I remembered almost too late that there was a test today. I'm scrambling, yanking my socks on and pacing about our shared doom trying to find where I shoved my backpack. Did the weekend actually fly by that quickly? I am thinking on my feet as I close the door a little too hard behind me, propelling myself forward to the lecture hall but walking myself backwards in my mind to the blank space that was my memory. There's snippets, like always, as if someone tore pages from a book and shredded them until there were just fragments of sentences falling through my fingers:
--flashing lights, hot bodies pressed against hot bodies, hot mouths pressed against hot mouths, a hand, a kiss, another night where part of me is hoping this is the one that makes me feel something, a smile in a voice as he says something I can't remember when my body shudders --
Right. Okay. That's where I was. I realize that I've stopped walking, and I'm not quite sure how long I've just been standing in the middle of the walkway getting drenched in the continuous drizzle of rain. I have to keep propelling myself forward.
The test goes fine for me, probably. I do remember studying for it, and I'm hoping I've done well enough to at least get my score into the mid 90s. It wouldn't immediately tank my grade if it's lower, but... it's the upkeep of it. It's the burning candles at both ends, squeezing time in for studying between going out, and going out squeezed in between studying. Usually I know if I'm going too hard in either direction if Merin starts giving me odd, concerned looks and I need to recalculate. I'm sensing that given the events of the other night are already feeling like a long faded memory, it's probably about time to steer into just schooling for a bit.
I've made my way back to my dorm--
"-la, Atala--" There's fingers snapping in front of my face and I blink rapidly, startling out of my reverie. Merin is leaning down to try to peer at my face, looking somewhere between bemused and genuinely worried. "What daydream vortex did you disappear into this time?"
"Huh?"
Great answer.
"You doin' okay?" She asks, now that I've returned to my body. Fantastic. This is tipped into mostly concern, though she's doing well at still pretending she's goofing around with me a bit.
"Yeah," I say, realizing I've at some point opened up my math book to the exact chapter I already tested on. As I close it and start to pile it with the rest of my books, I continue. "Yeah, I just had like--I dunno, I wanted to review what that test was on just to make sure I got it--"
"Mmhm."
"I--I guess no use though if it's being graded now," I finish haltingly. She smirks.
"The world is going to keep turning if you don't do as good, you know." She says.
"I know."
She settles in on the couch and stretches her legs out onto the footrest, entire body finally relaxing head to toe. Merin has turned the radio on, and the room fills with a quiet song playing from the top hits list this month from the campus station. "You never told me about your night with... what was his name? Aaron?"
"Erinius." I say automatically. The mental image of him--a Neweman hare with an admittedly fantastic smile--pops into my head.
"Right, that guy. How was it?"
Everything about it is still in fragments. It... feels like there wasn't anything bad that happened, but trying to recall it now doesn't make me feel anything substantial. Whenever Merin came back after a good night out with somebody, there was almost an unconscious hum in her body that seemed to stay with her for a day or so, and I'd catch her own daydreaming face wearing a much more serene and satisfied expression. Mine, from what others have told me, always remains the same: big gray eyes just kind of staring at nothing. I think she's hoping I'd have that same satisfied hum, and I want to give her something in response.
"It was fine," I say and I want to kick myself. That's all? One of her ears twitch and she has a single brow raised. "I-I mean, honestly? Probably one of the better guys that I've been with." It's not entirely untrue either. There's a few disjointed moments of confusing pleasure I could recall, some teasing, some flirting, but I remember walking home feeling annoyed and a bit angry. Nothing too serious, so the night probably just ended on a weird note.
I give Merin most of the details except for the part about walking home angry. I'm too tired and don't really want that part subjected to dissection over why, nor do I want to really state or imply to her that these guys rarely aleiviate my boredom. I've decided that's what all of this is about. It's just something to do, something that takes me out of my head for a night that doesn't involve internalizing the parts of me I don't like. In any case, talking about it at least keeps the moments a bit fresher in my mind. As fresh as they could be at this point.
We continue chatting, Merin invites me out but I decline with a sweeping wave to my pile of books. I continue staring at my desk even as she gets around and I could hear the shower start up distantly, smell the body wash from under the door. The sound of the water is soothing, fading into something like soft static that washes over the rest of the noise still pulsing in my head. I keep thinking back to his endearing little laugh, though I can only imagine what his expression was at that point. My thoughts reduce down to just a single question.
Why did I cover my face?
Kevin Hartnell, "Circles of Black and Red"
Erinius calls me a week or so later. Lucky timing for him, as I've just finished up several other big tests leading up to the midterms and found myself with a restless energy and more free time than I was expecting. My brain is still in study mode though as I try to frantically comb through what I could remember we talked about in case anything comes up: he's a... business major? That seems right.
Merin takes note when she sees me scurrying around and getting ready.
"Heading out?" She asks.
"Yeah, I'm seeing Erinius again."
Her eyes go wide, coupled with a mischievous grin. I hear her intake to say something but I flash her an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle. Whatever she was about to say is interrupted with a laugh.
"Romance in the air, eh?" She asks.
"Nothing like that," I say, circling back to my desk. Where's my wallet? "I've been too damn cooped up here and now that I'm free from studying for like five minutes I'm anxious to do something different." There is a flutter in my stomach that could be excitement or nervousness, and it's accompanied by a prickly sense of unease. Maybe it's just trepidation. Maybe it's been so long that I've felt real excitement that I can't remember what it's actually like. I find the wallet and snatch it up triumphantly.
"Well, have fun." She says, still grinning. "If I'm up when you're back, I'll want a full report."
I give her a salute before disappearing through the door.
I've never been in a play, but I've found that lately I imagine this like a series of stage directions. Whatever role I've stepped in takes over when I greet Erinius and on cue he smiles back. My movements feel rehearsed, all of this just leading up to a foregone conclusion of how we both want this night to go. We've decided to meet at an almost literal underground show: local small bands hve taken over the basement of some building I've probably walked past most of my life. The speakers are loud and scratchy, and it's hard to hear the vocalist in the mix over the drums and bass. The crowd isn't super packed, but I still need to stand close to Erinius to hear a single thing he says.
Not every single night has been the same, but there's usually a rough formula.
We make small talk, one of us breaks away for refreshments, we continue the small talk, maybe we talk about college or life but nothing too heavy or personal, one of us will initiate the casual touching, there might be some dancing if there's music to dance to. Increase the volume. Increase the intensity. One of us asks if it would like to be continued elsewhere, and when the answer is yes, we carry on elsewhere. Making out. Sex. Sometimes a bit more talking. Sleep. Goodbyes in the morning. Once or twice I'd duck out early if the guy had been boring or if the fomula for my night out didn't sate the restlessness that was under my skin.
Tonight I've gotten Erinius and I some drinks. The small talk that follows is us disparaging tests, the coursework, and once I get him talking about his major all I need to do is try to listen. Easier if I have to stand on my tiptoes to try to hear him, and he leans in closer to help. I nod, I offer some insight, shrug when he asks if I've declared my major yet. He's the one to initiate the casual touching tonight, draping an arm over my shoulders when the conversation lulls and we turn our attention to the band that's playing. The sound quality hasn't improved between sets. With the pauses between songs, I could hear my ears ringing slightly and I motion for us to move more toward the back where it could be slightly quieter. All our steps in this scene are going exactly as planned. Maybe one more drink before the question of whose place to go to tonight, I predict.
"Do you wanna get some air?" He asks. A break in the pattern, but not a huge one. I could see the fur on the back of his neck slightly damp with sweat, and I begin to realize just how stuffy it actually is. I can feel my head nod and we head outside, the misty air in Moonhaven greeting us with each refreshing inhale.
"What say you we go celebrate a job well done on all those tests, eh?" He asks.
"Neither of us know if we've passed or not," I say with a little laugh, but he shrugs.
"Celebrate getting them done then. Whichever." He says. He exaggerates a staggered walk as we begin the trek back to his place, and this time the laugh I have feels real. It's goofy, and I feel something adjacent to affection looking at him. Maybe in a different lifetime we would've been pretty good friends and not two people walking toward a hook-up that'll mean nothing to us in the morning. Erinius' playful mood is rubbing off on me, and to contrast the staggered gait he adopted I decide to put on my best, straight-laced and serious walk forward to make him laugh instead. He does. I'm not sure how our flirting devolved to this, but neither of us complain.
The second we're in his room, the goofy pretense slips away. He leans in close to me until my back is against the door, his hands all over my waist, his mouth against my neck. A knee gets pressed between my legs and it's not until I feel his hands run up into my hair where I feel like I can finally take a shaky breath inward. His movements feel more rehearsed than mine, even when I try to match his effort and press my hands onto his chest or feel around for the hem of his shirt as I've done before. It almost feels like I've missed a step in our dance and I'm racing to catch up with him before we lose the rhythm completely. Erinius doesn't seem to notice, making an easy effort to lead me over to the bed.
My eyes drift over to a clock on his bedside table. It's a bit earlier than normal for me to be in somebody's bed like this. Erinius senses my distraction and cups my face to guide it toward his for a kiss. Everything that follows is just another series of steps, and everything from the last time I was here comes back in small pieces. He touched me the way that I would think any woman would want to: with precision and attention, a little experimental to see which places invoked favorable responses, only this time watching my face to make sure that I was still here. I can feel the expected responsiveness in me, but I can't look him in the eye again. Time must have passed faster than I noticed, because--
"You have something on your mind?" He asks. It takes me out of the reverie, and I blink slowly up at him. I'm becoming more aware--too aware--of where I am and the feeling of my body on his bed. We're both shirtless, my jeans discarded somewhere on the floor, but he's paused with his hands on my knees. The rest of him is in a faint silhouette lit by what little light was entering through the blinds in his room. My heart is pounding from the sudden awareness, the glaring clarity in my head.
"No," I say. I did something wrong along the way. This is not usually how this goes at all. I'm reaching for something else to say, clawing at any sort of feeling that is even close to whatever is unfolding now. "I guess I'm just feeling kinda... shy?"
"Shy? How..."
"It's stupid," I say with a sigh. Shy isn't exactly the right word but it's close enough. "I know it's stupid, it's not like we haven't done this before."
Somewhere in that alternate time, Erinius and I meet during a group study session and not at a bar. We find some funny things in common and run into each other at campus events, making good conversation. There's still flirting sometimes, probably, but it feels more relaxed. There's no pressure to keep up whatever this performance is.
"Like... self conscious?" He asks. I don't respond immediately. That's not the right feeling either, but it's in the general sense of it. I finally shrug, and he takes my hands to pull me upright. I am suddenly desperately wishing I could just fade back to that timeless place again when he caresses me, and I think it's meant to be soothing. There's hesitation in his movements, and I'm realizing he's waiting to see what I'll do next. Am I going to call for a raincheck? Continue? I want to burst out laughing suddenly at the absurdity of what's happening in this moment, like we're two virgins unsure about what the next step is. My face is hot, and I think I do let a small laugh slip out. Erinius is confused, and I am too I realize.
"Are you okay?" He asks, and I lean forward to kiss him. Still confused, he kisses me back and I pull him back down over the top of me.
"I'm fine, I'm just--it's a weird mood." I say. "It's okay."
I'm trying to get back into the role. Unconsciously, I try to shut out extraneous stimuli: the quiet hum of the fan, the small distant noises of the outside world, all of it is filtered away. I think about how I knew girls that loved the feeling of being so small with their boyfriends, how they felt protected and delicate with the arms of their boys over their shoulders, and I want to know what it's like to want that. I chase after that feeling constantly, waiting for the moment when it's finally going to click and I feel free and warm and comfortable. Being smaller than all of the men I've been with has never made me feel delicate. It's just made me feel vulnerable instead.
I could feel the cool air of his room on my skin, his hands running down my chest and past my stomach. This is how it's supposed to be, I think from inside that hazy place in my subconscious. Letting my mind wander makes it easier to focus on what feels good, and I like to think how I'm moving and responding are all the rest of those unconscious parts doing what they do best.
I wonder what he sees, I think to myself. Can he see that I'm enjoying myself? He's more observant than some of the others, sometimes really focusing in on my face or prompting me with a statement or a question. I'm finally back in that sweet spot where I'm feeling a bit lighter, my answers coming from some other thing in my brain or my body that I've let take over. I'm not especially talkative in this state and thankfully he doesn't expect me to be. Erinius paws at the softest parts of me, and I think to myself how good it feels, and then I feel an old familiar pit open up in my chest. It's never made sense to me, the immediacy of how I'm supposed to be enjoying this pivoting so suddenly into something heavy and unshakable. He asks me if I like it and I say yes, because there was a point just seconds ago where I did. I want it to come back.
Stubbornly, I keep going. He does too. I don't need to think about that right now, I quietly tell myself. It felt good before, therefore it can feel good again. He had already proven that to me during our first hookup, when he boldly claimed that he loved making women cum first and I must have challenged him to back it up. I'm remembering right now, as he positions his head between my thighs, that we playfully went back and forth on it. Not a lot of guys do is what I said, and he laughed and looked baffled. Really? Not the ones that I've been with. Well, they're stupid or doing something wrong is what he replied with. The last thing I remember as I lost that bet was that I wasn't sure I'd be able to look at him or anything else for that matter, and covered my whole face with my hands. I needed to muffle myself and my awareness of the outside world, for that matter. "That's cute," He had said with a breathless, satisfied laugh.
That might've been what pissed me off last time, I realize.
A different noise pulls me briefly from that memory, and I realize at some point he's turned the bedside radio on. There's a suggestion in that, a promise that what is about to happen is going to be better than last time. There's a sense of relief that there's now a rhythm to focus on and I could really let everything else drift off. My body even begins to relax, turn more languid. Again, I have the urge to hide my face but before I do, he takes both of my hands in his, pressed against either side of me. I'm buoyed by suddenly not having any shield. There's absolutely no time to think what I would even want to say, if anything at all. No fucking way, curiously, is my last intentional thought before I'm gone. Either from awe or indignation, it doesn't matter. The blank space in my head that quickly follows is different from how my death magic has been internalized, and a lot more soothing.
Erinius is gone too in his own way, sitting up to scramble for a condom in the bedside table. There's a brief moment where it feels like my head has just emerged from underwater, feeling a long-held exhale finally be released from my lungs, and then we dive back in. He's eager as he climbs over the top of me, and when our bodies rock against each other I can't help but wonder where his confidence came from. Was he nervous during his first time or did he walk right up to it with the same bold swagger than he has now? Does he think I'm more confident than I feel, or is he endeared by me being a bit more nervous? Can I fake confidence?. My mind wanders like this the entire rest of the time we're together.
I don't look at the clock again until we're done. He stands up to try to find us something to clean up with, and my eyes glance over to it again. Though I know what I'm looking at, comprehending what time it is doesn't seem to stick to my head at all. Those are numbers, I think. Those are numbers that make up a time, and they're on a clock and the clock is on a table. My pulse is settling down, and I'm feeling that pit start to slowly crack open again. The absolute last thing that I want is for that feeling to overtake me while I'm in someone else's bed. I just keep staring at his alarm clock, deciding to try to just name each number individually in my head until it passes. It only wanes slightly.
He settles back in next to me and we lean into each other. There's a chill that's settled over my skin and I shudder, and he pulls up his sheets to try to get me warmed up. We make small talk, much like we did last time, and I try to hold off on that prickling, exposed feeling as long as I can. I'm almost afraid to move much and risk becoming too aware of the bedsheets against my skin or his touch against my body. When Erinius' voice starts to drift into more and more sleepiness, I shake his shoulder a tiny bit.
"I might be heading back soon," I say quietly and he nods. "See you around?"
"Definitely."
Everything breaks down into smaller steps: underwear, bra, socks, pants, shirt, shoes. I remember my coat at the last minute. Doorknob, exit, walking home under a deep blanket of clouds. Before I know it, I'm quietly closing the door of my dorm behind me. Merin is like likely already asleep. It'll give me some time to try to summarize an amusing retelling of my night for her in the morning. I numbly change into an oversize shirt and shorts for sleeping and climb under the covers, and it is only there where I finally let my hold on that sense of heaviness loose. I can't get comfortable no matter how I'm laying, either from a soreness in my limbs or from the way my clothes are sitting or creased across my body. The endorphins from a night well had are overshadowed by the feeling of something being very, deeply wrong; the memories of what felt pleasureable in the moment are cast now in the shadow of something sickly and suffocating. The restlessness keeps sleep out of my reach for hours.
Off and on for a few days afterward, I try to retrace my steps. That feeling I don't have a name for is a frequent flier whenever I just want to have a good time, and I'm starting to get sick of it. I say little on the matter, prefering to try to work through it myself first. Sometimes answers could be found on the Margin, but all I'm able to really turn up are people talking about self-consciousness and body dysmorphia. Sexual shame. Trauma. Nothing is a perfect fit.
Self-consciousness? When other girls would stand in front of the mirrors at school and bemoan the parts of their bodies they didn't like, I would sometimes try to play along and find something about my face or body I could pinpoint as a problem I wanted fixing. It was mostly bullshit to me. Largely, I didn't scrutinize my body thinking it was ugly--I mostly just at times forgot I was inhabiting one in the first place. How people described body dysmorphia probably was the closest match, but their internal self image sometimes was centered in things I couldn't connect with: attractiveness, sex, shame from friends and family, society. Being weak. Being too big. Not big enough, not in the right places.
Sexual shame? Sex wasn't a common subject in my house, shame or not. Most of the shaming would come from peers and nobody could settle on any one thing being right. Being a virgin was pure and virtuous but also made you a sad, lonely prude. Being sexual was liberating and cool but if you did it too much you were a slut that nobody would ever actually want. I got neither after Ma took me to get plan B back in highschool. Instead, after we got home she gave me a comforting rub on the shoulder and a "just try to be more careful next time, okay?" I wasn't sure how to explain to her that it happened too fast for me to think about being careful, so I just nodded.
Trauma? Sometimes high school wasn't easy but compared to stories I've heard from other girls, I would hardly call it traumatic.
Eventually my ruminating tapers off. Merin and I are having a quiet moment with her studying and me working on a scarf. The gentle clacking of my needles inside of the thick yarn is something I've always found soothing, and as I relax more I finally glance up to her.
"You never asked me how the other night went with Erinius," I say a bit slyly. She looks up at me slowly, her eyes searching mine for something. She's quiet long enough for me to feel nervous.
"Yes I did." She said. "I super did. You don't remember?" Her tone is serious.
"What?"
"It was like, the next morning." She puts her book aside. "You were kinda starin' off into space like you do sometimes so I asked how it all went and you said it was fine."
"...That's it?" I ask. The needles in my hands go still.
"Well, you also said it was fun and that you kinda lost track of time but that just seems par for the course." Merin says. "At least it sounds like losing track was for good reasons."
I need to keep my hands busy, so I start up my knitting again. "Yeah, real good." I say with a smile. It's another role. I like myself a little bit less each time I try to pretend to be some cool chick that's totally relaxed and sexually liberated. I feel like if that was actually true, I wouldn't have these odd spirals afterward. She grins back and stretches, now disinterested in her studies, and I pause because I can sense she's about to suggest something.
"We need to have a girl's night again at some point." She says. "Maybe after midterms? There's a couple people I think I could get to come with and I think you'd really like them."
We've done this before. Girl's night, much like my couplings with men, are also on a script that starts off fun. There always is a point that happens where someone says something everyone else relates to in hushed tones, "girl to girl" like we're being sworn to secrecy, and I have to play along. It could be about literally anything: watching each other's backs, who we've dated, whose ex has shown up to try to ruin the night, the stories that you really only tell when your guard is down and keeping it a secret is slowly killing you. For the first time in my life I've been accepted into girlhood rather than judged and excluded from it, but it feels like too little too late. I still keep trying though in the hopes that this too will finally make sense someday.
An unexpected knock at the door catches both of our attention. I freeze, caught in the confusion of the unexpected, and Merin stands up to go stride over and answer. On the other side of it is Erinius, looking a bit tired but with that same relaxed smile I've seen him wear several times now. He looks to Merin and then spots me behind her.
"I think you forgot this," He says, holding my wallet up. Quietly I stand up and go retrieve it, and out of the corner of my eye I could see that Merin is trying her best to keep a neutral face.
"Thank you." I say. He nods and turns to leave. We both wait until Merin's closed the door and a solid five seconds of silence pass before she lets out a long whistle.
"Damn. I think I need to congratulate you."
My entire face is on fire. There's not a chance I could play the role of the nice relaxed and liberated girl right now. Instead, I let myself step back into a shy smile.