Dodging Trains

by Sunniva Dee

  My chest is blotchy. I’ve got a red bite mark on my neck. Somehow, I almost came a second time, and now his hand digs in between my thighs to find my cleft from the front. He slides two fingers through it until I start moving my hips. We watch each other in the mirror, and he doesn’t stop until I clench my thighs around his fingers. I try to squirm away, but with his other arm, he hooks me against himself. Then his chin digs into my shoulder and stares down my reflection until I look away.

  “I want you to come again.”

  “You can’t order someone to have an orgasm.”

  “Just. Fucking. Look at me.”

  And between the gravel in his voice, the insistent stare-down in the mirror, his face, his body, his touch—

  I moan out another climax.

  PAISLEE

  This is ridiculous. I don’t understand what’s going on right now. The town is in upheaval because Keyon Arias, the fighter, the mayor’s son, hooked up with a girl a few nights ago and he’s turning the place upside down to find her.

  Why?

  I left our twosome early, which would have given him time to sample more of Rigita’s offerings, but by the description, the girl in question is me. Female Robin Hoods with painted-on masks weren’t in ready supply at his father’s party, I believe.

  I couldn’t sleep with the aftershocks of heat and fear rolling through me, so he put me in his lap by the fireplace and fed me warm whiskey with milk and honey. Said it’d calm my nerves and make it easier to sleep, and he was right. The gesture was too considerate for me to dwell on. I can’t keep a film clip of it.

  In the morning, my mom would be there to help clean up after the party, and I wasn’t planning on running into her hardworking morning face while I looked like a just-screwed hangover.

  Keyon’s thigh weighs me down. It’s hard and thick over my leg, partly covering my hip. His arm, warm against my nose, makes me think of safety nets and of being smothered.

  He’s snoring. It’s a deeply relaxed sound, and when I turn a little within his embrace, he’s so close I can hardly distinguish his features. Black hair drapes half of his cheek in a peaceful mess. With his mouth rounded, he blows out air in small puffs. There’s whiskey on his breath, of the pleasant, fresh kind, because it’s not that long since we drank it.

  Oh my God. I’m in bed with Keyon Arias. All these years and here we are. He’s completely unaware too, of who I am. If he tricked me like this, I’d have been furious. Ah this is so not good.

  Although men don’t hold on to memories the way we do. I might never cross Keyon’s mind with his great, new life anyway. Maybe he doesn’t even remember me? Oh right. He talked to Mom.

  I can’t stay here any longer. I’d like to head out without him noticing, but I’m always up front with the men I sleep with. I’m bold, barefaced, and honest, they say. I tell them I’m leaving, that I’ve got stuff to do, and tonight will be no different. I owe that much to the only crush I’ve ever had.

  “Keyon. Hey…” I’m whispering, because I’m not a hundred percent sure of my approach. He pulls in a long breath, the sound calm and soft and nothing like the frenzy he swirled me into during sex. The man I’m staring at doesn’t look like someone who’d shove and trap and hold a girl captive until she obeys and comes on demand.

  “What?” he sighs out. My heart lurches at how intimate he sounds. I wish I had the right to hear a loved one whisper to me.

  He rolls to his side so he can face me. Gets up on an elbow and strokes my face with a giant hand. Somehow that makes my chin tremble.

  “I have to go. Got work in the morning,” I lie, “but it’s been fun. Thanks for letting me crash here.”

  He exhales heavily. Keyon scared me last night, but now I am wistful. For a second, I dream of him telling me not to leave.

  “Sunday work, huh? Sucks.” His mouth crooks in a sluggish smile. “Eh I won’t be lazing around either. Eight-hour plus workout. What time is it?”

  I find my bra in the dark. I’m thankful he brought my clothing to the bedroom.

  “It’s five.” I lean over the edge of the bed to grab my ruffled Rubina Hood shirt.

  I feel him behind me even before he touches me. A big hand comes around and cups my breast while his lips latch around my jugular. Goose bumps rise on my skin at the air coasting from his nose and down my throat.

  “You sure you want to leave?” he asks quietly. Warm hands clutch my midsection and dig in around my belly button. My body’s response is quick. Apparently, Keyon’s touch can build bonfires in girl stomachs.

  “I have to.”

  “I’ll follow you downstairs then. No wait, you need a ride of course.”

  “No, my car’s around the corner,” I lie again. “Go back to sleep. I’m good.”

  He sighs again, and the sound is so sweet it makes me remember him as a teenager. How long were we best friends back then? A year and a half? Two? It felt like so much longer. Then there was the kiss. Then he changed. Then… then… they moved.

  With Keyon in my life, I had someone to let in on my crazy, someone who understood. I didn’t know what was missing until he appeared, and when he left I became lonelier than ever.

  Once I’m dressed, I look at him, sleepy, beautiful, a big bundle of relaxed on the sheets. For a moment, I forget that he doesn’t know me. I’m ready to leave, but I cave in to the need to feel his skin beneath my fingers another time.

  I start below his ear. Stroke slowly over the corded tendons of his neck and watch him close his eyes at my touch. I reach his collarbone, travel over a pectoral and a small, dark nipple before I move downward to his waist.

  There’s a sting in my abdomen that I rarely feel with men. A good sting. A scorching sting. My body remembers how he treated me just hours ago. His approach to sex was violent, but—

  Fairy tales, I digress in my own thoughts. I was a bit like Cinderella when I came here disguised last night. A lot like Robin Hood in my costume choice. But now, I feel like Sleeping Beauty, with my body woken up from slumber by this strange man that used to be my friend.

  He sighs again when I caress his happy trail. I’m so close to jumping back into bed at that sigh, but if I stayed, our morning would go awry. He’d probably want a shower with me. The wig I’ve all but cemented to my head might last, but my mask would disintegrate under the spray.

  “Rubina,” he says as I straighten.

  “Hmm?”

  “Leave me your number, okay? Let’s get together again.”

  My heart does a bounce in my chest. I nod, watching his eyes gleam in the semi-dark. “Okay.”

  “Rubina?”

  I swing toward him again from the doorway. “Yeah?”

  “C’mere.”

  Hesitant, I tiptoe back over to the bed. Two long arms reach me, envelop me, and drag me down to him. I thump awkwardly to the bed. Find his mouth awake, warm, wet, invasive, his tongue conquering me with a last breathtaking kiss.

  When he lets go, he murmurs, “Thanks again. Call you tomorrow.”

  “Mañana,” I whisper back. And in the greying morning light, his eyes are wider than before as I leave.

  “Rumor has it you made an impact.” Mack chews his way through a roasted chicken for lunch. The visit to the Coral Mansion has him inspired. He’s started going to the gym, and he’s put himself on a protein diet to get rid of some flab. Good for him. “The gang at Yellow Pub says Keyon’s been there asking for you. Not that I blame him—you are a good lay.”

  “Shhh, lower your voice, will you?” I glare at him and jerk my head toward the main room where Old-Man is emptying the water bins, getting them ready for the afternoon shift. “What, is he talking about sleeping with me?”

  “No, but he described his mystery girl and how she’d promised to leave her number and then she didn’t. Why didn’t you? Wasn’t he as spectacular as he looked? If not, don’t worry, Rubina, I’ve got you covered.”

  He puckers a kiss over the chicken, lips greasy. I snort and cross my arm
s. Why would Keyon be looking for me? I’m probably the pansiest one-night stand he has ever had.

  “You know you dig sleeping with me. Or are you over me now?” Mack is playful, but there’s insecurity lingering below the surface. As always, he disguises it with jokes. “Goodness, I think Paislee’s gone did herself a monk.”

  I laugh out loud. “A nun, dork.”

  “Really? You’re going to not sleep with people anymore?”

  “Shut up.” We have an understanding. Why the hell is he talking so loudly?

  “Old-Man’s rinsing bins,” Mack reminds me. “No way to hear anything over the water and you know it. Come here.”

  Mack is being annoying. Actually, he’s been annoying for days, ever since he came by Sunday afternoon to “check on me.” He wanted a quickie, but I honestly couldn’t. Days later, I still feel where Keyon was. Too much friction—I’ve had enough men down there for a while.

  I decide to walk over to Mom’s for lunch. “Tell Old-Man I’ll be back. I need fresh air,” I say. “You’ve stunk up the entire break room with your stupid chicken.”

  “Pfff, it’s not that bad,” he begins, but I stomp past him and stride out the door.

  I walk to Ivy’s Café. I like to do that when I can. It’s close, I’m bundled up against the cold, and the tip of my nose feels alive with the frost. I drag in a long breath and pull my hat down over my ears. Funny how the cold set in over the last days. We’d been on a mild streak for weeks. Seems the mayor’s ball was what the cold season waited for.

  My thoughts return to Keyon, to the sudden change in him years ago. Ever since he started at our school, people picked on him for being small, pretty, gay, whatever else they could conjure up. Once someone even claimed he had an ear that was bigger than the other. That one didn’t stick.

  “Check out the fag hag!” Aaron yells. “She’s looking for her fag. Anyone seen her fag? We gotta help her.”

  “Ooh I think I seen him,” Tyler chimes in, eyes round with fake thrill. He rolls them, making his friend laugh raucously. “He the one we told to fucking stay put in the toilet?”

  “I think so.” Aaron nods fast. I hate the two of them so much. They’re the reason Keyon’s days suck.

  I steel myself in a bubble of not caring and make myself untouchable. Then I lift my head high and walk past them into the boys’ room, while Tyler and Aaron spool out their boisterous guffaws behind me.

  “You see that? The fag hag’s going in! Betcha she’s looking for someone to fuck her. Dude’s not gonna do that, tell you that much. I should give it to her, huh?”

  They don’t come after me.

  From the far stall I hear someone spitting. Irregular breaths and suppressed sobs. I try to open the door but hit a body on the floor. I make out hands clinging to the porcelain ring and wet hair trembling like fall leaves.

  “Keyon, it’s me,” I whisper.

  He doesn’t react.

  “Let me in.”

  My friend is kneeling on the floor and makes no effort to move. I’m skinny, so I manage to squeeze in through the crack anyway. I kneel too. Grab his face and raise it to me. He rips himself free and lets a sob out into his hands. Then he shakes his head, mad. “I’m gonna start taking classes.”

  “What classes? We’ll tell the principal.”

  “Fuck the principal. She doesn’t know shit. I’m gonna take jiu-jitsu classes. Brazilian. And kickboxing too.”

  “Self-defense?”

  “Oh it’s more than that. They teach you how to fuck people up, and you just watch: I’m gonna do that. No one’s gonna dare call you a fag hag anymore, that’s for sure.” He lifts his too-pretty face at me, eyes alight with purpose.

  “Gimme thirty days, Paislee. I’ll get there so fast you won’t believe it. See, it doesn’t matter that you’re short if you know how to break bones.”

  Keyon hasn’t spoken like this before. I should probably be worried, but his ire breaks his desolation and I feel my own fists close, agreeing with him and getting ready. “Good! Those asswipes need a broken bone or two.”

  He stands, the top of his head reaching my brow. Keyon will have to live with the curse of being too good-looking, but at least he has grown taller over the last few months.

  “I’ve signed up,” he tells me. “And Dad’s paying for it.”

  “You told your mom and dad how things have escalated?”

  “No, are you crazy? That’d be all hell breaking loose again, like last time. Ma would freak out and make my life a living hell, and Dad would sue them.”

  “Isn’t this already a living hell?” I point in the direction of the toilet he’s been dunked in and give him more paper towels.

  “Ha, it’s practically history. A few more dips and that’s it,” he says, sounding lighthearted like he believes it. “And when it’s my turn, I’m not dunking them.”

  “No?”

  “No. I’m smashing their faces in. They’ll be so scared of me they’ll piss their pants when they see me.” A smile stretches over my best friend’s tear-streaked, too-beautiful face.

  His shirt is wet. I open my backpack and hold out a spare. I sneaked it out of his closet last night knowing this could happen; it had been days since the last swirly, and it’s one of Tyler’s favorite punishments.

  Soap from the container by the sink. He rubs it between his hands and washes his bony chest and arms with it. I swallow the lump in my throat, hoping he’ll meet his goal of taking care of his bullies without parental help. Once he has dried off, he takes the shirt and pulls it over his head. When his eyes meet mine through the collar, they’re calm, focused, and filled with determination.

  Mom’s bussing tables herself. I forgot that Tuesdays are her big days with everyone from City Hall lunching here. I wonder if Keyon’s father came by too.

  “Need help?” I ask halfheartedly.

  “No, honey, you need your break too. I’ll be done in a minute. Head on up to the window and order some food, will you?”

  I do. Onion rings and calamari today. The chef doesn’t even blink at my order, because in this town he hears worse. With a look around, I verify that no bitchy owner is nearby before I serve myself a glass of fresh lemonade.

  “I’ll join you with my sandwich in a few,” Mom says and disappears into the kitchen with a stack of dirty dishes.

  As I pull lemonade in through a straw, I think of Keyon and how excited he was when he came back from his first classes at the martial arts gym. Hope shone in his eyes, and when we walked together to school, he stood taller the closer he got to the buildings. The thought fills me with a rush of joy. Keyon and I, we had our good times and our little victories. It took him a few months to try out his skills, but I remember well when he did.

  “Pussy! See that, Tyler? The little turd’s running away again. Wah-wah, why don’t you go hide behind your mommy. Faaaag.”

  I run alongside Keyon. We make it to his garden gate, and that’s where they usually turn and strut away laughing. But they’re more daring by the day. Today, there are no cars in the driveway, and I see when it registers with them that he can be cornered in his own yard.

  I’m telling my mom tonight, and she’ll tell his parents again so I don’t have to. He’ll be upset with me when he realizes I ratted him out, but I’ve watched them destroy him for too long.

  Aaron rushes Keyon first. He shoves him until he falls—tips over like a small animal. I lose my breath like it’s me they’re doing it to. When there’s no school, no looming threat of a teacher walking in on them, how far will they go? Will they ever stop beating him?

  Tyler starts kicking him, hurls names I know are more painful than the thumps against his body. Keyon doesn’t wail. Small grunts when they hit soft spots is all that escapes him, and it makes me madder than hell.

  “Stop it! Stop! Stop!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I start pushing on one of them. I slap a face, and Keyon’s eyes open and stare at me from below.

  His tormentors are momentar
ily surprised. They swing to look at me, and suddenly Keyon is on his feet. I can tell he’s in pain, but he stretches upward, glares at Aaron and Tyler, and then—

  His fist flies high and fast and into Aaron’s face. The punch comes from the side and rams Aaron in the eye, and Aaron, he thuds to the ground with an undignified meow of pain.

  I suck in a breath that feels dry in my throat. Keyon did that? And he’s not finished either! Aaron scrambles to his feet, holding a hand over his eye, lip trembling, but Tyler is murderous.

  “The hell if you’re getting away with that shit, fag. I’m destroying you.”

  “No!” I yell on a step forward. I don’t want Keyon’s luck to be over. I don’t want him to be kicked into a bloody mess on his own doorstep.

  Aaron and Tyler have never laid a hand on me, but they could. Even so, right now I’m not scared. I am blind with the need to keep my best friend from getting badly injured.

  “Get out of the way, Paislee.” Keyon’s voice is strangely quiet behind me. I’ve never heard it this full of purpose before, and it makes me hesitate.

  Keyon walks past me. Slowly, he does it, but he’s not slow when the same, skinny fist that dropped Aaron joins the other fist. A series of punches meet Tyler’s face so hard his lips fling back and forth like in a slow replay on film.

  Keyon doesn’t stop when the boy is on his knees. Doesn’t stop when he crumbles over his legs and all Keyon can reach is the back of his shoulders and head. He doesn’t speak, just delivers blow after blow to his tormentor’s body.

  I’m speechless, frozen, watching and watching. It’s not right—I know it isn’t, no matter what they’ve done to him before. What Keyon is doing will have long-lasting repercussions. What if he kills Tyler? What if he’s put away, my friend, gone, to jail for manslaughter?

  “Keyon, that’s enough,” I begin.

  “You’re a lunatic!” Aaron screeches as he storms to the garden gate and leaves his friend behind. “Crazy moron!”

  A black sedan glides into the driveway, but Keyon doesn’t react. Just keeps bashing, smashing, crushing—

  “Keyon. Enough!” his father roars at him. I’ve never seen him move this fast before. In his elegant lawyer suit, he sprints the few steps to his son’s side, grabs him by the scruff of his neck, and lifts him off Tyler.