The Opposite of Nothing

by Slade, Shari

  Fingers trembling, she’d been poised to return and, if not confess her crime, at least sneak her contraband back to its proper place. The Essential Bessie Smith. Sunlight had hit the CD at the perfect angle to cast a prism of blinding light in her face. She’d raced home to listen.

  With the first illicit burst of horn, she’d been lost in a kind of time travel. She wasn’t wearing headphones, she had one ear pressed against the wall of a 1920s gin joint. She’d rocked, eyes closed, body thrumming with the callused-finger caress of each scratch and hiss in the recordings. A phantom curl of cigarette smoke tickled her nose. And the voice, the voice that reached across the divide to grab her by her shirtfront, was a belt of whiskey against the back of her throat. The smooth burn of shameless passion, and the ragged edge of need. She drifted right back to that place every time she played it.

  As the track ended, she cross-faded from Bessie into an indie rock anthem that bordered on power ballad. She liked to think of her juxtaposition of old and new music as a quirky trademark. Really, she played what she wanted to hear and hoped no one ever analyzed her song choices for deeper meaning.

  Jessa, her partner on the air and former roommate, smoothed a hand over her auburn dreads. She snatched the cheat sheet off the desk and rolled her eyes as she read. “Can you play something that doesn’t make me want to slit my wrists?”

  Callie stuck her tongue out. “You know, I only hear the sad songs lately. I may even start spinning some country.”

  Jessa widened her heavily lined eyes and leaned over to grab a CD off a teetering stack. “Perish the thought. You need some ska in your life, stat. Maybe some thrash metal. Something you can dance to by yourself.”

  “I don’t dance.”

  “Everybody dances. You’re just too wrapped up in who you’re dancing with. Or who you aren’t dancing with, more likely.”

  Was she that transparent?

  “You don’t know what you’re talking—”

  “Don’t try to play me. Random Nonsense has been nothing but a thinly veiled love note for the last few weeks. I don’t know who. I don’t care who. But you need to do something about it.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  She waved the CD at Callie. “Get out of your own head for a while. And if you keep sticking your tongue out at me, I’m going to pierce it.” She clicked her own silver stud against her front teeth as punctuation.

  Wasn’t that part of the problem—Callie spending too much time in someone else’s head? She cued up more Bessie. Need a Little Sugar In My Bowl.

  A tiny icon in the corner of her screen let her know she had a new message. No, scratch that, Sasha had one. She didn’t dare read it with the way-too-perceptive Jessa around as a witness. She closed the email program so no more alerts popped up and returned her attention to Random Nonsense. It was Jessa’s turn to pick a few tracks.

  She phoned in the rest of the show, unable to focus on anything but the email waiting for her. The one with Tayber’s dorm number in the subject line. The one that she absolutely should not read, and certainly could not read until Jessa left.

  “I’ll pack up here. I’m free for the rest of the evening,” Callie offered.

  Jessa smirked, and Callie realized she’d just made a terrible tactical error.

  “Free, huh? In that case, meet me at The Brick later.”

  “Maybe.”

  “We’ll dance. We’ll drink. We’ll get you out of your crazy hamster wheel head. I see you thinking, don’t think I don’t.”

  “I said maybe.”

  “Your maybes always mean no. Come. You need it.” Jessa shrugged her messenger bag over her shoulder and blew Callie a kiss as she darted out of the sound room. “I know about these things. Trust me, Callista.”

  Jessa was the only person who didn’t use her nickname. She’d gotten it off the roommate notification sheet and clung. It was too exotic for anyone else to use.

  Back in her apartment, finally alone, Callie opened the illicit email.

  Did you fall asleep while we were talking last night? I was up for another hour, and you never came back. I wish you would let me call you. It’s hard to type all the things I want to say.

  I’ve got all this family shit going on and talking to you takes my mind off the drama. My brother keeps leaving me these messages. I can’t even listen to them. Hearing his voice after all these years... it’s too much. I’m glad he’s alive, but I’m not interested in reconnecting. Cold, but he deserves it. He bailed on us when we needed him. Now, I don’t need anything. Except a job. And to hear from you.

  If by some chance you decide that you’d finally like to call me, don’t bother using the number I gave you before. I broke my phone and I don’t know when I’ll have the cash to replace it. I’ll probably get a new number, since Aaron keeps abusing my old one. But then I’d have to update everyone. Seems like too much work. He’ll stop calling, eventually. Call my dorm.

  I know you won’t call. And that’s okay. But sometimes I dream about it, what your voice would sound like if you read your messages out loud. How would you say cock? I want to hear you say it. Would you whisper it? Would you growl it? Either way it’s hot. Or you could just listen, if you wanted. I’d do all the talking. Tell you where to touch and when to stop. I’d tell you to taste yourself because I can’t do it myself and listen for the slip of your finger between your lips. Let me make you gasp.

  Do you think about what I sound like? Are you imagining it now?

  -T

  God damn him. She was.

  Chapter Three

  Sasha: I want your mouth.

  No greeting. She didn’t have the patience for that after reading his email.

  Tay: Tell me.

  Sasha: Your face between my legs

  Tay: mmm you taste so good

  She could almost feel the hum of that mmm, right where she needed it. She wriggled against the seam of her jeans and popped the top button.

  Sasha: your tongue inside me

  Tay: I’m fucking you with my tongue

  She couldn’t help but imagine him with a stud, a steel ball stroking her with every thrust. She knew it wasn’t pierced, but—God, she could imagine.

  Tay: spreading you open with my fingers

  Sasha: yes

  Tay: sliding up to get at your clit, flick and suck, flick and suck

  She’d barely worked her way beneath her underwear, and she was coming. A few swipes of her thumb over the top of her mound, and it was over. Fast and hard. All that remained was the ache. She couldn’t keep doing this.

  Tay: my fingers pumping

  Sasha: gtg

  She left him hanging.

  That thrilled her too. She had to get out of this apartment and far away from her laptop. If she stayed, she’d talk to him again. At least the walk to the bar would give her a chance to cool off.

  * * *

  Thumping bass poured out of The Brick as a crowd of people milled near the entrance.

  “Hey, Callista. You took my advice!”

  Jessa flapped her arms like a deranged seagull, and Callie tried to imagine how she and Tayber had ever hooked up last year. She wasn’t being fair. Jessa was gorgeous and fun—unique. Her exuberance was part of her charm. She’d dragged Callie to the radio station last year and signed them up for their own radio show. Made that silly CJ!JC logo poster for their dorm room door. Callie’s first reaction had been fear that it was a set up for some cruel joke. The adopt-a-loser program, or bring-a-dork to rush week, or something else public and awful. But Jessa didn’t seem to play those games. Her game was more like catch-and-release, the campus stud version.

  “Good band tonight?”

  “Nah. Decent crowd though. Wanna do some shots?”

  Jessa’s eyes were a little glassy, and her lipstick was smudged. Callie started to say no, but fuck it. If she went home, she’d only make a fool of herself again. “Why not?”

  “Brilliant. Shots first, and then dancing.” Jessa grab
bed her by the belt loop and dragged her into the bar.

  “We need Cuervo, baby.” Jessa shouted to her boyfriend. Trip, Ted, Tim? Tim, of course. Tone-deaf Tim. He didn’t seem to mind the moniker. It was usually accompanied by shouts and fist pumps. And Jessa absolutely enjoyed the attention.

  Tim appeared with shots, limes, and salt. “Body shots, ladies.”

  He waggled two shot glasses in their direction and pumped his hips a little to punctuate. He suggested it loud enough for people nearby to hear.

  “Hell, no. Maybe when you speak Latin.” Callie tried to put enough scorn in her voice to shut him down for the night.

  Their spectators booed. Jessa took the shots and passed one to Callie. She grabbed the front of Tim’s shirt, pulled him close and bit his nose. Obviously not hard—or maybe just hard enough—because Tim only grinned while Jessa admonished him. “Enough of that, you animal. We’re not here to entertain you.”

  Lick, shoot, suck. They both shivered. Tim set them up again and they repeated the ritual. Suck, shoot, lick? Lick, suck, shoot? At some point she lost count and the order became irrelevant. Eventually, maybe inevitably, she licked salt from Jessa’s neck and sucked lime from her mouth. Tim chanted beside them. “Veni, vidi, vici.”

  Probably the only Latin he knew.

  She didn’t have the grace to pass out. Instead, she wobbled onto the dance floor like she was auditioning for spring-breakers gone crazy. She raised her arms, swiveled her hips, and barely registered the body pressing up behind her. When a large hand gripped her hip, she gasped. But she didn’t move away. Jessa was in front of her, smiling. Her lips moved, but Callie couldn’t hear her over the pulse pounding in her ears. She only felt the heavy arm around her waist. In her head, it was Tayber pulling her close, grinding his pelvis into her ass.

  She leaned her head back against his shoulder and let the music move her. The cloud of Tim’s body spray undid the spell. Leathery and harsh, nothing like the clean citrus burned into her sense memory. She jerked away, but her reflexes were too slow. He pinned her against him, pressed his sweaty face against her hair, and whispered in her ear.

  “You two are so fucking hot together.”

  Jessa was still smiling and dancing, oblivious to the smarmy routine her boyfriend was working. She had her fingers in Callie’s belt loops again.

  “Are you guys making fun of me?” Callie shook her head and tried to pull away. Their attention had to be a cruel joke in the making. Her pulse was frantic. No longer fueled by lust, she prepared to elbow him in the ribs. She needed to focus.

  Before she could shove back, Tim vanished. Already off balance, she fell—limbs flailing, Jessa’s smile blinking out of view—and landed on her ass.

  She’d thought sprawling on the floor of a dive bar was as bad as the night could get until she saw Tayber, face contorted with rage, looming above her. Uh oh. “When’d you get here?”

  He didn’t answer, just hoisted her up and carried her out like so much garbage. The crowd sent them off with wolf-whistles. My night is totally getting worse.

  He stuffed her into the passenger seat and slammed the door.

  “You can’t drive.” She tried to sound stern, but it mostly came out like yeh can drib. She could dribble though. She wiped her mouth.

  “You’re drunk, not me. I show up to play some pool and find you getting mauled. Do you even know what was about to happen in there?”

  The disgust in his voice penetrated her inebriation. She nodded. Her brain sloshed in her skull, a second behind the motion. Yes, I was gonna maim Tone-deaf Tim. Somewhere, under a layer of Cuervo, she knew it might have been a tiny bit worse than that. So what if it was?

  “Did you want that?” His hazel eyes darkened to a stormy gray. If he was asking about committing bodily injury, sure. But he probably meant the sexcapades they’d been starting on the dance floor. She watched his jaw rise and fall as he clenched. What had he seen? She didn’t drink often, but she’d witnessed the aftermath of a night out enough times to know it wasn’t pretty. Her ponytail had fallen out. Her eyeliner was probably on her forehead. Considering her rolling belly, her skin might be ever so slightly green.

  “Does it matter what I want?” Of course, that came out clear. And loud. Oops. She pressed a finger to her lips and shushed herself.

  He smacked his hands against the steering wheel, rocking the Taurus. She retched.

  “Shit, don’t puke in the car.”

  Then she was outside, with Tayber kneeling beside her, holding her hair, stroking her back as she vomited in Technicolor.

  “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.” She apologized, over and over, between heaves.

  “I don’t get it, Callie. This afternoon you have a boyfriend. Tonight you’re flirting with those assholes. Nothing makes sense. What the hell happened?”

  “I don’t—” I don’t—have a boyfriend? Understand what happened either? Flirt? She couldn’t finish before another wave of nausea forced her back into the gutter.

  “Not now. When you’re sober.” He stroked her back again, and she couldn’t even enjoy his touch. I’ll never drink again.

  * * *

  “I’m going to die.” She cracked one eye open and a sliver of light ice-picked her brain. Was it possible to be lobotomized by sunshine?

  Tayber tossed a bottle of water. It landed, cold and wet, beside her.

  “I’ve never seen you so wasted. I barely recognized you.”

  She winced at his thundering voice and pulled a pillow over her head. If only it weighed as much as her shame. Then she could suffocate herself out of this situation. She took a deep, cleansing breath to settle her stomach. Everything smelled like him. She snuggled into her dark cocoon and considered staying in bed forever. Only, it wasn’t her bed. She slid the pillow down so she could peek over the top. “Why am I in your room?”

  “You weren’t exactly cooperative. I didn’t know if I could get you into your apartment without waking up all your neighbors.”

  “I didn’t, you know, try anything stupid, did I?” Her jeans were in a tangle on the floor, and he stood shirtless beside the bed. His track pants hung low on his hips, exposing a flat expanse of leanly muscled abdomen so distracting that, even hungover, she wanted to crawl across the room and just lick the faint ridges. Jesus. She looked down at the very narrow bed and tried to remember anything that happened after they left the bar. She’d know if they’d done that, but there were about a hundred other things two people could do.

  “I had to keep you from climbing out of the car window to serenade campus security, and there was the a capella karaoke in the downstairs lobby.”

  She’d been thinking more like wanton bodily attacks or professions of undying love. In comparison, his suggestions were no big deal. She’d sing country gospel on a table in the dining hall rather than throw herself at him. Rather than have him look at her like something he’d found crumpled at the bottom of his gym bag. Kind of how he was looking at her now. And she’d transfer schools before table dancing in the dining hall.

  She snaked a hand down to grab her pants. Pinning the comforter in place with her chin, she huffed and yanked and lifted her hips off the bed. The springs squeaked as she landed hard, face burning with sudden consciousness of her lewd gyrations. There was no dignified way to wriggle into skinny jeans while horizontal. Tayber cocked an eyebrow in her direction. His lips turned up ever so slightly at the corners. The jerk was fighting back laughter. And losing.

  “Who do you think took those off? I’d never guess hot pink lace.”

  If lightning could strike inside a cinder block dorm room, she would have welcomed its destruction. “It was laundry day?”

  Doubled over with laughter, he slapped his hand down on the edge of the bed. Her stomach rolled, reigniting the hangover from hell. Not going to puke. She repeated that mantra until the waves dissipated and carefully pulled herself into a sitting position. Spine stiff. Chin up.

  “Please. Stop. Laughing.”

 
“I’m sorry but my whole image of you is shattered. Last night I pull you out of an impending threesome on the dance floor, hold your hair while you barf in an alley like a sorority pledge, then—” His laughter took on a harsh edge. He scrubbed a hand over his face and smoothed back a shock of sleep-snarled hair. “When I have to help you out of your jeans because you’re so drunk you nearly bust your head on my bookcase determined to do it yourself, I find you in pink lingerie.” He spat the word pink like a bitter seed. Like there was nothing more obscene than Callie Evans trying to be a little girly. God forbid. That sonofa...

  “If this is you with a boyfriend, I don’t know if I like it.”

  He wasn’t exactly wrong, but who the hell was he to judge? She grabbed a pillow, wished for a brick, and threw it at his head.

  “How many times have you hooked up with some random girl at the bar? Why is it okay for you but not me? I’m not some, some, asexual being whose sole reason for existence is to help you with statistics and eat lunch with you when you want to escape.”

  Every word triggered a new throb behind her eyes. And it was all true. That part hurt, too.

  He stood there, holding the pillow under one arm, his jaw slack, the humor bleeding out of his eyes until they were flat brown. Hurt.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  She’d killed him. The navigational system in her parents’ car delivered instructions with more emotion. She never wanted to hear that android voice from him again, but she wouldn’t take it back. “You aren’t sorry, though, are you?”

  “What do I have to be sorry for? For rescuing you from impending doom?”

  “Untwist your panties, Tayber. There was no doom. I’m not a child and, despite what you may think, I’m not a virgin in need of protection. I appreciate the safe ride, but Jessa probably would’ve made sure I got home okay.”

  “Sorry I spoiled your fun. I’m going to get breakfast. Make sure the door locks behind you, okay?” He dropped the pillow, grabbed his keys off the dresser, and left her alone in his room.

  What the hell was that? She needed to fix this. She wasn’t mad at Tayber for what he’d done. She was mad at him for what he hadn’t done. He hadn’t seen her, but she hadn’t really let him. She’d put all of the her she wanted him to see into Sasha. She flopped face down on the bed for several long moments. Then, she scooped up her sneakers and raced down the hall, finally catching up to him in the nearly empty dining room.