by Sunniva Dee
Marlon flips us slowly, languidly, eyes on mine and without separating us. A moan escapes me, and playful, he shushes me. Then he lets me ride him until I come on a quiet moan.
Thursday nights are party nights, and typically, a few Fratters go out. Luka always goes to his porn-star haunts for food and raunchy after-parties, but not today.
Today, the Queen as a whole is having steak and lobster for dinner. Who the hell can afford that stuff, and for eight people too? I haven’t received any pleas for coin-rolling either. Lenny beams at me and winks. It makes me wonder if he’s tonight’s Santa.
“This is delicious. Surf ‘n Turf, huh?” I say.
I swear the room oozes sex tonight. Maybe this is how it feels when a girl has slept with half of the men present and liked it. I fan the heat off my cheeks and take another gulp of wine.
“Luka’s treat. Thanks, Lu-u-ka.” Lenny raises his glass.
Luka acknowledges him with a nod and takes another feral bite of his steak. It makes my abdomen flip hotly. Does he take feral bites of his girls too? I’ve never watched his movies, never will.
“Aww, you got your student loans late?” I mock, pouting at him. I’m halfway down my second glass of fine red, so I’m starting to feel mellow.
“He just got paid.” Lenny snickers and waggles his brows.
“Classy,” I clip out and earn Luka’s icy focus.
“Yep. It was a ten-girl gangbang I did last month. Good money, for sure.” He ducks back into his T-bone, ripping fat off it with his teeth and dropping it on the plate with glistening fingers.
“You’re disgusting.” God, I mean that in every possible way. His life style, the way he eats, everything except his looks is appalling.
“...she said,” mutters Lenny, side-eyeing me, and James chuckles.
Luka raises his goblet at me, an award for a film, Best Penis of the Universe-type thing. Asshole. He doesn’t wait for me to lift my glass but devours his wine with the same savage ferocity he applies to eating.
After dinner, Diego turns on a Netflix film we’re supposed to watch as a big happy family, and Nathaniel draws me into the crook of his arm on the couch. I pull out my cell and text Joy.
I need to sleep at your house tonight.
Why? she replies. Not “Awesome!” or “Yay, slumber party!” like I’d hoped.
Just can’t be here again for a 4th night in a row.
You live there, remember?
Really? Why is she being dense when I need her? I turn the phone toward me so Nathaniel can’t peek. He definitely wants to.
I can’t tell Joy what’s going on, that I’ve slept with three Fratters and I’m not even sure if that’s where it ends. I don’t trust myself to lock them out tonight.
Just say yes.
Of course honeybuns, whenever you want. I’m home.
The movie we’re watching has pastel colors and silk and roses in it. It’s something historical and romantic judging by the music. I have a hard time following though, which is more a state of mind than about the film, I’m sure.
Five minutes in, I flick a glance at James. His eyes are glazing over. Lenny sighs next to him, and Nathaniel’s arm around my shoulder seems to go heavier by the second. They’re already bored out of their skulls, and they can’t even complain that I chose the film. I stifle a smile.
Did Diego stage this? Is he the reason why we’re doing this pseudo-family thing, always eating together and watching PG-rated films before bedtime?
Luka smacks the film off.
“What was that for?” I say, because it was Luka, not because I was watching.
“No dying,” he mutters, shoving a blond bang behind his ear while he works the remote. “What else is there?”
“A romantic comedy.” Marlon does a single hand-clap.
It’s surreal when everyone agrees and we end up watching The Wedding Plan.
Nathaniel keeps me warm. James keeps my glass full. Luka mutes the goddamn sound when we hit stuff he considers triggers, and he does it without a word and with no objections from the others. It’s ridiculous and annoying, but his expression is old-country-frozen and bides no discussion.
I’m curled up against Nathaniel by the time the movie ends. The screen flickers blue, giving an eerie light to the TV-room. The others groan and stretch. There’s chatter about boobs and hot side characters.
I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open. It is past twelve after all, and I’ve been drinking. It’s difficult to know how much you down if someone fills your glass all the time. This must be how ambassadors become alcoholics, I think randomly.
“I’m sleeping at Joy’s tonight,” I mumble.
“You want a ride?” Luka asks in that cold rumble of his.
“No. I can drive myself.”
“No, you can’t.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
“I’m not going to discuss this with you, so suck it up. You’re drunk, and you’re practically already asleep. If you don’t want me to drive you, someone else can. James is sober.”
I blink slowly, focusing on James in front of me. I’m actually not that drunk. I’m just really tired. Which is great! I swallow my pride.
“No worries, James. I’ll sleep here.”
“I don’t mind,” he says, sweet as always. “I’ll get you there if you want to. You can sleep in the car on the way there and I’ll carry you in.”
“Silly boy. No, I’ll be fine here.”
Nathaniel stands, and I’m impressed when he hoists me into his arms and strides for the stairs. “Say ‘night-night,’” he tells me, and I do. It’s odd to have the whole crew waving at me—sans Luka, of course, who just stares after us with those unreadable yellow eyes.
I’m a small child that’s being put to bed, the stroke of a hand over my cheek and the sheets being pulled up high. Once Nathaniel leaves, I plod to the bathroom. I take a hot-hot shower so my muscles can relax as much as my brain does. Lavender oil is soothing. I mix it on my sponge and do a sluggish exfoliation before I give up and turn the shower off.
I stand there for a minute, eyes closed and head hanging. Company. People who care. Human touch. The sound of silence fills my head in a beautiful, slow whoosh. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this peaceful.
I find my bed again, inhaling Mom’s lemongrass fabric softener. I’m under the sheets thinking I’ll sleep soundly tonight, and I do. I do fall asleep.
Until I wake up, furnace-hot, realizing I never turned on the A/C.
And that’s it. Bam. I can’t sleep once the A/C sputters to life either. I toss all of my bedding on the floor, keeping a single pillow under my head. The dark thoughts were backed up behind the levies of sleep, but now they press against my temples, demanding to be released.
Three o’clock. I choke a whimper—it’s impossible to sleep. My thoughts whirl and slam against the walls of my brain.
The last time I saw him, his head was on the pillow, eyes half-closed in sleep. Bad sign, they should have been fully closed. Why didn’t I see that? And Luka was right next door; I could have called him in to help me judge Julian’s state.
It’s four o’clock. You can’t fall asleep when you forget to breathe.
He was snoring. I thought it was a good sign. It wasn’t. I had a laptop and the internet at my disposal. God, I had a phone. I could have called 911, but no. I didn’t think about asking anyone’s opinion. Why didn’t I think?
Ahh. I wanted to get to class on-time.
It’s five in the morning, and I have a single hour before I have to get up. Hell is real, and I’m drowning in it. I do a violent toss on the bed and smash the back of my hand into the wall. The pain is better than the agony in my head.
The door glides open. Quietly, a man shifts inside and prowls toward me. Stretched out on my back, arms open and legs pa
rted, I’m fragile and accessible in the lukewarm room. I’m bare to him, more vulnerable than I’ve ever been without the sheets protecting my overheated body. I make no move to change it. Maybe I do it on purpose. Maybe I’m this desperate.
His shadow moves forward and grows taller. I don’t recognize him in the dark, but then he’s there, above me, hovering, and his eyes glint as he watches me.
“Jesus fucking Christ. You are the death of me.”
I fill my lungs. Raise my arms toward him. James’ slim body makes the springs give as he lands over me and takes my mouth with his. The scent of clean man and shampoo wafts in, and this is my respite. It came last minute.
I stop thinking when James’ body slides over mine. He sucks my lips between his teeth like he’s not straight-laced, like he’s ready for abandon, like he craves my mouth, my body, my breasts, my—
I should tell him no, but latex-smooth, he presses inside of me and groans when I contract in preemptive bliss.
“You feel so fucking good.”
James swearing is hotter than anything.
He moves me off the bed. “Gotta have you good,” he hisses like he’s some Latin lover and not a law student from Michigan, and that too is so hot I moan.
The wall is cold against my back—cold—it’s Luka’s wall, mine and Julian’s. Does it matter? I—
This matters.
James covers my mouth when I come. His eyes narrow as he absorbs my pleasure before he explodes too. We stand there for a while, me spread against the wall and James pressed deep inside me. Our breathing erratic, I hear the pulse in his.
“Good, huh?” I whisper.
“Fucking crazy.”
I huff a laugh. I’m a goddess.
In the library, among innocent white shelves and steel banisters, I brush up on western society’s view of sexuality. Socio-political factors have always played a role.
Up until Women’s Liberation in the sixties, we had much bigger issues than the right to equality in sexual partners. And we’ve come far. Just not far enough. It’s definitely our culture that makes me feel promiscuous now.
At the Queen, I only ever feel dirty when I’m alone in my room and with my thoughts. When I’m with the guys, I don’t. Not in bed, not during our meals or our movie nights. They’re like balm on my festering heart, and in our micro-society, I’m shielded from the outside world. They treat me like what we’re doing is normal.
Like Yarunami. Her village thought what happened to her was normal too. Is that why she bounced back so quickly after her nights in the jungle, after being visited by man after man after man?
No, Yarunami doesn’t deserve my comparison. Those men did not treat her well. Her society looked away while a haggle of men used her for their own pleasure because she was weakened by grief.
I’ve searched everywhere for that documentary, wanting to judge what occurred with a fresh mind. I can’t find it. It’s not listed among the big ones, so all I have to go off are the written accounts. The Lara’ people is a male-dominated society ruled by a chief and a group of elders, which makes it reasonable to believe that Yarunami was taken advantage of.
I jot down my thoughts as they come. Is this my doctoral statement? Should I base it upon the hypothesis that Yarunami was abused and survived it unbroken because her culture deemed it an appropriate treatment of a grieving widow?
I’m getting closer. It could be a good statement if I can formulate it right.
My situation is different: I’m doing what I crave at the Queen. I’m high on these men while it happens and sleep in a cocoon of oblivion afterward. As long as I’m in my little world, it’s the only thing that makes sense.
It’s past dinner at the Queen, and we’re in that moment when the movie we’re watching rolls final credits over the screen. Four of the Fratters were present from the beginning, and the three others trickled in and joined us for the last part, microwaved leftovers on their plates. Really, the amount of time they spend with me is surreal.
“All right,” I say, stretching. My shirt slides up, allowing the A/C to breeze over my stomach. I don’t miss how Luka’s gaze floats to it, and I tug the fabric back in place. “I’m off to bed. Sleep tight, everyone. Great film, by the way.” It wasn’t.
Different varieties of night, g’night, and yeah, get some rest, babe dart back at me, and then I’m out the door, walking up the stairs with one single depraved thought in my head.
Who will warm my bed tonight?
My clean-versus-dirty, guilty-versus-sane brain is in standby position. While I brush my teeth, staring at myself in the mirror, it tips and settles on dirty-sane.
Last night was bad. I got no rest until James came at five in the morning, and once he’d tired me out and I was sleepy, I had to get up. I know for a fact that I need to sleep tonight. It’s Saturday tomorrow, but I need a clear head for my ten a.m. appointment with Professor Bergstein. I was lucky to get an appointment with him this week at all.
Sleep aid.
The middle row of bathroom drawers are mine. It’s where I keep everything, so I know there are no sleeping pills there. I start rummaging through the other drawers. They haven’t been cleaned out in ages, equal amounts of trash and outdated articles overflowing in them.
I hit the jackpot in the lower, right drawer behind copious amounts of plastic bags, hotel shower caps and shampoos. There, I discover enough different varieties of sleep-aids to equip a pharmacy stand.
There’s easily a dozen packages in here, some with diuretic effects. I had no idea Julian had digestive problems? Folding the packages open, I find that most are empty or have one or two pills left.
I rub my face with the back of my hand in an effort to ease the panic; I just learned another truth about Julian, a new, unchangeable forever-truth for my thoughts to feast on at night.
Too late. I can’t help him anymore.
I shove his paraphernalia into the trash and cover the boxes with toilet paper. Julian’s toothbrush is still there, at the bottom. The bin is full now. I swallow.
My Kindle is the only reprieve I can come up with. Yeah, I’ll grab a boring book and read until my eyes close.
The Fratters shuffle up the stairs. They chuckle and talk among themselves. Next, a door shuts to a room, then another, until they quiet down and Luka’s headboard creaks as he takes his position.
Last night’s terror looms over me. Thankfully, my Kindle is there, a friend waiting on the nightstand, and I download some freebie football player’s memoir. It’s perfect; I don’t understand football.
I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day. This might not be so bad after all. My eyelids do that dipping thing. They go heavy, and soon they blink so slowly I almost forget to open them for the next boring sentence about touchdowns and interceptions. This is good.
Julian and I are fighting over the bathroom wastebasket. I hold on and glare, telling him to quit playing, but he can’t sleep and wants to make a concoction from the pills I threw in there. He clutches the basket hard, rocking it in my hands. He shakes it. He shouts at me. “Enough, Geneva. I’m just having a couple. Don’t be a fucking ass!”
He’s stronger than me. He doesn’t let go when I say no. I jerk hard, open my mouth wide, and then I scream—
“Sto-o-op!”
I wake up with an oomph, pain shooting up my back from my butt. I’m on the floor, groaning. Goddamn Julian!
The door slams open and Nathaniel stalks in. He drops to the floor next to me, and I slowly get up on my elbows.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Looks like you fell out of bed?”
“Yeah, it was Julian. It’s— It was a dream.”
Nathaniel rests his hands on his knees, staring at me. “Are you okay?”
My gaze draws from his facial hair to his scalp. The contrast between that shaved head and the dark st
ubble is oddly hot. He blinks, lashes so long I imagine the shadow of them against the hallway light.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I say as my chest trembles with the urge to fall apart. “Shit.” I pull in a breath, centering myself.
Nathaniel’s hands close around my arms. Eyes fixed, he stands, pulling me up with him until we’re both on our feet. We’re facing each other, and his lips are a firm, narrow line. “You can cry, you know.”
He shouldn’t have said that. The compassion in Nathaniel’s voice makes my lip quiver. Then, it makes my voice break and my eyes leak, so I twist out of his hold as discreetly as I can and return to bed. It doesn’t surprise me when he follows.
Naked, muscled torso and boxers. Idly, I set the stats at fifty-fifty between the underwear choices of the Queen’s men. Nathaniel needs to spend less time on weights and more time on his chemistry studies.
His thighs are thicker than I thought and hold the power to derail my sorrow. Just one press between my legs and he’s wedged close, embracing me, nudging his nose against my throat and sighing.
Five nights in a row—five. Five different men. No wonder my hand goes up of its own accord and caresses the back of his head, feeling its smoothness, absorbing the undefinable masculinity of his skin.
“I’m sorry about everything,” he whispers, and I embrace him back. I raise my legs and lock them around a rock-hard ass, and he’s so wide above me, my breathing can’t calm down.
Thanks, I huff out, over his sadness for me, over his body above me.
He’s unfamiliar intimacy when he keeps me wrapped around him and undresses me. He thrusts against my pelvis with silent puffs that are made to enflame.
“Nathaniel... what are we doing?” I ask when I don’t stop his hands from sliding down the back of my panties. They cup my cheeks and pull me apart for his touch.
“We’re creating chemical reactions.” He exhales like that was hard to say. “Sparking endorphins.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah... Testosterone.” He bruises me with his hard-on. “And a whole lot of... estrogen.” He rips my underwear down the middle, and I let out a choked whimper.