Sarah rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Mags. Can you just talk to him? Make sure he’s okay? Make sure he still loves me?” Her cheeks redden.
My heart hurts as I stare at my usually confident and sassy friend. It’s strange to see her look so vulnerable.
Another reason why lust is better than love. My mind drifts back to my Vertix, back to Marco. I shake my head, dispelling those thoughts.
“Of course I’ll talk to him, but seriously, Sar, you have nothing to worry about,” I say, taking her hands in mine. “Andy adores you, he always has. I think you’re reading way too much into this. He’s probably just had a long day and wants to crash a little early. Tomorrow he’ll come over and you’ll laugh at these doubts when he’s holding you in his arms.”
Sarah nods and looks like she’s about to cry.
“Hey, it’s okay. Do you want me to hang out for a little while?” I ask. Please say no, please say no.
“No, it’s all right,” Sarah replies with a little sniff. “You’re right. I know you’re right. Andy and I are perfect together. Nothing can tear us apart.”
I rub her upper arm. Phew, crisis averted. “See? He’ll come over bright and early tomorrow and you guys can nauseate me with your love,” I tease. I take a step back and drop my hand away from her. “Well, I’m pretty tired. I’m off to bed. I’ll see you in the morning!” I wave with my fingers.
“Night, Mags,” Sarah says as she turns back to her room, her head held higher and her mood brighter. Sarah has always been like that, like a toddler flitting from one emotion to the next.
I turn around and close the door behind me, pressing the little round lock into the handle with a quiet click. What I’m about to engage in shouldn’t have any witnesses. I take a step toward the bed and a sudden wave of nausea overwhelms me. I reach out a steadying hand for my dresser but my fingers miss, slipping right off the rounded edge. Counting on the dresser to catch me, I fall forward, crashing to my knees with a muted thud on the thick tan carpet.
Without delay my body begins heaving, choking gasps in the back of my throat. One hand grabs my tossing stomach while the other covers my mouth. I can feel the multiple slices of pizza boiling in my gut climbing higher and higher until an acidic taste coats the back of my throat. I can’t stop it, can’t hold it back. The hand pressing against my stomach flies out to grip the wire wastebasket to my right and I yank it in front of me just in time.
My stomach muscles clench and unclench as every last sliver of pizza pours out. Disgusting minutes go by, and at last the spasms start to slow, but I don’t dare take my face out of the basket.
When I’m able to inhale a complete breath without feeling ill, I lean away and fall against my dresser in relief. “What the heck was that?” I wipe my vomit-caked mouth with the back of my hand. “There must have been something wrong with the pizza.” I stare into the wastebasket at the pale brown and pink-colored puke coating the holey sock and numerous bobby pins I dumped in there earlier in the week. I listen for a moment, wondering if Sarah has food poisoning too, but the apartment is silent. “Gross,” I mutter, wiping my lips once more. “I need a drink.”
Leaving my Vertix on the floor, I go to the kitchen and fill a glass with ice cold water. I toss the cool contents into the back of my throat, gulping it down in seconds. My queasy stomach already feels better, but I fill another glass with water just in case. Once I swallow the contents of the second glass, I’m confident that whatever I had has passed.
In the bathroom I wash my face and brush my teeth with vigor. I’m not sure if Marco will be able to smell my breath, but if I have a choice I’d rather he inhale cool mint instead of regurgitated pizza. Satisfied I am as cleaned up as I have time for, I return to my room and lock the door behind me once again.
“Oh crap,” I groan, eyeing the vomit-filled wastebasket in the middle of my floor. At this rate I’m never going to meet Marco. Moving like I’m running late for work, I unhook the plastic bag from the wire trash can and swiftly tie the handles together. My eyes wander to the copper Vertix lying on its side a few feet away from the wastebasket. “Soon, I promise,” I whisper, as if the Vertix is the one waiting for me rather than the other way around.
My socked feet slap against the hardwood floor as I carry the foul-smelling bag into the kitchen, depositing it into the bottom of the large trash can. Once the crinkly plastic leaves my hands, I pivot on my heels and race back to my room. Now, there are no more distractions, no more delays.
My stomach rumbles again.
“No, no,” I stress, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth. Chills snake up my spine, bringing goose bumps to the surface of my skin. I start to dry heave, my shoulders twitching with each movement. Let me connect, give me just a second. That will make this food poisoning bearable. I plead with the evil being alive in my belly.
I bend down and grab the Vertix in my right hand, then swing it into position on my neck. The stomach spasms come faster now, and I know it’s only a matter of seconds before the remaining contents purge from my body.
Breathing in and out, I swipe the Vertix to life, involuntarily relaxing as I feel the tiny sensors stretch out, searching for their familiar positions on my skin. The core of the device settles into place as the four long legs line up with the prior incision marks and then I’m soaring, flying high as the sensors bury into my flesh, connecting with my brain stem and uploading all the images into my occipital lobe I have been yearning for since I disconnected earlier.
My eyes widen in pleasure and ecstasy as continual surges of dopamine are sent to numerous brain receptors, causing hundreds of synapses to fire. My heart rate slows back to normal and my bucking stomach muscles calm. I don’t even feel the least bit nauseous now.
Yikes, that was close. I better keep my hookup with Marco short tonight. I pull off my owl shirt and rip off my sweatpants, yanking the white see-through sheet up so it’s barely covering my nipples. I run my hands through my hair, teasing it into a wild mass. How strange. Instead of getting all dolled up for a date, I’m naked without make-up on, and he likes it that way. I sigh, remembering our last rendezvous.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to show up tomorrow in red heels and some sexy lingerie?” I ask, tracing the swell of his bicep.
Marco shakes his head. “No, this is perfect. I like you just like this. Warm and soft and real,” he says, bending to kiss me on the lips.
The memory triggers my growing lust and I instruct the Vertix to open the Hot Love app. The same sexy voice welcomes me and I scroll through the list of available lovers. At first Marco isn’t there and I groan in frustration, but on my second trip back through the dozens of photos, I recognize his bright orange eyes and spiky black hair.
Reaching forward, I activate the download and sit up straighter against the pillows, making sure the sheet is barely covering my chest as the recorder scans the small diameter around me, sending the image to Hot Love. “Hey baby…want to play?” I whisper.
A second later Marco responds and then he’s standing at the edge of the bed in our recently constructed virtual bedroom. His burning eyes look me up and down approvingly and I let the sheet fall away. He leaps onto the bed, crawling toward me like a hunter after its prey.
Hopefully I won’t get much sleep tonight.
A world of white. Roaring waves. Bees the size of tennis balls. Red eyes staring from a hideous skull.
I bolt upright, inhaling a large lungful of air as I surface from the twisted dreams that blend my reality and virtual experience into an indistinguishable labyrinth. My heart rate slows as I remember there is no danger, no fear, just the strange state of wakefulness as the last dregs of my subconscious cling to the flickering images before my bland room shifts into focus.
I rub my sore eyes and exhale loudly. My sleep was restless, haunted by wonderful ecstasy turned rotten as elements from the manuscript filtered in, turning my dreams inside out. I feel like I didn’t sleep at all. At least it’s Saturday.
&n
bsp; I throw the mangled covers off my body and shiver as the cool air finds me. I glance at my wrist. The pale light filters in from the edge of my blinds, doing little to help me gauge the time. My wrist is empty.
I reach up and feel the back of my neck, expecting to touch the warm body of the Vertix, but there’s nothing there. I flip over and plunge my hands under my pillow, searching for the copper device. My hands come back empty and my breathing hitches. I grab the edge of my pillow with both hands and toss it to the floor. Nothing but my wrinkled sheets meet my gaze.
Where is it? Did Sarah take it? Rage is bubbling in my chest. I know I’ve been connecting a lot, but she doesn’t have the right! I stalk to the door and stop short. The little metal lock is still pushed in, the way I left it. “What? Where the hell did it go?”
I race back to my bed and fall to my knees, pushing aside bags and crumpled socks that lost their mates long ago. My eyes scan the dark objects under the bed, trying to identify the lumpy shapes. My mind spins. How could it have disappeared? At last a bright glint catches the corner of my eye, peeking out from the other side of a large textbook.
I knock the Abnormal Psychology book out of the way and exhale in relief. My Vertix is sitting quietly atop an old t-shirt, waiting for me to rescue it from the multiple layers of dust. My fingers close around the cold machine, bringing it back into the light. “Ah, there you are,” I whisper, stroking the minimal dust particles off the sleek body. “Sorry I dropped you.”
I raise the Vertix to my neck, ready to immerse myself in the trending world of social media, but my stomach rumbles. I frown at my quiet friend. “Maybe I’ll eat something first,” I muse, and open my bedroom door.
I still have no idea what time it is, but across the hall Sarah’s door is open so it can’t be super early. Slipping my Vertix into the pocket of my baggy sweatpants, I make my way toward the kitchen. I can hear the TV on in the other room, but I have no interest in watching anything.
Opening the fridge, I discover we are running low on almost everything. I withdraw the Cran-Raspberry juice from the top shelf and pour it into a tall glass. The dark magenta liquid barely fills the bottom of the cup. “Awesome,” I say, throwing the empty container into the bright blue recycle bin near the door. I press the smooth glass rim to my lips and swallow the finger’s width of juice. “Well that was refreshing,” I deadpan.
“Tell me about it.”
I jump at the sound of Sarah’s voice and slam the glass down on the granite counter.
Sarah laughs, raising her hands. “I come in peace.”
“You scared me!”
Sarah opens the fridge to scan the bleak contents I just foraged through. She whistles low. “Geez, Mags. When are the groceries arriving? Was Fresh Stop backed up or something?” she asks. She peers with apprehension at a murky Tupperware container. “Gross, what is this?”
“Ah, the groceries…will, um, be here soon,” I say, racking my mind trying to remember if I placed an order.
Sarah lowers the questionable Tupperware and raises her slender eyebrows. “Seriously, Mags, you didn’t order any? I put the list up over a week ago.” She closes the fridge with more force than necessary and takes a seat at the kitchen table, pulling up Fresh Stop on her iJewel. “I’ll submit this one, but try to be on top of it next week, okay?”
“Yeah, thanks. Sorry it just got away from me I guess,” I mumble.
“Done,” Sarah says. “You owe me sixty-five bucks. You can transfer it to my checking.” She stands and saunters over to the trash to toss the entire Tupperware container inside, not even bothering to check the mysterious contents.
I follow her as she turns toward the living room. “Hey, is Andy in there?”
Sarah backtracks, her fingers gripping the edge of the door frame. She bites her lower lip and looks down at her other hand. “No. He hasn’t called yet,” she whispers, some of her steam evaporating as worry for my brother dominates her features.
“Oh.” I frown. Leave it to Andy to mess everything up. “I’m sure he’s just sleeping in. It’s Saturday after a busy night. I mean it’s only…” I pause, realizing that I still have no idea what time it is. My eyes quickly navigate to the light green digital clock above the stove and my heart sinks. “Ten thirty-seven,” I continue. “I just woke up too. Don’t worry, he’ll call,” I say, trying to radiate positivity.
“Yeah, you’re right. I was just about to go wake you up on my way back actually,” Sarah says, looking puzzled. “Were you up late? You went to bed before me.”
I turn away from her intense stare, thrusting my sticky juice glass under the sink and turning on the faucet. “Oh, I was still up for a little while,” I explain, rotating the streaming water to erase all evidence of the red liquid. “I had some more work to do.”
I try not to picture Marco taking me on the edge of the tropical ocean, his thrusts more powerful than the beating waves, our movements a perfect symphony. I feel my cheeks flush and I turn away, drying the glass with extra care to avoid looking at my roommate.
Sarah scoffs. “As always. When are you going to relax, Mags? You work way too much.”
“I think I’m starting to get the hang of it,” I say with a smirk. If you only knew.
“Well I’ll be in the living room. I have a hair appointment at noon and the groceries will be delivered by one so don’t go anywhere before that,” Sarah instructs, pointing at me as she leaves the kitchen.
“Okay, sure.” I chuckle, placing the shining glass on the plastic drying rack. “Oh, by the way. Don’t eat the rest of that pizza. I got really sick from it last night.”
“Ew, really?” Sarah pops her head back into the kitchen. “Did you throw up?”
I nod. “Yeah, it was gross.”
“Huh.” Sarah cocks her head to the side. “I was fine. Then again, I didn’t eat half the box,” she adds with a laugh.
I shrug. “That’s a good point. I did feel better once I threw up and connected.”
“Maybe just don’t cram five pieces on an empty stomach,” she teases.
“Okay, Mom.” I laugh, rolling my eyes. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Kay, I might be gone by the time you get out,” Sarah calls over her shoulder as she exits the kitchen again.
“All right,” I say to myself, withdrawing the Vertix from my pocket. I run my thumb over the polished copper and feel my heart rate speed up with excitement. My stomach is still rumbling, but there’s nothing to eat. I’ll have to wait until the groceries arrive.
I place the Vertix on my neck and coax it to life. A moment later the sensors plunge into my skin and the delicious connection begins, whirling me away on a roller coaster of sensation. Once the connection is established, everything seems brighter, easier. My breathing slows, my body relaxes, and a cloud of happiness envelopes me. I feel light as air. Nothing can touch me in my own little world.
I float back into the hall, combing through the latest updates to Bam!, a gossip channel. There is a new Victoria Secret fashion shoot featuring a dark-skinned model standing against a snowy background, a hot pink bra and panty set clinging to her curvy body and a pair of puffy white earmuffs atop her wild curls. She looks gorgeous. If only I could pull the lingerie off like her. Marco would be so pleased, I think, blushing again.
I flip to the next story, jumping into the video as I close the bathroom door. In my right eye I am sitting in a wooden pew, surrounded by hundreds of other people. I notice several teary-eyed celebrities staring straight ahead. I follow their gaze and see a light wooden casket, polished to a high sheen displayed at the front of the room beneath a grand arch. A strong perfume floats through the air and I see thousands of white lilies decorating the end of every pew and strewn about the beautiful space. That’s when I realize I’m sitting in a church, at a funeral.
“Thank you all for coming. I know Charlie is up there watching right now, smiling down at every one of you,” the minister welcomes.
Charlie? Charlie who?
My eyes flicker around the front of the church and I see a large photo standing on a golden easel. I shrug, unimpressed, mainly because I have no idea who this guy is. Uninterested, I stand up and walk out of the church. On to bigger and better things.
Back in the bathroom, I grab the bottom of my t-shirt and pull it over my head, sighing at my non-existent chest. Is a solid B cup too much to ask? I shrug out of my sweats, step out of the pile of cloth puddling at my feet and turn on the shower. As I wait for the cold water to heat up, I navigate to Serenade and my mind fills with a poppy tune from newcomer Cherry Bomb. I hum a few bars, already having a few words committed to memory, and check the water temperature. It’s shifted from lukewarm to bearable. I pull back the curtain and step inside, shivering with delight as the water warms my skin.
I pull the curtain shut and tilt my head back until the spray catches it. The singer’s deep alto voice hits a high note and the rhythm picks up, drums banging away.
My eyes spring open and I jump back, out of the dangerous stream of water. I clutch the back of my neck, shielding my Vertix from the warm spray. I was so wrapped up in the song that I didn’t even notice the small, non-waterproof device still clinging to my neck.
I rip the pale curtain out of my way and exit the shower, wrapping my hand in a nearby towel. I feel the Vertix under my long hair for any possible water damage. It seems okay, the song is still playing, I think, touching the soft hair surrounding the small machine.
With a sigh of relief, I release the pent-up air from my lungs and pull my hair over my shoulder, hugging it to my chest. Because of the length and the horrible thickness I’ve dealt with since seventh grade, it formed an impenetrable barrier, keeping my copper baby safe. I was lucky this time. That was too close. You don’t have enough money to get another one.
I toss my hair out of the way and swipe my thumb across the back of the device, ending the connection. The music video in my right eye freezes, Cherry Bomb looking at me seductively over her shoulder, her lips frozen mid-note.
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