. If you could make yourself go into one, don’t you think you could learn to bring yourself out? Forget it. Johnny was right—it was dangerous, and I’m a shitty friend for even suggesting it.”

  “No, you’re not. I think you have a point. It’s just that I promised him I wouldn’t try to do it on purpose again, and…” The truth was, I was afraid to.

  “I get it. I do. And I’m not a doctor or anything. Jesus, girl, I don’t even watch any of those doctor shows on TV. I shouldn’t be suggesting you mess around inside your head. Johnny’s right.”

  “The thing is, most seizure disorders can’t be mind-controlled. If they could, people wouldn’t need meds, you know? But I’ve always had success with the meditation, with acupuncture, alternative medicine and stuff. More than the traditional drugs. And it’s not a seizure disorder anyone has ever been able to really diagnose, so I’ve had different doctors saying different things all along. There’s a shadow on the CAT scan but it doesn’t get bigger, and it doesn’t go away.” I sighed. “Lame.”

  “Totally,” Jen agreed. “The fuck were you thinking, breaking your brain like that?”

  I was glad to laugh with her about something that anyone else would’ve made utterly humorless. “I don’t know. Stupid little kid, I guess.”

  “Well, hell, weren’t we all? I once jumped off a two-story landing with a Superman sheet tied around my neck. Thought I could fly.”

  “When did you figure out you couldn’t?”

  She snorted. “As soon as I jumped.”

  We laughed again at that, shaking our heads at our stupid, youthful selves. I looked again at my watch. “Okay, I really have to run. I think I might need to get some ground beef for that meat loaf.”

  “Don’t forget the apron and the pearls,” Jen advised as we both got up. “And the heels.”

  I thought of what we’d talked about while I went to the grocery store, pushing my cart up and down aisles and buying food not just for myself but for Johnny, too. Making sure to get the kind of olive oil he preferred. Toilet paper in the brand he liked better, though it was more expensive. His favorite salt-and-vinegar potato chips.

  It didn’t feel wrong, making these choices that were different than if I’d made them for myself. I didn’t feel compromised, or pushed aside. It was a bigger part of something, this simple trip to the store. It wasn’t about which brand of butter or how many boxes of rice I bought. This wasn’t about a single dinner, or even a month of dinners.

  This was about making a life with him.

  This stopped me c
old in the middle of the candy aisle, my fingers tight on the handle of the shopping cart. The floor slipped under me in a familiar way. I thought I detected the faint, drifting scent of oranges. I waited for the fugue to come and take me away, make me dark, before I realized it wasn’t that. I wasn’t slipping and sliding at my broken brain’s whim, but from emotion.

  I couldn’t be sure I’d fended off a fugue or if I’d simply assumed this topsy-turvy sensation was the precursor of one, since I’d never had such an uprush of emotion that knocked me so unsteady without also going dark. At any rate, the world didn’t fade out in front of me. I didn’t end up in a field of flowers, or riding a canoe over Niagara Falls.

  “Excuse me,” said a young mother with a cart full of groceries and a happy-faced baby in the seat.

  I stepped aside to give her access to the candy bars, and I pushed my cart off down the aisle. I felt it again at the checkout counter as the cashier weighed my organic tomatoes and chatted over her shoulder with the bag boy. As I paid and slipped the backpack containing my purchase over my shoulder so I could walk home. The world, slip-sliding and swirling. It was like the twitch of a curtain on a stage. Like a hand knocking on a door.

  The question was, would I answer?

  Chapter 29

  My mind made up itself. I spent my days with Johnny without going dark. When it came time for bed, tucked up close beside him in the dark, beneath the weight of blankets we usually kicked off as the nights got warmer, I slept. And dreamed.

  Of Johnny.

  It wasn’t like those times I stumbled into a lust-wrought fantasy of slick, hot flesh, long hair, summer heat. It was still Johnny-then in my dreams, still that house. Still that summer. But there was something else there, too.

  It seemed useless in a dream to pay attention to a clock or a calendar, but I tried, when I remembered, to look. It was a couple weeks before that fateful party that tore them all apart, and I was glad my unconscious mind had sent me here. They were all happy. Getting high, having sex, arguing over politics and art. Eating, always eating the delicious food Candy provided.