Sonya's Confusion

Sonya is a girl who's very confused. She decided to take a year off after high school before going to college. She is majorly depressed because all of her friends are moving away and she is super depressed. She has one last phone conversation with her ex

   I wanna give in and tell her yes when she asks. I wanna throw it all away: Emotions, physical abilities, and conscious thoughts. All functions that I once had control over have now gone haywire, like a rat chewing through a TV cord and the TV flickers on and off from time to time but otherwise works. I'm shot.

   She is still watching me, that same strawberry smile on her face. Her lips look like blown up plastic, like those small inflatable kiddie pools. The color of hot pink Barbie doll dresses. Her hair looks like something from a bad eighties movie, and yet somehow it seems to suit her. Maybe she was an eighties child. Maybe she even enjoyed wearing leg warmers, it was hard to tell. She sure wasn't wearing them now.

   I look down at her chest. Her breasts are next to nonexistent. I choke back a laugh. I'm not really surprised, though, she's something of a stick with eyes anyway. Large breasts would look extremely out of place on her body frame. Her voice sounds like it's coming out of a ten-year-old little boy who has yet to reach puberty. I think vaguely of teasing little boys on the playground at school, kicking sand in their eyes and running because it made sense at the time.

   "Well, Sonya?" she's smiling at me, as though she's just asked me to go watch some chick flicks at her house with a bunch of girls and we're going to have a sleep over with chocolate ice cream. Painting each other's nails and playing a game of Twister. "What do you say?"

   "No commitment, right?" I ask her. My lips cannot believe that they are moving at all.

She makes a high-pitched girlish giggle and says, "Dear Lord, no. Just a romp in the sack, girl. That's all." She makes a face like she has put too much sugar in her mouth at once, "I don't like relationships, Son."

   With that, I take her hand and lead her to my car and drive however many miles across town it is to my apartment with Kevin. He isn't in yet from whatever club he's gone to, so I bring her in and throw her against the wall as soon as we get in the door. It's nothing like what I had with Gina. This woman is so thin, almost to the point of illness, and I cannot believe that if I really wanted I could count her ribs. I would normally be disgusted, but tonight it turns me on because it is different. It is new. It is not Gina and I want it to be, so I just take what I can get because I need something.

   My hands move in foreign places and my heart is racing. I'm not sure if I want to be doing this at all. I close my eyes and pretend I am with Gina, but it's hard because this girl is just too damn thin. I trace my tongue over places that are so different I wonder if she is even the same species. Her hands are entwined in my hair and she's making puppy noises and I think how stupid all of this really is. My hand gets the job done twice as fast with three times less noise.

   She is whispering my name, she is begging with the way she moves her hips, she is wet and my tongue moves slowly to bring her to the place she wants so desperately to be. This all feels so wrong. Gina's voice is so much different, the way she begs is completely different and I wonder why I took it for granted when I had her. I press my face in closer between her pale legs and her grip tightens, pulling my hair painfully but I don't stop her. The quicker that this is over, the better.

   She comes, and I fall back, wiping my mouth and trying to spit out the taste without being obvious. She's panting and before I can tell her no she is on top of me, trying to return the favor. I just give up and let her have her way. She is moving like a possessed snake and I wonder how she gets anything done. I end up faking an orgasm and she seems pleased, as if I've given her a real treat. She smiles, pulls her skirt down, and waves goodbye before she walks out the door with her purse in one hand.

   I don't bother to put my shirt back on but I do pull my skirt down a little. I crawl over to the couch, spitting as I go. Her smell is overwhelming and I dry heave. My throat is straining, it feels like it will tear and suddenly I am not dry heaving but screaming. I am sobbing and screaming all in one breath and my throat screams in protest because it hurts but my heart is screaming more MORE MORE. Bring on the f*****g pain.

   I do not know how long I am screaming and crying but I hear rapid footfalls coming up the stairs roughly about half an hour later and the door flies open. Kevin's standing there, panting, drenched in sweat. He looks frightened as his eyes survey the room and then stop and land on me, shirtless and sobbing and bleeding where my fingernails have raked over my chest. He walks slowly, as if afraid to approach me. I give a slight nod, trying to take some control over my emotions.

   He takes big steps and sits on the couch beside me and opens his arms wide, an invite to comfort. I need to be comforted, I need to be embraced, I need to cry and I fall into his arms sobbing. My arms are thrown awkwardly around his shoulders and I realize how warm his body is against mine and I hear him whispering my name and saying it'll be alright.

   I am dimly aware that he is a little disgusted that he has a woman's breasts so close to him. I laugh like an old woman and his grip tightens around me. I do not complain. At least he cares. I'm not sure I can do this anymore. I feel his hand stroking my hair, rubbing my bare back, telling me in as low a voice as he can manage that he's sorry that he made me go to the club. He's sorry but he had thought it would be good for me. He keeps apologizing and I fall asleep listening to his voice, his hand still stroking my hair and his other arm wrapped tightly around me like a protective angel wing.

   I wake up in his bed wearing a long T-shirt. He isn't anywhere nearby and I slowly get out of bed, nose sniffing the air. I think I can smell pancakes. I'm almost positive that I smell eggs and a hint of something that might even be bacon. I walk drunkenly into the kitchen to find him at the stove with a spatula in one hand and a skillet in the other. He half turns and gives me a small smile.

   "Are you feeling better, Dagger?" he asks me, his voice low.

   It's only then that I realize the major migraine and I appreciate that he is trying to be quiet. I nod slowly, "Thanks, Renzy."

Author's Note

Reviews would be nice, because no one really comments here at home.