Chapter 3 #9
“Neither one of us is the man,” Susan says. “That’s the whole point, you absolute fucking asswipe.” She’s not sure where asswipe came from, but she’s thankful for its accuracy.
This seems to tickle him further, and he laughs again. “Well, see you around,” he says, and walks away.
“Oh my god, I hate him,” Susan says, her voice shaking with rage. “I can’t believe he said that.”
Eliza’s face suddenly looks different, closed off, drawn inward. She drops Susan’s hand, finishes her champagne in one sip, and slams the glass down on a cocktail table so hard, Susan is surprised it doesn’t shatter.
“Are you okay?” Susan asks.
Instead of answering, Eliza says, “Want to go make out in the bathroom?”
“Right now?” Susan asks, confused.
“Right now.”
Susan follows Eliza to the elevated porta-potties Katie has rented for the evening.
But in the single-occupancy bathroom, which smells like bleach and piss and some sort of Glade plug-in chemical sea breeze, the music and conversation from the party muffled through the door, they don’t make out at all.
Instead, Eliza says, “I think I’ll feel better if you just fuck me.”
Dutifully, Susan unbuckles Eliza’s belt and unzips her pants, which fall to the floor. Eliza turns around so they’re both facing the mirror and leans back into her. Susan wraps her arms around Eliza, kisses her neck, runs her hands over her chest.
Eliza watches Susan in the mirror as she brings Susan’s hand into her underwear. She tilts her head back onto Susan’s shoulder.
“Are you sure?” Susan asks, her fingers colliding with dry skin.
“Yes,” Eliza says.
Susan traces nervous circles around Eliza’s clit, trying not to go too fast too soon. She’s not sure how to touch someone who doesn’t seem to be aroused.
“Just press on it for a second,” Eliza says, sounding annoyed.
Susan holds her fingers firmly and kisses Eliza’s neck, ignoring her tone. The wetness comes, finally, hot and slick, a relief. Eliza does want this; she probably just also had too much to drink.
“Okay, now go,” Eliza says, and Susan resumes.
There is something almost unbearably hot about having felt the exact moment Eliza became wet, and Susan has to stop herself from humping Eliza’s back like a dog.
She’s ashamed of how desperately attracted she is to Eliza, like she’s back in high school and her desires are dirty, need to be kept secret.
The shame is even more of a turn-on. She wonders, not for the first time, what is wrong with her.
“Shit,” Eliza says, too loudly. “Fuck. That feels so good. Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”
“Be quiet,” Susan says, worried the party guests will hear.
Eliza keeps moaning, as if in defiance of her request, so Susan puts her free hand over Eliza’s mouth.
Eliza bites the fleshy part of Susan’s thumb, at first gently and then harder, too hard.
Susan tries to pull away, but Eliza won’t let her, holding Susan’s skin pinched between her front teeth.
Minutes pass like this, though how many, Susan can’t be sure.
The pain is making it hard to measure time.
As Eliza starts to come, she digs her teeth in harder and harder and harder. The pain is almost blinding now, but Susan doesn’t ask her to stop, doesn’t even say ow. She keeps telling herself it’ll be over soon. The more Eliza convulses against her, the deeper her teeth go into Susan’s flesh.
Tears prickle in her eyes. Don’t cry, she tells herself. Don’t even think about it.
Finally, Eliza releases her.
Susan examines the bite while Eliza steadies herself on the edge of the sink, panting.
Beads of blood are appearing around a set of teeth marks, a yellow bruise already blooming behind it.
Eliza, still out of breath, turns around and inspects it. “I can’t believe you let me do that. Why didn’t you tell me I was hurting you?”
“I didn’t want to ruin your orgasm,” Susan says. She wonders if she needs a tetanus shot.
“I didn’t need to wound you to get off.” Eliza pulls away from her and yanks her pants up. She sounds angry—confusing, considering Susan is the one bleeding.
“Then why did you?”
“I wasn’t really thinking,” Eliza says, buckling her belt. “I guess I haven’t been thinking since the moment we matched.”
“What does that mean?” Susan says. Her hand is throbbing now.
“Nothing,” Eliza says. “You should wash your hands. I’ll meet you back out there.”
Susan’s hands are shaking as she scrubs the bite marks with soap that smells like roses.
“Get a grip,” she whispers to her reflection.
The girl in the mirror just stares back, disheveled and bewildered.
Night falls. Katie and Jake’s families slur their way through speeches, and then the dance floor fills with drunk relatives bumping into the stressed-out caterers as they hold hands and spin around.
Susan’s thumb feels like it’s been set on fire. She wants to amputate it.
She gets two flutes of champagne and brings them back to their seats, but Eliza has left the table.
Susan finds her in the doorway, looking out into the cold night. Clouds are coming in, blocking the stars that have only just started flickering into view.
Susan gives Eliza the drink, and Eliza takes it without looking at her.
The wind is picking up more now, and the air feels heavy. Snow begins falling in soft, silent clusters.
“Did I do something wrong?” Susan asks.
Finally, Eliza turns to her. “No,” she says. “I’m sorry. I think I’m just tired.”
Susan doesn’t believe her. It’s like Eliza has closed a door in Susan’s face. Eliza has become as cold as the snow.
“How often do you see him?” Eliza asks. “Kyle.”
“Never. I avoid him. But, I mean, he’s around,” she says. “He’s still Jake’s best friend.”
A large snowflake lands on Susan’s cheek and she brushes it away.
“Can we leave?” Eliza says.
“Leave? Katie would kill me,” she says, but as she says it, she looks over at Katie, who seems too drunk to notice anyone but Jake; their arms are wrapped around each other and Katie’s face is buried completely in Jake’s neck, his hair falling over hers. Katie won’t notice.
“I can call a cab,” Eliza says.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Susan says, destroyed by the idea of Eliza leaving without her. “I’ll drive us.”
They walk quickly to the car, and Susan drives as carefully as possible through the terrifying darkness of the winding country roads while snow falls all around them.
It’s not necessarily a dangerous storm, but she’s definitely too buzzed to be driving.
It feels like a miracle when they get back to the Airbnb unscathed.
Eliza strips her clothes off and lies down on the sofa.
Susan sits on the edge of it, wanting to talk more about what has changed between them, but she’s not sure what to say.
Instead, she busies herself by looking around at the Airbnb’s decor, the white shag rug and the wooden mid-century modern furniture, wondering about the people who live below and what their lives must be like, out here in the country.
She imagines that it’s peaceful. Not anything like her life in Brooklyn.
She would bet they’re in love, that they never question their love for each other. That they can talk about anything.
When Susan turns to look back at her, Eliza has fallen asleep.
Susan lays a blanket over her and then finds a first aid kit in the bathroom. She disinfects the bite, swearing under her breath as the hydrogen peroxide bubbles. She wraps her hand in gauze and gets into bed alone.
Susan is pulled from a heavy slumber by the sound of her phone vibrating on the nightstand.
For a few seconds she doesn’t know where she is, and her eyes have a hard time adjusting.
Her hand is throbbing. The phone keeps vibrating.
She sees Eliza sprawled out on the couch, holding a cushion over her face.
She reaches for the phone.
“Yeah?” Her voice comes out hoarse and strained.
She had way too much to drink and not enough water, dinner, or sleep. A deadly combination. She knows she’s on borrowed time until she starts throwing up.
“Sorry to wake you. This is your Airbnb host,” a woman’s voice says. “The Volvo station wagon in front of the house. That’s yours, right?”
“Yeah?” she says again. Oh no, she thinks.
“You’re going to want to come look at it,” the voice says.
Susan hangs up and ventures outside, where the sky is bright blue and cloudless, reflected in the freezing puddles on the ground and the icicles dangling from the house. It hurts Susan’s eyes. Even the birdsong feels offensive, little high-pitched personal attacks.
And then she sees it. There’s a tree lying on top of her car, which has nearly folded in two under the weight. The ground is littered with broken glass.
She gasps, bringing her hands to her face.
It’s totaled. She’ll have to get it towed.
“Fuck,” she groans.
She looks up at the sky. A raven floats overhead, riding a gust of wind. She wishes she could go back in time and do this whole weekend over again. She blows on her fingers for warmth while she calls a tow truck.
She’s loved this car, but she probably won’t get a new one.
She doesn’t really need to drive that much anymore.
She probably shouldn’t have held on to it for this long, but some things are just harder to let go of.
She can’t believe her bad luck. If the car had been parked a few feet to the left, it would have been fine.
Back inside, Eliza is sitting up, scrolling through her phone.
“How do you feel about the Metro-North?” Susan asks.
Without looking up, Eliza says, “Sounds good.”
Susan’s stomach churns and she runs to the bathroom, kicking the door closed behind her as she falls to her knees on the cold tile.
Last night’s champagne and crudités froth out of her mouth with surprising violence.
She clutches the lid, her face dripping with sweat and saliva and tears.
Her hair clings to her wet cheeks. She wonders if she could flush her whole body down the toilet, disappear forever into the sewer, join a family of rats, eat garbage.