You really have been so supportive of me, he says. What with the depression and everything, not to linger on that too much, but you really helped me a lot.
You don’t owe me anything.
No, I know. I didn’t mean that.
She sits up, swings her feet off the bed, puts her face down in her hands.
I’m getting anxious now, he says. I hope you don’t feel like I’m rejecting you.
Don’t be anxious. Everything’s fine. I might head home now, if that’s okay.
I can drop you.
You don’t want to miss the second half, she says. I’ll walk, it’s alright.
She starts putting her shoes on.
I forgot there was even a match on, to be honest, he says.
But he doesn’t get up or look for his keys. She stands up and smooths her skirt down. He’s sitting on the bed watching her, an attentive, almost nervous expression on his face.
Okay, she says. Bye.
He reaches for her hand and she gives it to him without thinking. For a second he holds it, his thumb moving over her knuckles. Then he lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses it. She feels pleasurably crushed under the weight of his power over her, the vast ecstatic depth of her will to please him. That’s nice, she says. He nods. She feels a low gratifying ache inside her body, in her pelvic bone, in her back.
I’m just nervous, he says. I feel like it’s pretty obvious I don’t want you to leave.
In a tiny voice she says: I don’t find it obvious what you want.
He gets up and stands in front of her. Like a trained animal she stays stock-still, every nerve bristling. She wants to whimper out loud. He puts his hands on her hips and she lets him kiss her open mouth. The sensation is so extreme she feels faint.
I want this so much, she says.
It’s really nice to hear you say that. I’m going to switch the TV off, if that’s okay.
She gets onto the bed while he switches off the television. He sits beside her and they kiss again. His touch has a narcotic effect. A pleasurable stupidity comes over her, she wants very badly to remove her clothes. She lies back against the quilt and he leans over her. It has been years now. She feels his cock pressed hard against her hip and she shudders with the punishing force of her desire.
Hm, he says. I missed you.
It’s not like this with other people.
Well, I like you a lot more than other people.
He kisses her again and she feels his hands on her body. She is an abyss that he can reach into, an empty space for him to fill. Blindly, mechanically, she starts removing her clothes, and she can hear him unbuckle his belt. Time seems so elastic, stretched out by sound and motion. She lies on her front and presses her face into the mattress, and he touches the back of her thigh with his hand. Her body is just an item of property, and though it has been handed around and misused in various ways, it has somehow always belonged to him, and she feels like returning it to him now.
I actually don’t have condoms, he says.
It’s okay, I’m on the pill.
He touches her hair. She feels his fingertips brush the back of her neck.
Do you want it like this? he says.
However you want.
He gets on top of her, one hand planted on the mattress beside her face, the other in her hair.
I haven’t done this in a while, he says.
That’s okay.
When he’s inside her she hears her own voice crying out again and again, strange raw cries. She wants to hold onto him but she can’t, and she feels her right hand clawing uselessly at the quilt. He bends down so his face is a little closer to her ear.
Marianne? he says. Can we do this again like, next weekend and so on?
Whenever you want to.
He takes hold of her hair, not pulling it, just holding it in his hand. Whenever I want, really? he says.
You can do anything you want with me.
He makes a noise in his throat, leans into her a little harder. That’s nice, he says.
Her voice sounds hoarse now. Do you like me saying that? she says.
Yeah, a lot.
Will you tell me I belong to you?
What do you mean? he says.
She says nothing, just breathes hard into the quilt and feels her own breath on her face. Connell pauses now, waiting for her to say something.
Will you hit me? she says.
For a few seconds she hears nothing, not even his breath.
No, he says. I don’t think I want that. Sorry.
She says nothing.
Is that okay? he asks.
She still says nothing.
Do you want to stop? he says.
She nods her head. She feels his weight lift off her. She feels empty again and suddenly chill. He sits on the bed and pulls the quilt over himself. She lies there face down, not moving, unable to think of any acceptable movement.
Are you okay? he says. I’m sorry I didn’t want to do that, I just think it would be weird. I mean, not weird, but … I don’t know. I don’t think it would be a good idea.
Her breasts ache from lying flat like this and her face prickles.
You think I’m weird? she says.
I didn’t say that. I just meant, you know, I don’t want things to be weird between us.
She feels terribly hot now, sour heat, all over her skin and in her eyes. She sits up, faces the window, pushes her hair out of her face.
