by David Morgan
The silence carried on for an uncomfortably long time, Paxton thought. He struggled hard, furiously filing through his thoughts to find an interesting topic of conversation. He looked over to Dasha. Was she bored? He couldn’t tell. She was searching the scenery around her, walking with that same smooth step, gliding across the sand of the lake’s beach, occasionally (and purposely, Paxton supposed) making eye contact.
“So Daki--,” He stopped himself, “How do you pronounce it?”
“DA-KI-MA-KUR-A,” She corrected him, smiling. “Dakimakura.”
“Right, Dakimakura,” he said, “I’ll remember: cross my heart.” And he smiled.
“Oh don’t do that.” Dakimakura said with concern.
“Huh? Don’t do what?”
“It’s not good to cross your heart—you’ll need it to keep pumping your blood.” And she tilted her head, examining his neck, her chest rhythmically raising and lowering more deeply now.
Pax smiled, it was so cute. “No, no, no!” he began, “it’s an expression. It means ‘I promise’”.
“Oh.” She said, transfixed on Paxton’s neck. She ripped her gaze away and her breathing returned to normal. “Also, I insist that you call me ‘Dasha’ it is my preferred nomenclature.”
They proceeded to walk in silence. Paxton thought she was clearly annoyed at him. He tried his best to brighten up the conversation. “So when did your family move to Rayhollow?”
“I told you already.” She said coldly. “Today.”
“But I thought…” he was confused, why would she begin school just the very same day she arrived in town?
“What did you think?” She asked without a trace of sarcasm.
“I thought that…” he felt like he was screwing this up. “Nothing.” He finally resolved.
“Ok.” She said.
The night was too perfect—and he was screwing it up. Here they were walking together—alone—under a wonderfully clear sky and a moon that hung in the heavens like a giant, silver disc, casting its reflection on the lake.
Paxton looked sidelong at Dasha and she seemed even more beautiful in the glow of the full moon. Her lips somehow grew more plump, and redder as her skin grew fairer, like fresh cream.
Now he felt an urge to kiss her…or rather, for her to kiss him. But it was more than an urge, but a compulsion mirroring the desire he had felt before. The emptiness in his stomach, the restlessness inside him, the inescapable feeling that if she did not kiss him soon, he would die.
He stopped in the moonlight, resting his hand on the side of her arm just below the shoulder.
“Dasha.” He began. “I must…” He didn’t know what he would say next, he just knew that he must, “I must…” and he leaned in to kiss her.
She seemed to be leaning to him as well, and she raised a hand, running her fingers through his hair as she gently pushed his head back, exposing a large, undulating vein on his neck—aching to be penetrated.
He could feel her breasts against his body, her chest rose and fell deeply. He could feel her heartbeat syncing with his, pumping each vessel of blood through the twisting canals of his arteries. He desired nothing else but to succumb to her will.
But no. He couldn’t. He was a gentleman. He couldn’t take advantage of her, not in this state. If they were to kiss, it needed to be special. He pulled himself back to consciousness.
“No.” He finally said, drawing every last ounce of strength to will his arms to gently push her back. She sunk back into place, standing a foot away. “We shouldn’t,” he added. “We’ve been drinking.”
Dasha’s eyes grew bright. The deep blackness of night disappeared from them, replaced by a glowing ember, tiny at first, but then engulfing the pupils, sucking Paxton into the fury of a woman scorned.
“I just think we should…” He began, not knowing what else to say.
But he was interrupted. A rustling from the bushes nearby drew their attention from the intimacy of the moment. They looked to where the noise was coming from.
Paxton took a step back, sensing danger, and watching intently. From the shadows emerged a large creature, clumsily staggering towards them. Paxton’s stomach sunk to the ground.
“Hey! DUCKY!” The voice belonged to Darren. “I FOUND youuu.” Then he noticed Paxton and fell silent.
“Hey Darren,” Paxton said. “What are you up to?”
“Oh.” Darren, clearly confused, continued, “Well Ducky—Daki--”, he ignored Paxton, trying to not trip over his tongue so much.
“Dasha. Her name is Dasha.” Paxton said.
“You may call me Daki, if you like,” she interrupted, taking a step towards Darren.
“Oh right—Ducky. We god summore shots. You wanna trink?” Again he put an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to him.
Now it was Paxton’s heart that dropped to the ground. Where she had before rejected his advances, Dasha now began to flirt back, grabbing the hand that had been placed around her shoulder and giving it a playful squeeze. She smiled, bearing two longer than average canines which, for an instant, flickered in the moonlight.
“So, your name is Darren?” And her voice changed. It became sexy and coy, like the natural flirtation of an infatuated seventeen year-old girl. Paxton contrasted this with the almost robotic behavior she showed while speaking with him, as though just a few moments ago she had been decades older—and a robot.
To his horror, Paxton watched as she drew herself in close to Darren, laying a soft hand on his large chest with accidental intention. “No.” She said, and Paxton breathed relief. She was going to reject him again.
“Let’s go for a walk instead,” now for some reason very eager to please the jock’s itch. Paxton froze, in an instant he had been reassigned his role: he went from the lead actor to an irrelevant background figure in an altogether different scene.
Darren was beside himself, not sure how to take the strangeness of what was happening. The new girl: extremely hot, walking alone in the woods with Paxton Volvox of all people? First denying him—the all-star and object of every girl’s affection--and then demanding a walk alone?
“Uhh, a walk? Okay. We’ll walk.” He half-slurred, trying to make sense of the situation while attempting the increasingly difficult challenge of keeping his balance.
If Darren was perplexed, then Paxton was confounded. A few minutes ago Dasha seemed totally interested in him—ready to kiss him. She was quiet, intelligent, had a sense of humor, and was above the typical teenage nonsense. He was a gentleman, a scholar, far more intelligent than the brute, and then—as though a button had been switched—she practically ran into his arms, ready to go off and drink with the king of all douchebags.
He watched, paralyzed with grief as Dasha turned around, holding Darren’s waist firmly against her own as he leaned his weight on her to stay upright. They stumbled off into the darkness leaving Pax alone to bathe in disappointment.