The First Male

by Lee Hayes

  “Simon!” Eli screamed in a panic.

  “Ties . . . bind . . . .ties . . . bind,” Simon managed to say before he lost consciousness and vanished.

  CHAPTER 26

  Brooke slid the curtain to the side, grabbed a towel and stepped cautiously out of the shower. The plush mauve bath mat felt good underneath her feet, soft; like cotton candy. She wrapped the teal-colored towel around her body and stepped in front of the mirror, wiping the condensation away with her hand. Her cheeks were still rosy and her blue eyes, pale. The soothing water that rained down on her from the hot shower couldn’t mitigate the sting from the tears that burned her eyes.

  She couldn’t deny what was painfully obvious; she was lonely. And, the loneliness that she felt was fierce, unlike anything she had ever experienced. It felt alive, like a determined energy that attached itself to her like a Siamese twin. As soon as she parted ways with Simon, she noticed it; the emptiness had been immediate, a hollow feeling that stayed with her, no matter where she went or what she did. It had only been a few days without Simon, but with each passing hour, her loneliness became more acute. She felt it; it was heavy like bricks, weighing her down. Sometimes, when the hour was late and the air was still, she even thought she saw it, as if loneliness was an entity that could be seen. Sometimes, she saw something hazy huddling in a corner of her bedroom; or, at other times, she noticed something almost imperceptible perched high on a tree branch outside her window, peering at her; almost torturing her, never letting her forget that the loneliest place in the world is often near someone you cannot have. There were at least a hundred times when she thought about calling Simon, but she didn’t; she couldn’t, in spite of the pull he had on her.

  She reached down and grabbed her pink brush off the sink and ran it through her wet hair. She stroked absentmindedly, hoping it would relax her and take her mind off Simon. Even in his absence, he took up so much space in her world. She closed her eyes briefly and took a long, deliberate breath. When she opened them, she screamed and dropped the hairbrush when she saw something in the mirror scurry and disappear into the depths of the bedroom behind her.

  Quickly, she turned around and faced the bedroom, her chest heaving as she rested her back against the sink. She stood absolutely still for several extended seconds before deciding to move.

  “Get it together, Brooke,” she said to herself. “Get it together.” This wasn’t the first time she had seen or heard something unusual since her split with Simon; being alone took some getting used to.

  She moved away from her mirror and stepped into her silent room, slowly. She looked around, but didn’t see anything or anyone; yet, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She felt something; a presence. And, she smelled something sweet, like cologne; Simon’s cologne.

  She was not alone.

  “Simon?” she called out nervously. Her wispy voice fluttered through the room. She toddled over to the closet and pulled open the door, half-hoping that Simon would be there, playing some silly game; however, instead of Simon, she was greeted only by her designer wardrobe. She closed the door, suddenly feeling silly at her paranoia.

  When she turned around and faced her queen-sized bed, the mattress was indented, as if someone was sitting there.

  She screamed and rushed toward the door to her room, trying to escape, but felt massive hands grab her waist and push her against the wall. She was held there, her hands pinned above her head. Her body squirmed as she struggled to break free, but she didn’t know what she was fighting; she couldn’t see anything. She tried to scream again but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out; her voice, stolen by the entity. The only sound that could be heard was the rapid beat of her heart pounding ferociously in her chest.

  The towel unwrapped itself from her body and fell to her feet. She continued to fight, trying to free herself, but then she felt warm hands caress her thighs and fingers flick against her damp nipples. Invisible lips kissed and sucked on her neck in a way that only Simon knew; her breathing quickened, burrowing deeply into a space that hadn’t been touched in days. Her legs parted, not of her own doing, but by whatever force held her. She didn’t want to submit to its will; her instinct told her to keep fighting, but her body betrayed her.

  Fingers that she could not see inched themselves up her inner thigh; they moved torturously slow, allowing the anticipation to build. Her body quaked, shuddering with eagerness. A warm mouth covered her left nipple—the most sensitive one—at the same time fingers parted her. Her knees buckled and she winced with pleasure as she was rigorously explored.

  She felt the fingers pull out of her and a lustful part of her wanted to beg for more, but she had no voice. Then, her legs parted wider and she was entered by a force that immediately brought her close to orgasm. She was pleasured just the way she liked it, the way her body craved, with deep, even strokes that filled her; her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She felt a wave of pleasure so great that she forgot she was being fucked by an unknown force. She didn’t feel afraid; this wasn’t the touch of a stranger, but the familiar touch of a lover deeply in tune with the nuances of her body.

  She felt the tension rising in her body; the pleasure was so great that she would have collapsed had it not been for the force that held her in place. Her entire body jolted violently as wave, after wave, after wave of pleasure covered her.

  Then, she was released and she slid down the wall and sat on the floor, trying to catch her breath.

  Moments later, Brooke opened her eyes and was startled by the fact that she was laying on the floor near the door of her room, naked. She panicked, feeling as if she had lost her wits and she quickly looked around the room, grabbing the towel at her feet, using it to cover her flesh. She didn’t know whether or not she was asleep or awake, but she was moist and tender in places that concerned her. Had she been sexed? She couldn’t be sure. The sensation she had earlier, that a presence was in the room with her, was gone; now, she felt completely alone. She tightly clutched the towel that covered her body.

  The room was still; eerily so. Slowly, she pulled herself from the floor and stood on shaky legs. She took meek steps forward and then stopped, suddenly. She gasped. The scent of Simon’s cologne lingered in the air.

  Brooke stood at the bay window in the den of her sorority house and watched, with singular focus, the snow fall at a sharp angle, carried by the moaning winds. It had been snowing almost nonstop for days and the grounds of the house were blanketed in white. She wanted to move away from the window, but something about the storm held her in place, captivated by the majesty of it all. She wondered when the snow would cease, but secretly hoped for a white Christmas, even if she spent it alone, not that her parents cancelled the cruise. She wrapped her arms around herself; her heart was heavy and she couldn’t enjoy the snowfall as much as she wanted, regardless of its simple beauty.

  She tried to focus only on the snowfall, but her mind drifted back to last night, when she was in her room. When she thought about her extraordinary experience, she became unnerved, fighting back the tears that formed in her eyes, even though she wasn’t sure whether the tears formed because she thought she was losing her mind, or because she missed Simon tremendously. She thought about her invisible lover and his familiar strokes; she thought about the rough and gentle ways in which she was handled, ways that were identical to Simon’s techniques. She thought about the smell of his cologne hanging in the air. Had she imagined it all, including his kisses? Even if she had, it only reinforced her need to be near Simon.

  She wanted to burst from the room, plow through the snow to run to him, but she resisted the urge; he wasn’t safe for her; lately, strange things seemed to surround him. How does someone vomit a live snake? How had she been brought to multiple orgasms by a force that she was certain was him? Still, through the madness of what was happening, she could not stop craving him.

  “Hey, Brooke,” a voice called out from behind. Brooke turned and saw her sorority sister, S
erenity, bouncing into the room, her long black hair cascading down her shoulders. “What are you doing?” Serenity was dressed warmly, in a thick coat, hat, and gloves in hand.

  “Watching the snow. What are you doing?”

  Broooooooooke.

  Quickly, Brooke turned around and looked out of the window, hoping to see Simon. She heard his voice; she was certain of that, but when she faced the window she was met only by the bitter gray sky and the falling snow.

  “Brooke,” Serenity asked as she stepped closer. “Did you hear me? I said we are going to go play in the snow. Wanna come?”

  “Huh? Oh, no.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Broooooooooke. She heard the voice again.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  Brooke glanced outside the window, half-expecting to see Simon take shape out of the darkness. The whisper she heard was clear and sounded really close to her, yet Serenity was looking at her as if she had lost her mind. “Nothing.”

  “That settles it. We are getting you out of this big empty house. Go upstairs and put on something warm. You’re coming with me and Jackson. We’re going to go out and build a snowman and make snow angels and have a good time. I won’t have you moping around by yourself any longer.” Serenity gently took Brooke by the hand and looked into her eyes. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on between you and Simon, but I can tell that it’s not good. You don’t have to tell me what happened, but I’m your best friend and I hope you know that I’m here for you.”

  For a few seconds, Brooke honestly thought about confessing everything to Serenity. Her voice was full of concern and sounded so sincere; so comforting. Brooke needed to release all the tension that had built up in her bones, but when she thought about what she had to confess, she balked.

  “Everything is fine. We had a . . . misunderstanding.”

  “About what?”

  “It’s not important.”

  Serenity expelled a puff of air with exaggerated effort. “Fine. But you’re coming with us. And I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Brooooooooooke.

  Brooooooooooke.

  Brooooooooooke.

  Brooke fought hard to not react to the voice. It was like she could hear his voice on the wind, calling for her, each time it blew. Since the moment they separated, she had felt a strong urge to be near him again. She had dreamed of him; last night, she felt him. She couldn’t escape him; part of her didn’t want to escape him. Now, she heard his voice calling her name, and she wanted to run to him.

  And, she did.

  When Brooke walked into Simon’s house, she was immediately hit with a blast of heat. It felt like it was a hundred degrees in the room. The place was dark and it reeked of funk, like the rank smell of an unclean locker room. She took a deep breath and tried to stop her knees from knocking. This place that used to provide her with solace now filled her with fear. She remembered what happened the last time she was here. She remembered the snake and the vacant look in Simon’s eyes. When she burst from the apartment that day, she swore to herself that she’d never come back; yet, she found herself standing with her back pressed against the inside of his living room door. She had tried to stay away, to not think about him, but he was a part of her that she couldn’t shake loose. In the deep of the night she felt his fingertips on the small of her back as if he was lying right next to her, touching her in the ways she had come to love. When she walked down the street she could hear his voice, whispering on the wind. Her body craved him, ached for him, but she resisted. She resisted returning his many phone calls and text messages, even though her nipples stiffened when she saw his name on the display of her phone.

  She had resisted the strong yearning as long as she could. She had even prayed that whatever bond he had on her be broken. She knew she loved him; that fact was incontrovertible, but this unnamed craving she felt for him, which seemed to grow stronger each day, wasn’t love. It felt unnatural, but it wouldn’t be denied.

  In spite of the fear she now felt for him, she had braved the storm and trudged through the city streets, hoping for the chance to be near him, if only to smell him. She imagined his manly scent filling her nostrils; the thought of it sent chills throughout her body. Before she entered his building, she had stood outside of it for a few moments and stared at it. Her head had been telling her to flee and warning her do not enter, but the longing in her soul, that burned hotter than fear, overruled her thoughts and she found herself inside the building, slowly ascending the stairs that led to his apartment. She felt like an automaton, mindlessly following a set of instructions planted within her brain; the reticence in her heart told her she was more like a moth being drawn to a flame.

  After she stopped her body from rattling, she pried herself off the wall, took a few steps, and dropped her keys on the table near the door, flipping on the light switch when she passed it. The clanging of the keys on the table echoed through the house, as if the sound were magnified, three-fold. She jumped, but felt silly. She wiped the sweat from her brow and moved over to the thermostat, intending to turn off the heat, but it was already off. She flipped the switch to “on” and listened to the machine roar to life, confirming the facts that the thermostat had already told her: that the heat was off and it was almost ninety-five degrees in the room. Quickly, she turned it off, again. She had no explanation for how the apartment could be so hot when the heat was off, especially when it was so bitterly cold outside.

  Oh God, she thought, fearing what lay ahead in the apartment. First it was snakes. Now, it was an interior heat wave in the middle of a blizzard. “Simon? Are you here?” Her question went unanswered. “Hello?”

  She moved through the living room and looked around nervously. Nothing was suspicious. She moved into the kitchen, but saw nothing unusual. She noticed the magnetic calendar on the refrigerator in which she had circled his birthday—December 21st—which was only two days away. The special plans she had to celebrate had died when the snake came to life.

  She took in a deep breath and propelled herself forward. Slowly, she crept toward the bedroom. An image of the black snake slithering out of Simon’s mouth flashed across her mind. Her body stiffened, but she kept walking. When she stepped into the bedroom she immediately noticed that the room was hot and sticky, like a sauna. The linen on the bed was in disarray and one of the pillows lay on the floor near the nightstand. She walked deeper into the room, intending to peer into the bathroom, but when she turned she saw a foot sticking out from the other side of the bed.

  She gasped.

  Without much thought, she raced over to the body, not knowing who was lying there.

  “Simon!” she screamed when he came into view. He lay on the floor completely naked, in the fetal position, covered in a gooey clear substance. His eyes were closed and his body shook, slightly. Instantly, she knew that the smell that permeated the air emanated from the slimy material that covered his body. Quickly, she reached down to touch him and jerked her hand back instantly, shocked at how hot his skin was. It wasn’t hot enough to burn her, but far hotter than she had ever known a human body to get.

  She dropped to her knees at his side as panic seized her. “Simon! Simon!” She shook him hard, hoping to awaken him. His eyelids fluttered rapidly before finally opening to reveal his blood-shot eyes.

  “Brrr—Brooke?” he said between staggered breaths. “Y—y—you—you came back.” A tiny smile formed on his lips.

  “I need to get you to the hospital,” she said. “I need to call 9-1-1.” She leapt to her feet, but Simon grabbed her by the arm, halting her movement.

  “No,” he said pleadingly. “That won’t help. Help me up,” he said in a much steadier voice. “Please,” he said as he tried to stand, pulling on her arms for support. Quickly, she wrapped her arm around his waist and helped him to the bed. “Water.” She needed no further instructions. She darted into the kitchen and poured a glass of water and then raced back i
nto the room. With unsteady hands, Simon took the glass and emptied it ravenously. “More,” he said. Brooke didn’t hesitate.

  After seven full glasses of ice cold water, Simon had finally had enough. He set the empty glass on the nightstand and tried to push himself off the bed, but his legs were wobbly. Brooke moved around him and placed his arm around her shoulder. Her hands slipped off of his waist due to the slimy substance that covered his body. “Help me into the shower,” he said.

  They walked across the room unevenly, Simon’s weight bearing heavily on Brooke’s petite frame. She struggled, but did not relent.

  When they reached the bathroom, he moved over to the toilet, dropped the lid and plopped down on the seat, exhaustedly. Brooke turned to the shower and turned on the water. She knew that he usually liked his showers hot, but with his body already close to nuclear, she thought it best to moderate the temperature of the water.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Simon said. “I wasn’t sure you’d feel me. And, even if you did, I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  Brooke turned slowly to him, his words spinning deeply into her mind. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing—just that I love you.” He smiled. She forced a smile in return and moved over and helped him.

  “The water’s cool,” she said in a meek voice. He stepped into the shower and winced immediately, but continued. Brooke watched the slimy substance begin to fall from his body and get sucked down the drain. She looked at the slimy material that Simon left on the seat of the commode. She reached into the cabinet, grabbed a towel and wiped the seat down. The unusual odor of the substance filled her nostrils and, as far as she was concerned, Simon could not clean himself fast enough; she wanted to be rid of that odor and that slime.

  Simon spoke to her through the running water and the shower curtain, but her thoughts were on the words he spoke earlier: that he wasn’t sure that she would feel him; that unnerved her. She had indeed felt him—like she had never felt anything before. What she had felt, what had led her here, was stronger than love and more potent than fear. He had called out to her, she realized. And, she had answered. Was he controlling her? Was her life no longer her own?