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She was shy at first, but I finally convinced her to pose for me. She sat in a bath of pink-gold afternoon sun while my hand and eye traced her. My strange, bashful sylph. The light inflamed her hair and brought color to her skin, a blush of apricot in cream.
I set my pencil down.
“Did I mess up?”
I smiled. “You’re doing great.”
We’d been roommates for months. I knew she’d dropped out of high school. I knew she had an IQ of 161, though she resented her parents making her take the Mensa test. I knew she was gay.
I knew she had a not-so-secret crush on me.
I got up and crossed the room. Drawing made me a little drunk, the normal inhibitions—don’t touch your roommate’s face, don’t ask her to take her clothes off—seemingly arbitrary. I perched on the windowsill and pretended to gauge the failing light, ru
“Can I move?”
I laughed. “Yeah, you can move.”
Elle’s shoulders sagged. She adjusted her glasses. “Sorry. I’m too twitchy for this.”
I took the glasses from her face and slid them into my shirt pocket.
“Hey.”
“Hey what? You don’t need to see.” I pulled a bang free and framed her face with it. “I have an idea. But you’ll hate it.”
Those lucent peridot eyes stared up at me. “What?”
“I want to draw you”—I let the strand fall—“nude.”
I was sure I knew the answer already. Sure I knew her shyness, her reservation. But she stared back without blinking, then said, in a quiet, brave voice, “Okay.”
(—Bergen, Vada. What Falling Feels Like. Oil on canvas.)
“You’re so beautiful,” I whispered now.
Our eyes met. My blood burned beneath my skin, excitement rippling over me like a film of cool silk.
I rolled my hips against her, our bare legs grazing, soft as sin. Her hands went to my back and pulled me closer. I unbuttoned her shirt the rest of the way, let it fall open. Skin to skin. This body I’d drawn so many times I knew it better than my own. This body I’d held so many nights I hated to sleep alone anymore. Our limbs twisted together and I ran my hands over her ribs, her breasts, her throat. She touched me back with featherlight fingers, wing tips flickering against my skin.
“Does he touch you like this?” She cupped my ass, pulled my hips to hers, and I groaned and rocked into it.
“He can’t.”
“Because he’s not real.” Ellis held me tightly now, looking up into my face with that smoky squint that undid things in me. “He doesn’t make you wet like I do. He’s just words on a screen. This is real, Vada. Us.”
All the blood in me rose to meet her skin. I was drunk and turned on like fuck and I lowered my head to kiss her, but she put her hands on my face, holding me back.
“We’re just friends,” she said. “Remember?”
It had been like this that long-ago afternoon, too. I’d taken her shirt off and my hands wouldn’t leave her body and then hers were on mine. I’d straddled her lap like I did now, twined myself with her, and simply breathed. And even though I was insanely horny and wet, it felt perfect to stop there. Right at the wild trembling brink. Before we kissed, before anything else.
In the kink world they call it edging. Taking yourself to the shivering edge of climax and pulling back before you come. Stop, wind down, start over. Again and again until discipline shatters. Blue loved it, loved jerking off while he watched me fuck a silicone cock until I was about to explode, then told me to pull out. Wait. Let desire rage and cool. Start again, angrier, meaner. Desperate.
You could do it with intimacy, too. Hold her in your arms and put your hands on her body and stop before you hit the edge. Run full-tilt for oblivion and pull back at the last second, over and over. It was a way of having something without having it. Of having someone. And I’d done it to her so many times because I was just lonely, it was just closeness. We were just friends.
The lie we kept telling ourselves.
Ellis slid both hands into my hair and stared into my eyes. I let her have her way, let her press her lips to the cords of my throat, my collarbone, not quite kissing. Let my body sink against hers, my face in the curve of her throat. Hair tangled, hearts aligned. Beating together. Perfectly synced. She stroked my back as if drawing me, shading in the bones and hollows. Filling me with her shadows the way I filled her with mine.
“How does it feel?” she whispered.
Just as quietly, I answered, “Real.”
In the morning my bed was empty. The old ache surged till I rolled over and saw Ellis sitting in the window seat, staring into the misty milk-white light. She wore a T-shirt of mine and balanced her laptop on her knees. When she gave me a small, serene smile I fought a crazy urge to drag her back into the bed.
“Hi,” she said. “We’ve got a lead.”
“Hi. Wait, what? Show me.” I levered myself up on my bad hand and my head filled with neon red. My arm gave out. I flopped back onto the mattress. “Fuck my life.”
“Is this going to be a bad day?”
“Feels like it.”
Elle helped me dress. It felt wrong, letting her do this not because it was sensual but because I physically could not do it without pain. Jaw clenched. Body bristling. I stared at the wall behind her and pretended it was a game, just role-playing. The wounded fighter. The valiant whatever.
I needed caffeine before I could process new information. Down in the kitchen she poured coffee while I waged a losing battle with the frustration colonizing my face.
“Talk to me,” Ellis said. “I know you need to vent.”
I yanked open the cutlery drawer and grabbed a handful of teaspoons in my good fist. Spread them on the counter before her, the silver jingling musically.
“Ever heard of the spoon theory?”
“No?”
“This is me.” I counted out ten spoons and shoved the rest aside. “Like a video game. This is my life bar. These are my hit points for the day.”
“Okay.”
I picked up a spoon lefty. “This is what it costs me to wake up, when it feels like a shark is chewing my hand off.” I flung the spoon into the sink and it banged on steel.
Elle watched me warily.
“This is taking a shower.” I flung another at the sink. It missed, skidding over the counter and onto the floor. “Getting dressed.” Another. “Eating breakfast.” One more.
She didn’t blink.
I nudged the remaining six together. “This is what’s left of me when I start the day. This is how much of me I have to give.” I slumped on the counter, suddenly fatigued. “Six spoons, and everything I do will cost more. When I’m out, that’s it. I can’t pull the zipper on a hoodie, or buckle a seat belt, or cut my meat for di
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Invent a time machine.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.” Elle gave me a rueful smile, and I softened inside. “Have I ever made you feel bad about this? In any way?”
“No. You always treat me like me. And I love you for that.”
Her lips parted but before she could speak, Frankie walked in.
“Good morning, ladies.” When her eyes settled on me something ticked in them. “Can we talk alone?”
“You can say anything in front of Ellis.”
Rose bloomed in Elle’s cheeks. Frankie shrugged.