Nora
“Come on, you guys, it’s a movie. What exactly do you think will happen?” Lotte whines. These are the moments I dread. I am not her mother. I am not her sister. Technically, I am no one to her—legally—and so I feel out of place knowing I don’t have a say. She is not mine. She has grown up so much in the last year. Her face has thinned out, taken a less child-like shape. Her body is longer, more lithe and her muscles have become more defined.
“If there isn’t a parent there with you, I’m sorry, but no,” Eve says. She is not budging.
Lotte stomps her Converse-clad foot and looks to me. “Come on. Talk to her, Nora.”
“Can’t, kiddo. This one, I agree with her,” I say. Eve gives me a small smile of thanks.
“You two are the worst,” Lotte says. She whirls around and disappears—loudly—upstairs.
I sigh.
“Don’t,” Eve says. “Don’t do that. She’s not ready. Too young. What if—”
I hold a hand up to stop Eve’s rant.
“I agree with you. But I also think maybe we’re being too protective. Other kids in her class are going to the movies with friends, unchaperoned.”
“I don’t care what other kids do.” Eve crosses her arms over her chest.
I laugh. “Said like a true parent.”
Eve grins slightly. “I am.”
I give her a look. “Yes. You are. And a good one, too, but if you want her to have a normal childhood, or whatever is left of her childhood, you have to start treating her like an ordinary kid.” I tuck my hair behind my ears.
Now, it is Eve’s turn to sigh. She slumps into the armchair behind her. Her pretty blond hair rests at chin length. It frames her tan face well. Her big brown eyes pin mine.
“I know. I know.” She throws her hands up in the air. Our lives are muddied by our experiences. It is laborious to trust. A struggle every day for Eve. She appears much more together than me, but she is vexed and solicitous. I hear her in the middle of the night. I know her dreams are nightmares. Sometimes, I believe she was more traumatized than Lotte or I. It was not just her with Holden. She had to worry about Lotte, too. Her guilt is cancerous. It gnaws at her soul.
“I’ll go,” I say. It is a concession, but one that benefits each of us.
“Go where?” She brushes her bangs from her eyes.
“I’ll bring them to the movies. Sit in the back row. Bring them home.”
Eve looks at the ceiling. “Nora, no. That’s not the point.”
“It’s kind of the point, isn’t it? She’s bored. She wants to do something. It’s a good compromise,” I offer.
Eve narrows her eyes at me but she is not mad. Not really. “Fine.”
***
After the movie, Lotte is in a buoyant mood. She hugs Eve and tells her she is sorry for being an imp. They both laugh at her word choice. Their bond makes me beam. I am lucky to have them in my house. In my life. I retreat to my room. The house is frowzy but it can wait until tomorrow. I shut the door behind me, glance at the clock. It is past nine p.m. but I am wide awake. Energized. Invigorated. So I make myself comfortable on the window seat and boot up my laptop.
It is daunting some days trying to be Nora the Survivor. I often wish to be Nora the Victim again. These two sides of myself battle constantly. As if being with Holden somehow changed my very chemistry. So, I hunt online. I pick someone. Someone who is intrigued by my sexual assault fantasy. When I enter the room, that same click resonates in my brain. The same click that happened on the mountain. I flip from survivor to willing victim and I am able to feel those little shoots of pleasure vine from my core throughout my limbs.
No one makes me feel like Holden did, but then again, none of these men attempt to learn my body. What it likes, what it needs. This is only a quick fix. A hit to keep me sated because I do not want to replace Holden. My dysphoria craves the feeling. The memories. Even if they are cursory.
I need to abandon this town for the night. Go and fuck around. I log into my laptop and bring up Craigslist. I spend a few minutes searching for the right one. I don’t really want to go out, but my body does. I know it is not right. I know it is wanton and odd.
I ask for a picture of his hands in my email to him. It is a strange request but one that weeds out the serious ones from the amateurs. The serious ones always send a picture of their hands—no questions asked.
I am only flesh and bone. Since Holden, only a flicker of flame lives inside me. I try to kindle it by succumbing to my darker desires. I need the pain to enjoy the pleasure.
The last time I tried to date, months ago, ended in disaster. When I finally felt ready to be intimate. When I finally stripped bare. When he saw my scars. He panicked, though I had warned him. To make matters worse, the very normal sex left me feeling unfulfilled and repugnant. Polluted.
I’ve pondered, in my nyctophilia, the heart of the matter and although I don’t think Dr. Richardson would think it is healthy, it is safe. As safe as it can be, anyhow. If I get a bad feeling, I walk away. It is not a done deal when I email back. I still have an out. And I’ve used it. I keep waiting. Holding my breath for that moment. The one where bats fill my belly and flutter. I keep expecting to find another Holden. One who lives among society. A docile version perhaps. One who is also looking for me. I shut my laptop and change my top before heading out.
I have not had good luck. But these one night stands suit me just fine. I do not think I can be bothered to sustain a relationship, if a spark doesn’t ignite from the first instant together.
I sigh and take my seat at the bar. I always come to the same bar. Just far enough from home to be anonymous. The drive here is only thirty minutes. I miss green eyes, long, unruly hair and defined muscles. I miss the scent of an outdoorsman. The bartender nods. I never speak to him, but this is where I tell all my ... conquests, to meet me. He slides a beer at me. I never drink it. I wait. Wait for my Craigslist guy to arrive.
The music on the jukebox is not my predilection. It is too loud and too chaotic for my taste. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I glance casually around. Nothing is out of place. It all appears status quo. A head interrupts my gaze.
“Hi?”
I take him in. He doesn’t look like much. A smallish man with a kind face. “Gill?” He nods.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Is that really relevant?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I mean, it’d be nice to know, like, one thing about you.”
“Can I see your hands?” I ask. He holds them out on the bar, palms up. “I’m writing a book,” I say. There, one truth for him.
His ear-to-ear grin is cute. Not rugged. Not infectious or endearing, just winsome. He is diminutive. Maybe only an inch or two taller than I am. His clothes are Target or Walmart. Not that it matters. I check him over and decide that perhaps, he can inflict some, but not much, pain. But it is adequate for tonight. I lean in and whisper to him that I will follow him to a hotel.
***
Liam
I sense what is coming before I see it. I can feel it through the soles of my boots.
She sits with her back to the wall, one foot dangling toward the floor, the other propped up on the bar stool next to her. Her long legs tease. Who is she meeting? There was no mention of going anywhere in her emails to Eve or Aubry. I saw her Craigslist search history, which led me to look through her emails. I really should thank my guy from The Black for getting me access to Nora’s passwords. There was a short and to the point chain between her and an anonymous Craigslist email address asking for pictures of hands. Which made me chuckle. What the hell is that about? But the respondent sent a picture and Nora replied with a place to meet. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up like they have been zapped with static electricity. A man comes in. Sits down next to her.
I watch from my booth near the back. He chats her up. All five foot ten of him. Every last scraggly blond hair and the cheap clothes he wears, light up around her. I don’t blame the poor sucker, she’s out of his league and he’s probably thanking the one-night-stand- Gods that she’s even humoring him with curt conversation. He nods at something she says. His eyes glow with anticipation at whatever she’s said to him. He slides off the barstool and walks out with a grin on his face. I scowl because I don’t like being in the dark. I like facts. I like power and knowledge and right now, I have neither.
She sits one arm on the bar, her hand wrapped around a glass of beer. It is still full, but the foam has long since dissolved. AC/DC blaring on the jukebox, she drops her foot off the stool, and puts five bucks on the bar. The bartender swipes it up, and watches her go. A little too closely for my liking. I leave a twenty on the table and stand when she’s through the door.
I count to five before following her to the parking lot.
She’s in the arms of that little gremlin from the bar. She followed him to a cheap motel. The shades are threadbare and I can see their silhouettes from my parking spot. His arms lift her shirt up and over her head. I reach into my trousers. Her body wiggles back and forth as she shimmies from her jeans. I fist my cock. I watch his shadow meld against hers. I stroke. Up slowly, then down. They shift, his arms extend and she flies backward to the bed. A low growl escapes me. Apparently, she likes it rough. I tighten my grip and stroke myself faster. For her. For that milky white skin I can almost feel, if I concentrate hard enough. For that crimson hair that is probably softer than silk.
The idiot’s body straddles hers. I can see the outline of his arms pinning hers to the bed. Is this what she craves? Their silhouettes move, but not together, against each other. She is pushing against him. A pang of irritation flits through me. I want to intervene. He should not be touching her. She belongs to me. He flicks off the lamp and casts my world in blackness. I close my eyes, rest my head against the headrest and imagine Nora beneath me. Her soft lips wrapped around my hard cock. Her tongue massaging it. Her wide, innocent eyes begging me to go easy on her. But I don’t. I thrust in with an eagerness that only schoolboys possess their first time around. When I come, it makes me shiver.
After me, she will never troll Craigslist again. I will fill her up so entirely, she’ll beg me not to leave her.
But I will.