flood zone #3
Lilith is all ears. Bated breath.
“I died.”
Now she’s listening. Truly listening. Her eyes still, that energy trapped within channeling itself to a laser-like focus on
me. I have her. All of her. Even the air in her lungs.
“How?”
“Accident. I met the fender of an SUV that wasn’t being so friendly. Hit the street and didn’t come back to the land of the
living for a while. I was gone for nearly two minutes.”
“Two minutes is a long time.”
“Felt like an eternity.”
Lilith leans closer. We’re sharing air now. “And what did you see? On the other side?”
I hesitate. Give it some sincere thought. A shudder runs down my broken spine, the mended bones rerouting the nerve endings
in sharp, jagged zigzagging turns.
“Nothing,” I finally say. “Absolute blackness. Then . . .”
Lilith’s lips part. I can just barely make out her tongue running against the back of her teeth. The gold flecks in her hazel
eyes brighten, nearly seethe with heat. “And . . . then?”
what adorable morsel is this
I can’t tell her. Can’t open up about the other side. The abyss of it all. That’d scare her straight the hell away. So I chicken
out and give her a half-truth, which isn’t the same as a half-lie, skipping to the aftershock. “I woke up in a hospital bed.
Three days of my life, all gone. Coma.” I’ve never shared this—this much—with a complete stranger. There haven’t been many
opportunities to spill, truth told, but . . . still. It feels strange. Really strange. Giving this story over to someone else.
Someone new. It feels like a confession, somehow.
I’ve laid my soul bare. What’s she going to do with it, I wonder?
Absolve me? Is that what I want?
Absolution?
Lilith brings her hand up to my face. It’s an oddly tender gesture, given the soundtrack. At first, I figure she’s going to
stroke my cheek, poor you, or something like that, but no . . . She’s examining me. Studying me. Taking in every nook and cranny my skin offers.
“Look at you,” she says. I don’t understand. “Just look.”
The edges of the Flood Zone begin to blur. The corners of the club aren’t there any longer. Everyone’s bodies blend. Limbs
don’t want to keep rigid anymore. Flesh loosens.
Lilith leans into my ear and whispers, “Come with me.” Her breath rushes over my skin. The very heat of it burns.
I reel back just enough to take in her face. Her grin. There’s nothing malevolent about it, but I sense the danger there. The risk. I can’t say I trust her. Not yet. “Where to?”
“Where you belong.”
Before the words can really sink in and I second-guess myself, Lilith has my arm.
She’s pulling me away from the bar.
My balance is gone. Equilibrium killed. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been depending on the bar to hold me afloat. Without
it, I’m adrift. Lost in a sea of swirling bodies. I’m getting dragged toward the stage, closer to the Inquisition.
“I don’t know if I . . .” The words fade from my mouth. The bodies all around press against my arms, my shoulders. I’m getting
squeezed.
Lilith hasn’t broken eye contact with me. She’s backing through the crowd, paying no attention to whoever is in her way, pushing
toward the center of the dance floor.
Into the pit.
This is when I resist. I pull back on my own arm, hesitant. I can’t go in there. Not in the goddamn mosh pit. I’ve spent the
last eleven months of my life in physical therapy, letting my body mend. All the screws and pins are barely holding me together.
“Hold up,” I say as I glance over Lilith’s shoulder to take in the whirlpool of windmilling bodies. We’re going to get sucked
in. We’re going to drown.
Lilith tightens her grip. It actually hurts. Her fingernails dig into my skin, fighting against my resistance. She’s not going
to let go. Not yet.
“Don’t worry,” she says. I think she says. Her lips are moving, and I can just barely decipher the words, reading the manipulations
of her mouth. Her voice is in my head.
“I’ve got you,” she says. We’re getting closer, like we’re walking right into a hurricane.
The bodies embrace us. It’s like we’ve entered the very eye of the storm, breaking through the barrier of a tornado of flesh and bone, the swirling vortex of sweating people ringing the two of us. Lilith’s other hand finds me and we’re now hand in hand.
Lilith starts to spin, so I start to spin.
Our hands keep their grip, holding each other tight, as we both lean back and twirl, going against the rotation of the mosh
pit, creating our own oppositional flow.
We’re spinning . . .
Spinning . . .
Spinning . . .
And I pray to God, pray to something, that I never stop. Never let go of her.
Never. I don’t ever want to stop spinning . . .
Spinning . . .
Spinning . . .
Suddenly everything goes silent. The music drops out. The maelstrom still moves around us, but I can’t help but feel an odd
stillness in the very center of the dance floor.
It’s just me and Lilith in the heart of all this violence. She leans into me and presses her lips against mine. The heat seething
from her body rushes over me and I succumb to it.
I let go. Give in. Give her everything.