Punk and Zen

by JD Glass

  My cheeks grew hot, but still I considered what she’d said. It was possible she was talking about my high school and yearbook. I mean, I’d been in pictures all over it for each of the four years I attended, but I didn’t remember anyone named Ann, at least not that I’d hung out with, and I couldn’t remember anyone who’d died, at least not recently.

  I mean, there had been one girl who’d been a freshman when I was in my sophomore year, a lovely girl named Susan who’d been born with an incomplete heart wall—a blue baby. Sadly enough, for whatever reason, that poor heart finally stopped one day, and the entire student body mourned the loss of the beautiful soul that she was and the person she could have become.

  But still, even with the sad death of Susan, I couldn’t think of who it could be. Besides, she and I had looked nothing alike, unless you subscribe to the general sentiment that all Homo sapiens look alike. She’d been a ABC light ash blond to my auburn-infused brunette, and due to her condition, Susan had been very slightly built. On the other hand, while I wasn’t terribly tall, I had definitely been more robust. Well, I had to be. I’d been on the swim team, after all.

  It must have been simply that the DJ booth was dark, and, clearly, Blue and I had both been drinking. Ergo, she must have made a mistake. Just because I didn’t know or remember an Ann at school with me didn’t mean there wasn’t one in some other school. After all, there were at least two other all-girl ones, not to mention the almost dozen other coed and public ones, on Staten Island.

  “No.” I slowly shook my head. “I’ve never gone to school with an Ann,” I told Blue. “Do you know what school she went to?” I asked, thinking that if I didn’t know her, there was a good chance that I knew someone who did.

  “Oh no, Annie, Ann,” she smiled broadly and reached out to touch my shoulder, “that’s her nickname. Her name is really—” but she never got to finish the sentence.

  The door to the booth slammed open, and as Trace flounced up the three little steps, the force of her shove allowed the door to bounce back shut again. She looked upset.

  I jumped off from my seat in alarm, and Blue followed suit. I stepped toward Trace. “What’s wrong?” I asked with concern as Trace’s eyes burned. Correction. Definitely upset, very upset, and possibly angry.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” she spat out venomously. “Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  My concern vanished; I knew what was going to happen. Trace was just about to pull one of her famous jealousy scenes. I’d witnessed a few in the past, all of them unleashed on her current boy toy. But this time, for whatever her reasons, she’d decided to focus on me.

  I quickly checked over my shoulder, ensuring Blue was safely behind me—there was absolutely no need for her to be in the line of fire, after all—and stepped closer to Trace.

  “My job,” I answered Trace coolly, “and nothing that you wouldn’t do,” I ripped back at her, and pointedly studied her a bit. Who the fuck was she to question me, anyway? She’d set me up in the box with Blue in the first place. Fuck her if I called her bluff, and fuck her and her jealousy. She had no right to it.

  “Don’t be a fuckin’ smartass, Nina,” Trace warned. “I mean”—she gestured at Blue, but continued to glare at me—“her.”

  “I was just showing…” I paused a moment. Fuck. My fingers still knew what it felt like to be inside her, and I didn’t even know her name. Christ. In my head, she was Blue, but I was sure she had a name other people used, like the one she’d been born with, perhaps? I glanced at her, and, luckily for me, she picked up on my thoughts.

  “Candace,” she whispered to me.

  “Thanks,” I stage-whispered with a quick and what I hope was a reassuring smile before I faced down Trace again. “I was showing Candace the booth, and letting her pick out a few tracks. She’s keeping me company,” I added blandly. Well, what else was I supposed to say?

  Blue, I mean Candace, slipped beside me and slid next to Trace by the steps.

  “I can see you and your girlfriend have some things to discuss,” she said a bit hurriedly, “so I’ll just say good-bye now,” she said.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” I affirmed to Candace, while Trace spoke at the same time.

  “I’m not her girlfriend,” she ground out from the corner of her mouth.

  I watched as Candace studied Trace, and I realized for the first time that she was more than a bit older than me, maybe mid to late twenties. Not that I cared, that’s not a big deal or anything. It’s just that I hadn’t noticed before.

  “No, you’re not that,” she said with a thoughtful expression as she made her own discovery of Trace, “and not quite a friend either, I see.” Blue, um, Candace took a step back toward me while Trace mulled that over. I tucked the statement into the back of my head to think about later, because at this moment I agreed with Candace. I suspected she might have spoken truer than she knew.

  Candace leaned toward me. “Watch out, love,” she whispered into my ear. “That one has fangs.” She kissed my cheek briefly but warmly, and I returned the kiss as we gave each other a quick embrace. I admired the lines of her legs as she climbed down the steps to the door.

  “Lovely meeting you,” she told Trace politely, her hand on the latch. “Nina?” her voice lifted and she smiled at me.

  “Yes?” I couldn’t help but smile back at her in inquiry. I really liked the sound of her voice.

  “You’re simply lovely. I’ll see you soon,” and with that, she was out the door, closing it behind her.

  ∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

  I downed what little remained of the “not juice” I’d already started, then tossed the empty cup into the waste pail. Grabbing the one Andra had fortuitously left for me, I sipped it as I ignored Trace, who simply stood there glaring at me with her arms folded, and went back to my board. I’d lost all feeling for the night. No flood, no rush, no buzz—just an emptiness that was heavier under my skin than the restlessness from before. But it didn’t matter if I’d lost the feeling; I still had a job to do. Plenty of people were still out there counting on me to provide their good time, and ABC I was going to do that.

  Donning my headphones, I checked the meter and set my fades, timing for the next cue, sliding it into the mix. Scratch what I said before. I wasn’t numb, I was drained. I could never figure her out—Trace, I mean. She was ready to fuckin’ chew me a new asshole, and I didn’t even really know why. She’d sent Candace to the booth in the first place; what in the world was she so mad about? I finished my drink and looked back up and over the dance floor. I spotted Andra, and, when she finally saw me, I signaled for another round. She nodded and disappeared.

  Funny, I mused as I pushed the headset off my ears and around my neck, then sorted blindly through the discs I’d pulled earlier to lay them out in their upcoming order, once you passed the second or third sip, you really didn’t taste the alcohol anymore.

  A gentle hand touched the bare skin of my back, and I stiffened slightly. “I’m sorry, Nina,” Trace whispered into my hair, and kissed the soft skin behind my ear. I worked on in silence as she etched light patterns onto my skin. That was just typical Trace. In like a flash flood, out like a gentle spring rain. Okay, more like a hormonal spring flood. But me, well, she just left me confused at best.

  If I was angry, I couldn’t stay that way, and if I was happy, I couldn’t stay that way. No matter what I did, it wasn’t the right thing to do, and whatever I was, it apparently wasn’t the right thing to be. And now she was sorry. What an ugly joke—I should have just kicked her out of the booth—but her apology softened my anger, and she began massaging my neck and shoulders, adding light, sensual kisses to the back of my neck between pressure points.

  This proved one thing, I thought. I was a complete idiot. As I added the finishing touches to the mix, affection for Trace rose and blended with the frustration and the sensual stirring that Trace created wherever she went.

  I let myself lean ba
ck into her a moment, then caught myself and stopped. Trace wrapped an arm across my shoulders and one around my waist, anchoring a hand on my hip.

  “Come on, Nina, you know how I am,” she cajoled softly, following up with little kisses.

  “Yeah,” I answered shortly. Andra had already come back and dropped off another beverage without a word. I grabbed the new one and downed it. Trace was driving me crazy, and she knew it. She was manipulating me, and I knew it. I didn’t respect myself for responding, even if I didn’t let on how effective she was. In fact, I was angry—with Trace for trying to play me, and with myself for being so damn easy to play. I found more knobs on the board to adjust. Trace pulled me tightly into her arms.

  “Nina, you know how I feel about you,” she persuaded in her honeyed-whiskey tones, and she let the very tip of her tongue play across that sensitive spot right behind and under my ear.

  I set my mix and, with a shrug of the shoulder, we were face-to-face, and I caught her eyes with mine. What the hell was that supposed to mean? What the fuck was she trying to say? Why ABC didn’t anyone ever just come right out and say what they meant? Also, what had she done to Van? Was he sitting, brain melted and blood drained, in a corner somewhere? She done with him, too? My skin felt like it was on fire, and my throat burned. The constant sexual tension and half-toned seduction, the all-too-confusing words—I couldn’t, I just couldn’t anymore. My chest felt like it would explode with pressure.

  “No, Trace, I don’t,” the words tore from my lips, harsh and jagged, “you’ve never told me.” I stared into her eyes as they flashed silver even in this dim light. “You,” I started softly as I reached for her face, “play games.” Before I fully realized what I was about to do, I kissed her, hard and full, on those baby-soft lips that answered mine with a surprisingly slick sensuality. A moment, then another. Putting my hands on her shoulders I pushed her away, breaking the contact. Trace stared at me, her expression indefinable.

  “You kiss me, you pet me, then you go fuck whoever, and when they lie, when they hurt you, I’m the one.” I placed my hand over my chest, heat running so high within me I could feel my ears burn. “Me, I’m the one to heal you and hold you through it, until you feel better, until it’s time for the next one.”

  Trace waved a hand in confusion and reached for my shoulder. “Nina, I—”

  “No, Trace.” I brushed her hand away in impatient frustration. “You tell me we’re friends, that what we are together is beautiful.” I raised my fingertips to her cheek and touched it lightly, brushed my thumb gently against her lips. “Oh, Trace,” I sighed as she kissed my thumb softly. “I’d fuckin’ die for you if it would make you happy, but I think you’d just laugh.” I watched her face for a reaction, any reaction, as I tried to control the short, hard bursts that forced themselves through my throat and passed for breath.

  A part of my mind—probably the part that had called me a moron—marveled inwardly. I’d never spoken to anyone, especially not Trace, like this before. I was always the understanding friend, the supportive, comforting presence. In the past, I’d been hurt, I’d been confused, but never before had I been furious and let it show. I might not have understood it, but I was definitely just going with it. Well, hell, I’d already been doing that all night.

  With surprising speed, Trace grabbed my wrists and held them to my side, then, using the height she had on me to her advantage, she backed me into the board, pinning me with her hips. My back thudded against the ledge, though I barely felt the pain. This time the sound did skip. My headphones slid off my neck and back behind me onto the board.

  “Nina, that’s not true, you know how I feel”—she leaned her forehead against mine—“about you.” I swore I could hear the beginning of a laugh bubbling in the back of her voice.

  Alarmed, I tried to free myself from her grip to at least rescue my headphones, but I could barely move my arms. Man, what the hell was wrong with me? I couldn’t move and, believe me, I tried. My muscles just wouldn’t obey the commands my brain was sending.

  God, I was drunker than I thought, and I was scared, scared because I ABC couldn’t move, and really scared for the first time of Trace—the intensity of her words and the raw power of her body against mine. I’d forgotten, or maybe just ignored, how for all her delicate looks, Trace was also incredibly strong. And it had never occurred to me, for even a moment, that things would go in this kind of physical direction.

  “What do you want from me?” she hissed into my ear, then scraped it with her teeth. With a quick twist of her hips, Trace pressed between my thighs, and, with a strong sweep, she spread my legs so wide I would have fallen over if she hadn’t had me pinned to the board. How the hell did she do that? Her arms pressed mine even more firmly than before, locked down by my hips, and yet she was still able to reach all the way around and grab my ass, the very tips of her fingers on my inner thighs, up against the sides of my pussy.

  Whatever this was, wherever this was going, I didn’t like it, and I wanted it to end. “Trace, stop!” I ordered with as much strength as I could muster. I didn’t want this between us.

  Heartbreakingly beautiful, Trace was a striking combination of slender lines and strength, a vulnerable fortress. How many nights since I’d moved into the building that we shared had we spent together, in her apartment or mine, my arms around her while she cried because of old wounds that still ached, new ones that still bled, or just because there were things in the world that simply touched her that deeply? How many mornings had she woken me with kisses and caresses, made me breakfast, and made sure I took my vitamins? And then there was time we spent together, just cuddled up, talking of nothing, everything, listening to music, just wrapped up against each other, listening to one another breathe.

  But in all that time and all that closeness, even with all the flirting and sleeping skin to skin, we had never, and I mean never, gone to that next step. Slept together, yes, but it was sleep, and not sex. Hell, this was the first time we’d ever really kissed—I mean, without an audience, that is. I’d never wanted to push for anything. I’d just wanted to let things between us go the way they naturally would, whatever that was.

  But maybe Trace was tired of waiting, because she ignored my request. “You want me to tell you how I love you, that I want you.” Her lips slid along the sensitive column of my neck. Teeth replaced her lips with such strength that I knew she’d drawn blood. But then, when didn’t she, one way or another?

  “You want me to tell you that when you hold me I feel peaceful, and my dreams are filled with you, holding me, loving you,” and she slid a fingertip along the slight depression that marked my lips, “that if I let you, your love makes me feel whole.” She pressed harder, massaging me with her fingertips through my stockings.

  “Trace, you don’t want to do this,” I said as steadily as I could. My heart pounded, my head swam, and though I couldn’t explain then how I felt, I can say it now. I loved her. I pitied her. I wanted her. She scared the shit out of me.

  I was caught between horror and desire. Yes, I wanted her, but I wanted something between us to be real, not real scary. This just felt so wrong, so very wrong. Man, I hope I wake up soon. Real soon.

  “But I do,” she answered, ripping at my lower lip with her teeth. I could feel her fumbling for the seam, and I felt her fingers gain purchase and pull, her hands hard against me. “You want me to…” she whispered into my ear. Jesus Christ, she wasn’t going to stop.

  Her mouth continued working on my neck, weaving exquisite patterns on my throat while her fingertips continued to trace my outlines. I could feel the groan that she uttered as her lips nipped a particularly sensitive spot, and as I arched my neck and offered her my throat, I began to think, okay, maybe this was what she needed to be able to let go and just be, be real. If I surrendered completely maybe, possibly, so could she.

  The part of my mind that wasn’t drunk surged forward. What was I, fucking crazy? More likely, she’d suck my soul dry.
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br />   Summoning strength from I don’t know where, maybe it was just that Trace’s grip slipped, or that my brain and spine had decided to communicate with each other again, all together my brain, spine, and I remembered an old move from the judo I had been forced to study in high school. My legs set as they were, I couldn’t move up, so I managed to bend my knees a bit and slid down. Rotating my arms outward and applying pressure from my elbows to hers, I was able to break her hold and bring my arms up, while removing Trace’s hands from my body. Emphasis on my.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’d been aroused earlier, and this situation wasn’t doing anything to lessen that, but it was my body that responded, not my mind, not my heart. I didn’t want this, not this way, and I discovered something: there was a limit to just how much I could give. Nightmare over. I was wide awake now.

  “God damn it, Trace,” I spat out as I wiggled free, “fuckin’ enough. Just stop.” I pushed up against her chest, and she fell back a step. But still, her words were spinning through my head, confusing me, twisting me. I managed to bring my legs together and stand somewhat upright. My chest felt like it had two jackhammers playing off-rhythm to one another, and my head was starting to feel like someone had sped the merry-go-round up a bit too fast, but still, through the hammering and the dizziness, all I could think was that maybe she was right. Maybe that was what I wanted. Everything.

  My eyes burned as I went back to my board. Where were my fucking headphones? Oh, there. I grabbed them and set them firmly around my neck. I ignored Trace completely as I reoriented myself to the board and my world, and a drop of water fell onto the soundboard. What the fuck? Oh, it was me. I hate tears, especially mine. What the fuck was I crying for, anyway? The leak stopped.

  I could feel Trace as she approached my back. Her hand was gentle again as she touched my shoulder. I reached for the microphone.