Everyone's Favorite Girl

Everyone's Favorite Girl Page 7

by Steph Sweeney

  That was a lie. It was really to distract her. To give her a reason to be nervous when James arrived.

  “He’ll see my butt,” Flora said.

  “Are you wearing a thong?”

  “Yes.”

  “Turn around.”

  She did. The sweater covered most of her ass, enough to give the illusion from behind that she wore no panties at all. James didn’t have it in him to remain objective after seeing Flora’s butt cheeks peeking out below the back of her sweater.

  To calm her nerves, I took off my jeans. I also wore a thong, but my t-shirt barely covered my belly button, so I was more naked than she was. Not that it did anything for her. She was mortified.

  But I called James to take the food cart anyway, and when he knocked, I stuck the laced banana in her hand and pushed her toward the door. Snatching a cold piece of bacon off the cart, I sat at the table with my back to the room.

  This was like fishing. All I could do was sit quietly and hope James took the bait.

  The door swung open.

  “Hi James.” She sounded so sheepish. I wondered what that did for him.

  Silence for a moment. Then, “Almost bedtime?”

  “Yeah, we’re—it’s getting pretty …”

  She was fumbling for words. I had to interject.

  “Flora, come here,” I barked. I heard the pitter-patter of her feet, imagined the look on James’s face as his eyes bounced with Flora’s butt. When I felt her behind me, I said, “Get me a glass of water.”

  James strolled in, as I expected he would when I pulled Flora away. I must admit, watching her stand at the sink, barefoot, barelegged, and halfway bare-assed, it was hard to concentrate on anything else.

  I popped the last bite of bacon in my mouth and spun around in my chair to find James walking slowly with a hand in his pocket, like a potential buyer at an open house. He was circumnavigating the table, giving it—me—a wide berth, and moving closer and closer to Flora.

  Flora brought my glass of water, passing James, who spun to face me directly. That was when I noticed he was holding the banana. Flora must have handed it to him, maybe asked him to hold it in a whisper I didn’t hear.

  Now he was handing it back to her with a smile, like a boyfriend who fucks up and comes back with flowers the next day.

  “Thank you,” Flora said, accepting the banana with both hands. To me she looked suspicious, but James seemed to think she was flirting, a condition all nice, bashful girls suffer: every guy thinks you want to fuck him—and if not, you’re at least too polite to say no.

  “You like bananas?” James asked.

  Come here often?

  “Yeah,” Flora said. “They’re my favorite.”

  Good girl.

  “I love bananas,” James said.

  Flora looked down at the one she held. Then she raised it up to him, putting on a smile even I believed.

  James swallowed nervously. “Well … thank you, Flora.”

  He accepted the banana, and I’d be damned if he wasn’t peeling it open.

  You’re a fucking genius, Flora!

  What he did next scared the shit out of me. He didn’t take a bite. He broke off the top piece and held it out to Flora.

  Flora reached up, and all I wanted to do was scream, but instead of taking it, she grabbed his wrist delicately, stepped in, and took a bite from the whole banana.

  James reacted physically. He began to breathe deeply, likely overcome by the desire to feel her lips on his penis. Men are simple in that way. A girl and a banana and he’s lost to the world for the rest of the day.

  Flora stepped back, chewing, staring up at him expectantly. She even ran her hand up her thigh, drawing up her sweater to expose her stomach. What an effective little co-conspirator she turned out to be.

  James popped the top piece of banana in his mouth, chewing vigorously at first but slowing down fast, so that by the time he swallowed he looked like a cow chewing cud. Tears were streaming down his cheeks by then, too, and he offered us both a wide, open-mouthed, banana-pasted smile.

  “I’m s-sorry,” he said. “You two are the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. I just…I don’t know. I don’t know what to say. I feel really weird all of a sudden.”

  Then the sobbing set in, and he took a seat at the table, covering his face with his hands. After a moment he began to hiccup.

  I was lost as to where to go from here, so I stalled by running to the closet for a pair of pants, bringing some for Flora, too. She accepted them graciously and eagerly.

  With my legs and ass warming up I was able to collect my thoughts.

  I approached James, who sat there mumbling apologies into his hands. Good thing I hadn’t used enough to render him comatose like they did to me once a week.

  “James.”

  He looked up. “I’ve done so many things to you and Flora. Cruel things. I’ve had cruel thoughts, intentions…I don’t know why I’ve been like this.”

  Flora took a seat next to him. “What intentions?”

  He turned to her and without delicacy told her that he’d planned to rape and murder her.

  “Why would you do that to me?”

  “Because,” he said, “it would have been exhilarating … then, not now. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

  “Do you want to help us?” I asked.

  He straightened his back like a soldier and nodded emphatically. “Whatever you need—just tell me and I’ll do it.”

  This was much less complicated than I imagined. If only I’d sliced open Flora’s arm months ago, when they first gave—loaned—her to me.

  I had plenty of instructions to give, but first and foremost I craved information.

  “What are they doing to me?”

  He cocked his head. “Who?”

  “Patton!” I shouted without thinking. Then I added, “And Mr. Shriver. And Sean. Kate—all of them.”

  “They’re brainwashing you,” James said. He sounded timid now, very much out of character for him.

  “Why are they brainwashing me?”

  “So they can make you production manager.”

  “Production manager?”

  “In the warehouse. You’re going to oversee the pre-production Favorite Girls, as long as Judy’s theory proves out. About the Love Drug. Some of us think she’s full of it. It was her idea to keep you alive. She actually convinced Mr. Shriver that you’re the perfect subject, being Your Favorite Girl’s worst nightmare and all.” He chuckled a little. “Now Mr. Shriver’s convinced you were meant to work for him. He thinks you’re his lucky charm.”

  “How are they?” Flora asked.

  “The girls?” James said. “I don’t know. Right now Sean’s guards are running things down there. Don’t worry, they’re on strict orders not to lay a finger on the girls—though I do hear they’ve been verbally abusive. Threatening and so forth. I’ve only seen them in passing, when they were being escorted back to Level D for the night. They all looked tired and scared.”

  Now I wanted the job. As production manager in the warehouse, I would have an open dock to the outside world, with most of the Favorite Girls at my disposal. Then again, if the brainwashing did take root …

  “What’s it like outside?”

  “Weather’s nice today, I hear. I haven’t been out.”

  “I mean after what Judy did. What state is the city in?”

  “Oh,” James said. “Order has been restored for the most part. Everyone’s in a big uproar about it, though. Imagine all the crime committed that day. How can a police department deal with that? A few government agen
cies have been investigating. We’re taking care of that next week.”

  “What happens next week?”

  “A meeting with the president.”

  “You mean Mr. Shriver?”

  “Mr. Shriver is conducting the meeting, yes, with the president.”

  “The president of what?”

  “The United States.”

  It could only mean one thing. Mr. Shriver was making his move.

  I sent James to speak with Judy. It was a big risk clueing her in on my activities, but I had nowhere else to turn.

  While we waited, I removed Flora’s bandage, cleaned her stitching with a warm washcloth, and rewrapped the wound with fresh gauze.

  Flora only spoke once to say, “I’m worried about them.”

  So was I.

  James returned quickly, scaring us both when he pounded on the door. For a moment I thought the drug had worn off and he was coming back with violent urges, but when I opened the door I found him fidgety with excitement, like someone on the brink of pissing himself.

  He held a folded piece of paper. “She wrote you a note. She said she doesn’t trust me to remember.”

  I motioned for him to enter, closing the door behind me.

  “Did you tell her exactly what I said?”

  “Yes.”

  “Repeat it to me.”

  “No problem. I said, ‘Judy, Melissa slipped the Love Drug into a banana and I ate it. She sent me to ask for your help. On the next round, she wants you to use a placebo. She wants you to tell her how to fake the results you’re looking for.’”

  “Did she believe you?” I asked, taking the note. It was stiff. I unfolded it to find a CD tucked inside.

  “Not a word,” James said. “I had to let her drug me again so she would know I was telling the truth.”

  “Smart girl,” I murmured, beginning to read:

  Melissa,

  You shouldn’t have done this. Now I’ll have to keep James drugged at all times. If I slip up just once, he’ll come out of it. Did you think about that?

  Seeing how there’s no going back at this point, I’ve sent along the video footage of your last round of testing. You will need to mimic your own behavior for the first five to ten minutes. Then you will need to suddenly regain consciousness. At that point, you have to do whatever you can to make them believe you’ve transformed into what they want.

  Personally I don’t know what that is. I sure hope you do.

  Judy

  P.S.—I’m working on a solution.

  The postscript threw me off. A solution to what? Did she mean Brian’s research—what was effectively her research? Did she know a way out?

  “Get out,” I told James, who had turned to stare at Flora. New James found Flora alluring even with pants on. Old James would have been disappointed.

  “Can I have a hug?”

  I turned to him, grimacing. “James, get the fuck out. Go back to Judy. And don’t fuck her unless she tells you to. No, in fact, don’t fuck anyone ever again.”

  “Okay,” he mumbled, eyelids filling up with tears. “I love you, Melissa.” He glanced back quickly. “I love you, Flora.”

  Flora said nothing. She was an honest person.

  I sent Flora to take a bath, instructing her to keep her wound dry. I didn’t want her watching the video. Something told me it might contain things I didn’t want her to see or hear.

  Turns out I was right.

  A few minutes in, I realized this wasn’t just about brainwashing me. It was also about torturing Patton. He sat in a chair in the corner of the room, covering his face with his hands. I couldn’t tell if he was crying. It was hard not to focus on what was happening in the foreground.

  After strapping me in what looked like a dentist’s chair, Sean pulled down my pants and underwear and stuck two fingers inside me while I struggled. Then he started pinching me hard in the side, squeezing my breasts, and he didn’t stop until I was hysterical.

  That was when Judy approached with a syringe.

  Sean ceased violating me and put all his weight on my arm to keep me still while Judy plunged the needle into my bicep.

  Then I seemingly fell unconscious, only my eyes were half-open, lids fluttering, my mouth turning up in a creepy smile.

  Five minutes passed with no one doing anything. Kate ran her mouth incessantly while everyone in the room tried hard to ignore her. Mr. Shriver stood there looking grumpy and inconvenienced. Once Patton stood and walked over to me. He put his hand on the armrest and hovered over me like a mourner staring into a coffin.

  On Judy’s instruction, Kate picked up a script that she would spend the next ten minutes whispering in my ear, the nightmare I awoke from last time, everything I feared all bundled up into one cute little anti-fairytale.

  The more I watched, the more my disdain for Kate grew. I made a commitment right then and there, and as many angry women are wont to do, I said it aloud. “Mark my words you fucking skank. I’m going to kill you.”

  I broke the CD in half and threw it in the trash. Then I burned the note in the sink, washing the ashes down the drain.

  With that done, I went to the shower room to check on Flora. She stood in the middle of the Jacuzzi pool, the water surface lapping at her knees, her entire body—minus the one arm—lathered in soap, hair matted into a ball with shampoo. She had her back to me and must not have heard me enter. I sat down on the ledge and watched her work the lather on her thighs, her sides, her butt. Someone had taught her to be thorough.

  I slipped out of the room without her noticing.

  No matter what, this would be the last time they experimented on me. From here I would either accept the position as production manager and go about the task of enforcing child labor, or I would die feeling Sean’s blade poking around in my intestines.

  Having James on our side made the days a lot easier. He began to sneak us whatever we wanted, starting with wine and bourbon. We made a list of movies we wanted to watch and he delivered every single one. That night we got drunk, ate popcorn, and cuddled together on the bed watching comedies. It even became easy to laugh. Liquor will do that.

  In case these were our last few days, I tried to have as much fun with Flora as possible. We quickly reverted to children, crawling around on the floor and building tents and tunnels out of bed sheets.

  On the final night—the night they would come take me away—Flora and I crawled into the largest tent, built from the top of the broken stereo system and sloping down to the coffee table, to play strip checkers.

  Flora suggested the game. I added the stripping part. To my surprise, she accepted the challenge without modesty or hesitation.

  A few rounds in, I realized why. Flora was ridiculously talented at checkers. She had me buck naked at the end and all she’d lost was a t-shirt and a sock.

  As the game progressed, I started to notice her stealing glances at me the way a guy zones in on cleavage when a girl turns her head. It was cute, and at the same time I started to feel an inexplicable enchantment developing in the air. Flora was crushing on me—I could see it clearly now—and I was excited about it. We began the game sitting on opposite sides of the board, but by the end she’d inched her way around to be right next to me, so that by the time our shoulders touched, I was already naked.

  “The Floras play a lot of checkers,” she explained, leaning into me playfully, some of her hair falling across my bare chest.

  “No strip checkers, I assume.”

  She shook her head. “We showered together, though.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I mean we had an open shower room, so a few girls might be in there any given time.”

  “Just Floras or all the girls?”

&n
bsp; “All of them.”

  She seemed excited to share this information, like she had a dirty little secret. Some soft sexual encounter with another Favorite Girl—which one?—who happened to be standing under the showerhead next to her late one evening when the others were long asleep.

  Did Flora once have a girlfriend?

  “So you’re used to being naked around other people,” I said.

  “Just girls. Never a guy.”

  “I’m a girl.”

  She blushed and dropped her head, but she was smiling.

  “If you want me to take my clothes off, you have to get better at checkers.”

  “Well how about we play another game?” I asked. “Only this time I get to pick.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Strip Wrestling.”

  “What’s Strip—”

  I pushed her onto the bed of pillows we’d made and fought with her to pull her clothes off. She giggled and squealed and squirmed away, inevitably driving us to the edge of the tent. In our thrashing and rolling we pulled the tent down on top of us. Before long we were rolled up in it, like two flies bound together by a hungry spider, me tugging at her jeans, which I’d pulled down to her knees, Flora clinging to them for dear life. In order to pretend to resist, you must participate in resisting.

  Then suddenly we stopped moving and lay with our bare stomachs pressed together, me naked, Flora with her pants pulled down and her shirt hiked up to just below her breasts, both of us breathing heavily.

  I felt her breath on my neck. Then a cold, wet sensation. Her tongue, barely grazing my skin. Her whole body vibrated and I realized she was giggling. I felt her wiggly tongue again, only this time she licked downward and put her soft lips on my collar bone. She kissed me in a line up my neck, through the spot where the nurse checks your pulse—this I could hardly stand—and up to my earlobe.

  She bit it gently but just a little too hard, and when I reacted she snaked her hand quickly through the tangle of bed sheets and cupped my face, whispering so quiet a person standing over us wouldn’t even hear it, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

 

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