The Expense of Spirit in Waste of Shame
Lying as still as she could, sleep refused to come. Kerr breathed deeply only a metre away. Then shallower, until Lusa heard nothing but a steady rhythm, not unlike the gentle waves on a calm night. She was asleep.
And Lusa was not.
Her thoughts drifted to the hidden place she stashed things for later, as if Kerr might somehow have access to her mind when she was awake, but now, asleep, Lusa could examine them in private.
Kerr liked her.
Not in the way that the girls at the Lake liked her. To them, Lusa was only a placeholder. Someone with enough muscle and masculine energy that they could pretend while they waited for what they really wanted.
Despite what Pinga believed, Lusa knew the ones who wanted more, didn’t really. Not that Lusa believed they were faking attraction – they didn’t know what they were asking for. The real Lusa was all-consuming. The real Lusa would ruin them both.
But Kerr had seen a hint of it and kept looking. How absurd was that? How cruel that such a possibility existed here? Lusa took a deep breath, carefully, so as not to wake Kerr.
Kerr was cute, though Lusa doubted she would appreciate the moniker.
Smaller than average, perhaps. Her hair, black now, instead of the strawberry blonde she had seen ten years ago.
And slicked back. It made the paleness of her skin stand out even more.
Without the freckles, she would blind you on a cloudless day.
She probably got a sunburn in the moonlight.
Lusa found her lips moving. Before the illicit thought had resolved itself in her brain, her body ached to taste it. How many freckles would she touch in a single press of her lips?
A familiar warmth blossomed where it shouldn’t, though that wasn’t new to her either. Lusa had seen hundreds of girls who weren’t for her. Her body never seemed to get the message. Lusa gripped the blanket tighter. If she ignored it long enough, it would go away.
But here, in the dark, save the repetitive five-second flicker that signalled a change of ads outside, Lusa’s mind had no-where else to go. Kerr liked her. Maybe even the real her.
Lusa rolled onto her back, shuffling soft synthetic fabrics. Each movement bringing a fresh wave of her scent. Kerr had kissed her. Fierce and protective. Lusa had never been kissed like that. She didn’t know how to feel. Irritatingly, her body decided for her. Again.
In the moment, Lusa hadn’t understood. They were enemies. Enemies that kiss. What comes after that? Do you keep going? Do you ignore it? Brush it off as a drunken mistake?
And now her heart pounded so loudly that she feared she’d wake the entire building. Ludicrous, of course. How could she compete with the sirens, music and gun shots outside? Still. Kerr had kissed her. And she had let her.
Lusa inhaled deeply. Dwelling on it was pointless.
Once she got Pinga, she would never see Kerr again.
Never have to remind herself that someone was out there who could like her for her.
She exhaled slowly, imagining her breath carrying the lust away.
Kerr would never have a chance to break through her carefully constructed walls. She was safe. They both were.
Yet, her body refused to comply. It held on to the touch, to the memory of flesh against hers. A Tantalus hungering for more.
Stupid Pinga. This was her fault. If she hadn’t gone chasing after every pretty girl that flashed her a smile, she wouldn’t be here. Her heart wouldn’t be reeling after one stupid kiss.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair that she could exercise until her muscles ached and her fingers bled and still be taken down so easily. What good was training if your heart betrayed you?
What would have happened if Kerr had wanted more, right there on the dance floor? Lusa knew immediately – she would have fallen like black spruce needles at the slightest breeze in winter. If Kerr had tried, she wouldn’t have protested. She would have let her take whatever she wanted.
Kerr could have knocked her back on to the bed. She would have toppled over with a mere breath. Tiny Kerr, with her ridiculous hair and glowing skin and her small, but oh-so kissable mouth, would straddle her, triumphant. She’d wear an arrogant grin on her impish face.
How humiliating that the thought brought a rush. Lusa tried to make her feelings fit. Kerr wanted it, not her. It wasn’t her chasing this impossible possibility. The real Lusa could remain safely behind her walls and let Kerr take the rest.
If that kiss was any indication, Kerr excelled at taking. Not like the flaccid passion of the girls who didn’t really like girls. And for the ones who did, Lusa played the stone – safest for everyone. Lusa was too much, regardless of what they thought.
Would she if she could? Lusa tried to cool herself – exhale the heat of want. It failed a second time.
Fuck. She was wide awake now. She turned her head, careful not to rustle the pillow too loudly. Kerr’s silhouette lay on the sofa, unmoving and facing away from her.
Lusa shut her eyes. Kerr was so small. Lusa would barely feel her weight. And yet, the power she had over her! What if she touched her neck? Ran the pads of her fingers across the hollow of her throat? Felt the rise and fall of her chest as her lungs tried to cope with being so exposed?
Lusa ran the length of her finger across a nipple. It leapt to meet her. This battle was lost already. Lusa rolled it softly before pulling just a bit. The slight pinch and accompanying rush of blood caused a flood of warmth. The gentle flowering below bloomed into a dull ache.
How would Kerr’s fingers feel around it? Would she be too gentle? Rough? What about her artificial arm? How much could she feel? What about her tongue? The wet heat and tug of suction or the scrape of teeth?
Lusa let go. She should stop. Breathe. Let her pulse slow. Kerr was literally in the room. It didn’t matter if she was asleep. What if she awoke? She would be mortified.
Lusa huffed. No, she wouldn’t. She would probably jump at the opportunity. Kerr was already interested in her – at least in that way. But could she ever stop hating her, really?
The ache pulsed, reminding Lusa that it was there. She dug her fingernails into her palm, knowing as well as her body did that hate would be a minor obstacle. If she allowed herself, sex with her would be a violent, bloody affair. The flowers were carnivorous. She was too much.
Lusa frowned so hard her forehead hurt. Regardless of everything else, she needed to go to sleep and her body was refusing to let that happen.
This situation was temporary and her feelings were moot. She could solve this problem like everything else expected of her. Imagination couldn’t hurt anyone.
Picturing Kerr’s head between her legs, Lusa exhaled.
She could imagine how it would feel to have her lips press into her thighs.
Her fingers laced through her hair. The slight pull exposing her clit.
Those thoughts were alright as long as they didn’t manifest into anything.
They’re serving a purpose, she told herself. Clearing unwanted distractions.
Her nipples felt like they would cut glass. She pulled just hard enough that she wouldn’t scream, the pain making her clit throb. Worrying over why she liked it like this had caused more sleepless nights than she could count, but tonight wouldn’t be among them.
Her fingers found the spot – hot to the touch already. She slid her index and middle finger around it, tugging just a little with her knuckles. She enjoyed pain here too, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep from making noise if she indulged tonight. That would be too far.
Fingertips curled just inside. That part always felt the best. The first sparks of a fire that would roar to life before it caused unspeakable destruction. The anticipation of sore mornings and ruined mattresses.
Here, in this secret compartment in her mind, her fingertips could be anything. Kerr’s artificial hand. Kerr’s tongue. Anything else Kerr might surprise her with, as long as it was Kerr’s. Lusa reached farther toward the flame.
How did that feel? The tongue of someone who actually wanted you? The tongue of someone who knew your violence? Who embraced it? Who knelt to worship at its altar? Would they circle and tease? Prolong the ritual? Take their time to remain in her presence as long as possible?
Or her fingers? Those ceramic composite ones. She could have asked Pinga, but then she would have told her, in great detail, no less. Pinga’s arm was an older model prosthetic anyway.
Were Kerr’s fingers always warm? How would that feel? Like a lifeless object, or a treasured possession reaching to bless her most intimate places? The thought roused the darkness Lusa kept hidden, secure and locked away.
But in her mind, it was free to play. Would Kerr like it if she grabbed her hair?
Beg while she fucked her mouth? What if Lusa stole the breath from her lungs?
If Lusa kissed the filth from her lips? If Lusa swallowed her name as it fell?
If her teeth broke the skin? If Lusa lost control. She wouldn’t be able to stop.
What would Kerr think then?
Or would she ask for more?
That tipped her over. A muted release, but she still tasted blood on her tongue. It could never happen. Never be real. Never be more than thoughts.