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Some people might have looked at it as bad sex. Because bad sex happens. It's a part of life to take chances and experiment and see where the risks lead. The spring term of his third year at the university was especially hard, as he pointed his classes towards his major, and no longer spent short minutes researching textbooks for simple answers. There were no simple answers. He continued to play intramural basketball because he loved it. He gave up on the serious sports because he didn't have a chance. His life became a round of classes, hours spent on homework, and hours spent doing absolutely nothing of any worth. He learned how to hotwire a car from his roommate. He dated a girl who tended bar, and by the time she broke up with him he knew thirty different vodka mixes and how to spin a martini shaker, Cocktail-style, in the palm of his hand. By senior year, he was experienced, a little jaded, and a little lost. When he met Darcy, he liked her immediately and within a few hours, 'anonymous' was out of the category listings. She was magnetic, beautiful and friendly, and she had a great laugh. He would remember in later years that in reality, the summary was all he knew. She played Tristan, no way around that, played on his very weaknesses and strengths alike, won his trust and made the fatal suggestion the third night after they met. In a burst of recklessness that he would remember with apprehension for the rest of his life, Tristan consented. He allowed himself to be bound, hands tied behind his back with a length of pink ribbon. He allowed himself to be stripped and propped against the head of Darcy's bed in her dorm room, like an oversized doll. The back of his head slipped against a poster on the wall, smacking Chad Kroeger's kneecap. She urged him to fight. He wouldn't; she called him a coward. It was then that he knew something had gone wrong and a heavy metallic tang of danger ripped away the last tingle of anticipation. He struggled to work his hands free and the ribbon pulled tighter. At the foot of the bed…two twin beds pushed together in the tiny room… the hollow gleam and glaze of lust in Darcy's pale green eyes was more acutely embarrassing than anything he'd ever experienced. He'd said this was okay. He might as well ride it through. It couldn't be that bad. It was just sex. It was humiliating. Darcy used him, fucked him like he wasn't there, gazed distantly over his shoulder while she rode his lap, keeping her body separate from his. Cold rushed between them as she moved; settled in the pit of his stomach. What was more, he couldn't stop it. Couldn't stop it. His body was happy with what she was doing, even if the rest of him was looking for a deep pit to hide in. She'd lied to him, he trusted her and she…what did you expect? You knew her for three days…it was his fault…he shouldn't have…he never wanted it to be like this…you're easy and they know you are… Afterward, when his hands were untied and the pink ribbon left pink marks on his wrists, she explained through a haze of embarrassed tears that this was what she thought he'd wanted. This was what he'd agreed to. Other guys liked it-why didn't he? She hadn't meant to hurt his feelings, forgive her, please, forgive her. She sounded like his nine-year-old nephew, the same sulky petulance, the same lack of comprehension…how old is she? You never asked… He couldn't muster up the right words to reassure her. The right words weren't there. There were no right words. Tristan didn't leave her with blame, told her that it was all right, told her that he needed to go anyway. Her mascara hadn't streaked while they were having sex, but now it puddled beneath her eyes in drippy shadows. He dug up the courage to lean forward and kiss her for the first time that night, finished shrugging on his jacket, and made sure the door closed all the way behind him when he let himself out. --- Nobody wanted to be the kid who got the room next to the dorm bathroom. From midnight on until two that night, the showers hissed noisily through the wall… …and hissed… Back to Scylla's Work E-mail the Author Home |
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