Out of Control

by Sarah Alderson

  I squeeze Jay’s arm harder. What is he doing? Is he out of his freaking mind? They do not look like pussies. But he doesn’t stop. No he’s just hitting his stride. He keeps going, ticking off even more things on his fingers.

  ‘My mom’s being held somewhere by the FBI for reasons neither of us can figure out. I can’t find my brother –’ he draws a deep breath ‘– and on top of all this I had to pay a really crazy amount of money for two sticks of frozen water, though admittedly it wasn’t my money.’ He exhales in a rush. ‘So we could really do without you and your fellow amigos giving us more shit, me entiendes?’

  The guy with the diamond stud stares at Jay like he’s speaking in tongues, a purple worm of a vein pulsing violently in his neck. I glance nervously at the other two guys. I’m not sure Jay’s little speech did us any favours. I’m not sure they even understood it. I think he lost them at the ice-pops.

  The guy on the left, who has a shaved head and is missing part of an ear, crunches his knuckles together loudly, and the one on the right, who is wearing a thick gold chain and a black bandana over his head, reaches into his back pocket. I glance around for Yoyo, but I can’t see him or Marisa anywhere. Where’s a guy built like a refrigerator or an Israeli killer robot bodyguard when you need one? Jay and I are plain out of luck today.

  ‘Listen,’ I say, before anyone can make a move or Jay can say another word.

  All three of them turn to me in surprise. I’m guessing because girls probably never speak back to them. The one on the right’s hand freezes halfway to pulling out whatever it is he has in his back pocket.

  ‘I’m giving you two choices,’ I say, shouting to be heard over the hardcore rap that’s started playing. ‘You can back the hell off right now or—’

  ‘Or what?’ sneers the guy with his hand behind his back, looking amused.

  I shrug. ‘Or you can regret it,’ I say with a smile.

  The one with the stud stares at me as though I just made fun of his facial hair. And then he bursts out laughing.

  ‘I wouldn’t laugh, man,’ Jay warns him, shaking his head solemnly. ‘I’ve seen her in action. She could take Rambo.’

  The guy stops laughing and stares at me in confusion, unsure if Jay is jerking him around. Then, clearly deciding that Jay is still spouting crap, his top lip curls upwards in a sneer. He makes some sign to his buddies and the one on the right flicks a knife open right in front of us. I move in the same heartbeat, shoving Jay with my left shoulder while simultaneously grabbing the diamond-stud guy by his collar and pulling him in front of the guy with the blade. In almost the same movement I bring my knee up and slam it straight into his crotch. The high-pitched scream that explodes out of him is drowned out by the sound of a glass smashing and the screams of people on the dance floor who’ve caught sight of the knife and are now pushing and shoving towards the exits.

  As the guy with the stud doubles over, clutching his crotch, his eyes bulging like they’re about to pop, I look up and see the other two glance at each other briefly and then spring at us, snarling.

  32

  We run, Jay clearing a path with his free arm and shouting at people to get out the way. We slam through a fire escape by the toilets, ricochet off the brick wall in front of us and then hurdle a couple of stunned people sitting on the ground outside having a smoke. Behind us I can hear yelling and doors bashing against concrete. We hit the street, the noise of the club blazing around us. The security guy on the door frowns at us as we go steaming past him and I feel the familiar spurt of adrenaline pushing me on, pounding through my veins, making my legs feel like they’re made of air. Jay’s hand is tight around my wrist and he yanks me hard around a corner and down another alleyway.

  He pushes me behind an enormous dumpster that offers us some cover from the street and crushes his chest against mine as he presses us both back further into the shadow. His forearms come up on either side of my head, as though he’s bracing us for a crash, and he ducks his own head so I can feel his breath hot and fast against my cheek. My heart is hammering hard and sweat trickles down my back. I strain to listen. Are they following?

  Just then we hear footsteps pounding the sidewalk. They come to a halt right by the entrance to the alleyway and Jay presses further against me, the buttons of his jeans cutting into my waist, my forehead against his collarbone. Neither of us breathes. My hand slides down Jay’s back and closes around the butt of the gun. He hadn’t thought to draw it. I ease it out as he tenses and pulls back enough that I can see the whites of his eyes. He gives a tiny shake of his head and puts a finger to his lips.

  I stare up at him and we wait, listening, me with the gun still in my hand, my finger sliding the safety free, Jay still pressing me tight up against the wall. The voices start arguing about which direction we’ve gone in. Someone takes a few steps into the alleyway but stops just an inch or so shy of seeing us. I hear the sound of a zipper and then the sprinkle of urine spraying against metal. I wrinkle my nose and press my face into Jay’s T-shirt.

  If he takes one more step he’ll see us. I picture what I’ll need to do. If I can push Jay aside I can aim the gun and we can hopefully hold them off until we’re far enough away to make a run for it.

  We listen in absolute silence as the guy re-zips himself and heads back out towards the street. The three of them talk some more – though I can’t make out what they’re saying – and then finally, after what feels like an eternity, they walk away. Jay’s shoulders drop fractionally, but he doesn’t take a step back. No, he keeps me pressed up against the wall. And I notice that we’re both breathing fast again – as though we’re still sprinting. I tip my head back against the brick behind me so I can see his face. He’s looking down at me, and in the shadow all I can make out is the strong line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips. I can’t read his expression. But I can guess at it.

  He shifts his weight slightly and his thigh presses against my hip. I draw in a breath. My free hand – the one not holding the gun – rests on his upper chest. I slide it up and over his shoulder and with my eyes still on him I pull him even closer, until he’s pressed completely against me and I can feel the hardness of muscle through his T-shirt and his jeans. My heart explodes in my chest as I tilt my head back further, reaching on tiptoe, and his mouth finds mine in the darkness.

  His kiss is hard, full of heat, uncontrolled.

  The earth doesn’t just spin, it shatters into a million pieces. Lights burst lightning bright behind my eyes as Jay’s hands run the length of me, and I have to grip hold of his shoulder to keep from sliding down the wall.

  His hand settles behind my waist, pinning me to him, and the other holds the back of my head. And I don’t fight it because I want him to hold me tighter, to kiss me deeper. I want to melt into him and I’m grasping at him even more frantically than he is at me. It’s as though all the pent-up energy and frustration and emotion of the day is spilling out of one and into the other, and the desperation in our kisses becomes a wild hunger for more, for touch, for connection, for closeness stripped bare.

  I start tearing at Jay’s T-shirt, wanting to finally feel his skin, needing to touch every part of him, and then I am, my fingers tracing the taut lines of muscle running up his stomach and chest. He murmurs something against my neck as his lips trace the curve of my shoulder and then run back up again to meet my mouth and his hands drop at the same time to my waist.

  God, I want him. I’ve never wanted anyone in this way before.

  ‘Jay!’

  My breathing is so loud that at first I don’t hear Marisa, and it’s only when Jay stops kissing me that my senses tune back into the outside world and I hear her shouting.

  My knees are shaking. My heart feels fragile, like it’s no longer inside my ribcage, but hurtling through space. I grip hold of Jay by the shoulders and lower my leg, which somehow has wrapped itself around Jay’s hip. Jay takes a deep breath, lowering his chin to his chest to breathe out slowly, even as his hands fall away
from my waist and he steps away from me. I nearly collapse without his arms holding me up.

  He runs a hand through his hair and waits as I steady myself, reaching out and pulling the sleeve of my dress up where it’s slipped. The touch of his fingers on my bare shoulder is enough to make me jump, fire licking ribbons across my skin. He feels it. I know he feels it because his hand hovers just an inch above me as though feeding on the flames. I feel the temptation he has to take one step closer, enfold me in his arms again and just keep kissing me, ignoring Marisa altogether. I will him to with every fibre of my being.

  ‘Jay!’

  He clenches his jaw and takes another step back, ‘Here!’ he yells, his voice hoarse, his gaze not straying from my face.

  Marisa and Yoyo appear in the next second, bursting breathless around the trash container.

  ‘What the hell you doing back here?’ Marisa asks.

  ‘What happened?’ Yoyo asks simultaneously and stops short the second he sees us. Jay’s still trying to block me from view. Do I look that disarrayed? I guess so, judging from the expressions on Yoyo and Marisa’s faces. Marisa tilts her head at Jay and purses her lips with a glare that could stop a man at fifty paces and make him collapse to his knees confessing to any crime. Yoyo just grins and pulls Marisa back out of the alley, winking at Jay as he goes. I totally saw that, I feel like yelling at him, but I’m too embarrassed.

  Jay clears his throat and gestures for me to go ahead of him. I do, tugging at my dress and trying to tidy my hair, tripping on my giddy legs over a pile of trash at the entrance. My lips are throbbing so hard I feel like it must be obvious to other people.

  ‘I think he’s lying in an alleyway bleeding out, but no, he’s just making out,’ Marisa is ranting when we stumble back on the street. ‘What are you? Fifteen?’ she asks, rounding on Jay.

  ‘What is it with you and trouble?’ Yoyo asks us, shaking his head.

  ‘I told you it was a stupid idea,’ Marisa adds. ‘You should have sent me. How do you manage to get on the wrong side of so many people, Jay? You’re a trouble beacon. We stand here any longer we’ll probably have Al Qaeda try to bomb us.’

  ‘Did you find out where Teo is?’ Jay interrupts, obviously not wanting to argue.

  ‘No sign of him anywhere,’ Yoyo answers.

  ‘And I’m done with looking,’ Marisa says angrily. ‘It’s late.’ She rummages in her bag. ‘Here,’ she says, thrusting something at Jay, ‘take my keys. You can stay at mine. Liva can have my bed. Jay, you can sleep on the couch. I’m staying at Yoyo’s.’

  Jay takes the keys as Yoyo hands me my handbag, still grinning. He slaps Jay on the shoulder, winking so obviously that again I want to yell at him I’m right here. I turn away and pretend not to notice, though my stomach is doing a prize-winning gymnastic routine at the thought of being alone with Jay.

  ‘Thanks, Risa,’ Jay says.

  ‘Yeah,’ she sighs. ‘Thank me in the morning.’ She glowers at him. ‘You’re not going anywhere, right? Not until we get there, at least. Promise me.’

  ‘Yeah, OK. I promise.’

  But his jaw tenses and a muscle tweaks at the edge of his eye, and I wonder if Marisa knows she’s just been lied to.

  33

  We take a cab back to Marisa’s and Jay hops in the front beside the driver, leaving me alone in the back, where confusion wraps itself around me like tentacles. My nerve endings are frayed electric cords, my lips still throb, and my skin feels raw.

  I keep casting glances in Jay’s direction, wondering what he’s thinking, whether he regrets what just happened. But he’s staring straight ahead and I can’t see his face. I try to get a handle on my own feelings. What do I want exactly? I ask myself.

  I want him.

  I want him completely. I want his touch and his breath on my skin and his hands running over my body like they want to own me. Just imagining him touching me makes my whole body shiver and burn like I have a fever. It’s better than any high I could get from climbing on to a roof. Way better than an entire factory of Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream.

  Rationally, I know this is a physiological response to almost dying, to the litres of adrenaline still running through my body and the dormant effects of shock. But I don’t care. I have never, in all my life, felt this way, and I can’t just switch it off. Even if I knew how, I’m not sure I’d want to. Because it makes all the other things I’m feeling – the guilt, despair, and the anger – all fade into the background. And OK, that might just be temporary, but I feel like they might be worth facing if I can also have this – this feeling of being totally, one hundred per cent alive, and ferociously strong, and desperately needed.

  I slept with Sebastian in the hope that it would make me feel something, but I felt nothing – not before, during or afterwards – except maybe a slight feeling of disappointment and boredom. I never wanted to repeat the experience. Which is why he dumped me and called me frigid (on Facebook no less). And I thought that he must be right, because I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to do it again with him or anybody. But all that’s changed in an instant.

  I’ve only kissed Jay, but I feel like I have a narcotic running through my veins. Jay’s given me a glimpse of what it’s like to feel again. And now I’m an addict wanting another fix. Everything is brighter, more vivid, more real. My heart beats stronger. My blood moves faster, rushing in my veins like a flash flood. My senses are better tuned. Not even in my wildest imaginings could I have imagined desire to feel anything like this.

  After this night I won’t see him again, I remind myself angrily. But I don’t want to think about that. I want to stay in this moment, in this night that’s entirely divorced from reality.

  When we pull up to Marisa’s, I open my door before Jay can, and without a word he leads the way into the apartment, double bolting the door behind us and then heading to the kitchen for a drink. I wade through the atmosphere which is thick as an oil slick – as though neither of us wants to move too fast or say a single word, for fear of creating a spark that might ignite it. Jay won’t even look my way.

  I duck into the bathroom so I can get my head together. A shower doesn’t help. I have to stand in front of the mirror, a towel wrapped around myself, and take several deep breaths before I can head back into the living room.

  Jay is lying on the sofa, his legs hanging over the arm. His eyes are shut and he looks like he’s sleeping. But his lips are pursed and his jaw tense. He’s faking sleep. Numbness starts to creep up my limbs.

  ‘I’m done in the bathroom,’ I say.

  One eye opens but he barely looks in my direction. ‘Cool,’ he murmurs.

  I hover by the sofa, unsure of what to say or do. Something has obviously shifted between us. The connection has been severed. Even the atmosphere has changed – it’s not charged any more. It’s become a vacuum instead. Nothing exists in it.

  Dignity scraps with all my other emotions, eventually winning out and forcing me to walk to the bedroom with my head held high, not that he’s even looking. He’s closed his eyes again. Damn him. What’s changed? What is he thinking?

  Standing in the doorway to Marisa’s room, I glance back a final time over my shoulder. He’s still lying there feigning sleep. Is this it? Is this the last time I’ll ever see him or speak to him? I realise it is. I’m leaving here before dawn. I’d planned on sneaking right by him. It’s only then that I remember the small matter of the go-bag, which is right at this moment conveniently located right behind Jay’s head.

  I walk to the sofa, clutching my towel, as well as my dignity. Jay opens one eye and looks up at me standing over him. Before he can stop himself his gaze slides down my body and I feel as if he’s just stripped me bare.

  ‘I need the go-bag,’ I tell him, blood starting to pound in my temples.

  Jay looks at me blankly.

  ‘It’s behind your head.’

  He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the sofa, and digs it out from under the cushion. When he han
ds it to me our fingers brush.

  My pulse quickens. His hand suddenly circles my wrist. His breathing is shallow, his gaze pinned to my waist, which is level with his eyes. He makes no other move and we just stay like that. My skin sparks from just that small bit of contact. I lift my other hand slowly and place it gently against Jay’s cheek – feeling the softness and warmth of his skin. Jay’s grip on my wrist tightens and I feel the tension in him, the fight he’s having with himself even as the heat between us builds and builds. But then he’s on his feet, pushing past me. He strides to the far side of the room and stands with his back to me by the window.

  ‘You better go to bed,’ he says.

  I pause, taking that in. ‘No.’

  He spins around, angry. ‘Liva,’ he says, ‘don’t you get it?’

  ‘Get what?’ I ask, feeling anger spurting hot inside my veins.

  ‘All I want to do is rip that towel off you and—’ he breaks off abruptly and stares at me, his eyes blazing, his breathing fast, and he doesn’t need to finish the sentence for me to understand, in exquisite, intimate detail, exactly what it is he wants to do.

  ‘Do it,’ I say.

  Jay blinks at me. Then he gathers himself and shakes his head, angrily. ‘No,’ he says. ‘I’m not going to take advantage of you. I’m not going to treat you like a cheap one-night stand, which is all it would be. Just one night.’ He glares at me as though he’s won the debate based on this point alone. ‘Is that what you want?’

  I keep my chin up, my back straight and I take a step towards him. ‘No. But if it can only be one night then that’s what I’ll take. And besides, who says you’re the one taking advantage of me? Who says I’m not the one taking advantage of you?’

  Jay stares at me, stunned, and I see him struggle between what he feels is right and what he wants. He wants me. And the knowledge elates me, gives me another hit of that dangerous narcotic high. I take another step, closing the distance between us. Water drips down my back from my wet hair, and I’m still clutching the towel as I look up at him, daring him, inviting him.