Lupine Dreams Pt. 01 Ch. 01-04

Author's note: The story is completed and I plan to post (roughly) weekly in 15 parts of 2-4 chapters each based on how the story breaks naturally.

This is a romance through and through, meant to appeal to your heart, not as much to other parts (; Sex plays a large role thematically, but occurs sporadically. Readers who want to get lost in a vivid, modern character study of imperfect, emotional people trying their best will enjoy, but I do suggest trying not to skim or skip. I know that's how I sometimes read stories, even ones I like! But here, the payoff is in the details. If you connect with the characters, then you'll enjoy the ride (:

Thank you to LaRascasse for helping to edit the first four chapters and for selflessly being an active part of the volunteer editor program. And for all his invaluable insight, thank you to thatsbogus, whose kindness and generosity to a new-ish author with little track record is outdone only by his skill in spinning sexy yarns starring stellar characters.

***

Chapter 1

"You gotta open yourself up to the universe of pussy, my man," Paul had told him a week ago. "And brother, the universe of pussy will open herself up to you!"

It had seemed so abstract at the time that Andrew just went along with it. Paul had that effect on people.

Now that the universe of pussy was about to arrive at his front door, Andrew took a deep breath, trying to psych himself up. It'd been years since he'd been with a woman, and he wasn't afraid to admit to himself he was nervous. Especially because the woman on her way over was... not exactly his type.

The only reason he was on Tinder in the first place was because Paul had made him, told him it was time to just get back out there. It's not that Andrew disagreed... just... it wasn't easy.

Glancing at his reflection in the full-length mirror on the wall next to the bed, Andrew tried to imagine he was the woman on her way over for a quickie.

His whole life he'd had a bit of a babyface, which was annoying at the start, but now in his mid-30s, it suddenly wasn't such a bad thing. His deep brown eyes matched his cropped hair, which was just long enough to look a little messy. He'd been getting ready for bed when she messaged him, so he was only dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants.

Andrew knew he wasn't unattractive, even though at 36, he wasn't the guy he'd been at say, 26. He had never been the type to be physically attractive, anyway. He wasn't a big guy -- pretty average height, pretty average build. He'd never had a six pack or even lifted weights.

Still, he wasn't in bad shape and kept active. He had a little more squishiness on him since he turned 30, but he'd long since passed the age where he was insecure about that sort of thing. Whatever success he'd had with women was because of what he was working with from the neck up, not what was below.

A one-night stand with a stranger though... that was something that had always been outside of his comfort zone, no matter what age he was.

But that's the whole point of this. Something meaningless and quick with somebody I'll never meet again.

Then he wouldn't have to worry about how it went, exactly -- just that it finally went. That's how Paul had explained it, anyway. And he'd imposed only one rule: no swiping left.

Well, Andrew hadn't strictly followed that rule -- there were some profiles that he figured even Paul would be okay with him skipping -- but he'd mostly swiped right. It didn't mean he got a ton of bites, though.

That's how he ended up sitting on the edge of his bed, regretting opening himself up to the universe, anxiously awaiting one of the few women who did actually message him: Selena.

If he hadn't been already, her photos were enough to make him nervous. She was a tatted-up 23-year-old who'd exchanged a few messages with him over the past week -- just small talk about what they were looking for. But her messages were always terse and came after midnight, when Andrew was usually asleep, so he hadn't really seen her as a likely prospect to break his drought.

Tonight, though, she'd been blunt, and he'd been awake:

lets meet. address?

He smiled at the mirror, trying to show himself a confidence he didn't feel. He wasn't sure what he was more nervous about: if she was lying and was just coming to rob him, or if she wasn't and actually wanted to fuck.

His phone buzzed.

here

Andrew took a deep breath, forcing himself to get up and make his way to his front door. He lived in a modest two-bedroom duplex, plenty of room for a bachelor like him and about as nice as he could comfortably afford on his teacher's salary.

He took his time, and his whole body slowed the closer he got to the door.

Why am I even doing this??

But... it was too late now. All he could do was try to be positive.

Come on, open yourself to the universe of pussy!

He plastered the best faux smile he could muster on his face and summoned all the courage he had, swinging open the door.

Looking back at him was, he presumed, Selena.

She looked pretty much like her photos -- a kid in her early 20s, fresh-faced but with a look in her pale, steel-blue eyes like she'd seen more shit than most people her age. Certainly more than he ever had. Or maybe it was just a carefully curated façade.

Then again, what 23-year-old isn't?

She was 5-6 inches shorter than him, with a slight build and pale complexion that told him she probably didn't see the sun a whole lot.

Her piercings and tattoos jumped out to him in person, just as they had in her profile pics. Both eyebrows were pierced with multiple silver rings, and a nostril had a single silver, square stud in it. Silver studs and rings lined the outside of her ears, too, from top to bottom, and various bracelets and bands rattled on her thin wrists.

The general punkish vibe was completed by closely shaved, jet-black hair on the sides that jutted up into a tight, dark green undercut fauxhawk. He couldn't help but wonder how long the whole ensemble took to get on and off.

From her profile pictures, Andrew knew she had a lot of tattoos up and down her arms at least, but they were covered now by a dark gray, oversized zip-up hoodie that looked like it might've been as old as she was.

The only ink showing, though, was unmissable even lit only by the dim porch light and the sliver of the moon poking through the clouds: a snarling wolf's mouth, the bottom set of fangs sticking up from beneath her thin, gray V-neck and the top set on the underside of her chin.

Hanging from one hand was a faded, beat-up canvas backpack, and in the other, a cigarette that she pulled from her lips and dropped to the stoop outside his door, crushing it with one of her worn Converse.

What the hell am I getting into, Andrew thought to himself. Open yourself to the universe, open yourself to the universe....

She was clearly sizing him up, too, and her body language said she was unimpressed.

"Umm, hey, I'm--" he started to stammer.

The stranger pushed past him and into his living room, her head swiveling from left to right, taking everything in. She had a hand inside her backpack, and Andrew suddenly thought maybe she was here to rob him.

When he didn't move, she turned back to him.

"Anybody else here?" she said. Her voice was clipped and flat, and not as naturally low as she was trying to make it sound, he was sure.

He didn't know exactly how to answer that.... No, no one was here, but if she were going to rob him, isn't that the first thing she'd ask...?

Her eyes flicked around his living room and the open kitchen next to it, as if she expected someone else to pop out. A silly sense of relief washed over him.

Oh! She's not gonna rob me, she's worried I'm gonna murder her!

He shook his head, trying not to look... well, as if this were his first time hooking up on Tinder.

She didn't seem to relax much, but at least seemed a little less tense. He got the sense she probably didn't do a whole lot of relaxing. Instead of her flinty eyes darting around his place, now she stood next to the couch, clearly giving him a closer inspection than she had at the door.

Andrew didn't know what to say.

"Umm--"

She interrupted him. "Couch or bedroom?"

This was not going the way he'd hoped. She was... kind of unpleasant, and her posture said she was just as impatient.

Is this what one-night stands are?

Maybe he wasn't ready for this after all.

"Uh, bedroom," he said, a little more resignation leaking into his voice than he'd intended. He tried to smile and walked past her to lead her down the short hallway.

His bedroom was neat enough and plain -- a reflection of himself. Selena walked in behind him and dropped her backpack next to the bed, taking off her hoodie.

Her loose T-shirt left her midriff exposed, showing parts of tattoos he couldn't make out covering up what was otherwise more pale skin. A pair of wolves in miniature charged down each arm -- as if emerging from a hazy cloud into sharp relief below her elbows -- but that was all he could distinguish clearly.

Without the baggy hoodie, he could tell now she probably weighed over 100 pounds -- though it couldn't be by much. But her small frame was tensed, giving off the effect of a tightly wound coil rather than some wispy waif.

As she shimmied out of her tight, ripped, black jeans -- kicking them off along with her shoes -- she noticed he was just standing there, gaping. He couldn't help it. Her legs seemed disproportionately long, and her skin looked smooth and soft in a way skin never did after 30.

Andrew realized he hadn't seen a woman naked since... well he didn't want to think about the last time it'd happened, but it was a long time ago. Everything had all been theoretical until this moment.

But now... now there was this woman in his room -- this girl really, because he must seem ancient to someone like her. Certainly she suddenly seemed young to him.

His cock was more excited about this new reality than it'd been about anything in years, though, and it was eager to get the show on the road. Every other part of him was anxious, and suddenly more and more sure this was a mistake.

I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready to have sex with this woman I don't know, who's expecting a good time with some guy who knows what he's doing. She's 23 -- this is probably like, Plan C for her on a Saturday night.

She didn't say anything about his stare as she sat on the edge of the bed, her gray cotton panties sliding up to expose another wolf's head on her left leg, this one entangled by twisting vines and shooting down her inner thigh as if it were about to take a bite out of her knee. Her right sported the only color of any of her tattoos: the faded red of a dragon corkscrewing around her calf that looked out of place compared to the others.

Selena snapped her fingers and he jerked to attention.

"The fuck. Are you a virgin or something? Or are you gonna fucking eat me?" He couldn't tell how serious she was taking either of those possibilities, but she looked ready to throw something at him if he didn't do something soon. "Take your fucking pants off, Jesus, do I have to draw you a goddamn diagram?"

He nodded, deciding that the quickest way to get this over with was just to do what she said. He dropped his sweatpants and his boxers and stepped out of them, his cock showing just the beginnings of stiffening.

"Wait," she barked.

Andrew froze.

"Lights first. Off." She pointed at the light switch.

Her commanding tone fed a familiar pit in his stomach that he tried to ignore. Instead, he just shrugged and flicked the lights.

The light spilling in through the open door kept the room from becoming totally dark. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he saw that she'd pulled off her panties, leaving her only in her V-neck and some no-show white socks that, even in the faint light, he could see had a hole or two in them.

She started to play with herself as he approached her, not sure exactly what he was supposed to do next. She didn't give him any indication, mostly looking down at what she was doing while her fingers rubbed over her bare, shaved mound and above her clit.

That's when he decided he knew exactly what to do.

Andrew didn't have a particularly big dick, he didn't have a particularly attractive body. But he knew what he was good at. Even if it had been years. And maybe even more importantly, it meant he could keep things at his pace instead of risking things spiraling out of control.

Stepping toward her, he knelt down and gently pushed on her knees.

"Sit back," he said, trying to give her as kind a smile as he could.

Her eyes cut through the darkness, almost a glowing gray instead of the icy blue they probably were in normal light. Either way, he could tell they were glaring at him.

"Just... trust me, Selena, okay?" he said. "It'll get things going faster."

Her brows knitted together and she seemed to weigh it in her mind for a couple seconds, then rolled her eyes and leaned back, propping herself up on her hands to give him access while still able to keep a wary watch on him.

"Yeah, you looked like one of those," she muttered, but loud enough he was clearly intended to hear.

He disregarded whatever that was supposed to mean and focused on what was in front of him -- the smooth, soft thighs of a 23-year-old woman.

Andrew let his hands glide up and he parted them further, moving closer to her while she leaned back a little more to give him a better angle.

Slowly, his lips grazed her skin midway up, kissing over the tattooed fur of the wolf there and proceeding at a deliberate pace -- mostly because he needed a moment to process what he was doing.

She was as soft as she looked, and he surprised himself by having to stifle a moan when his lips made contact. As he pressed his mouth to her, moving up her slender thigh, his heart started beating faster and faster -- and he realized how much he'd missed this feeling, missed how it made him feel. Useful. Confident. Connected.

The nearly straight line of her pelvis marked the gap between her thighs -- where some women had curves, Selena seemed to be all angles -- and he alternated to the opposite side of it, giving the same attention to her other thigh.

His hands slid up to her narrow hips, the heat radiating against his cheek from what was waiting between her legs, and Andrew could feel himself getting aroused by the smell of her. She didn't smell magical or sweet or like some fantasy. The scent carried just a hint of sour, of sweat -- of a woman who'd had a long, hard day and hadn't showered yet. It was... intoxicating.

He inhaled deeply and licked the softest part of her inner thigh, sucking in just enough for his teeth to lightly skim her skin.

"I thought this was gonna speed things up, Jesus Christ," she said, clearly not interested in foreplay.

Andrew didn't care. There was a rhythm to doing this right.

He kept going, his head pressed between her long legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and used his hands to gently tilt her up. She'd shaved, but not today, little pinpricks of stubble poking up along her mound that matched the day's worth of stubble on his face. He kissed above her clit, then replaced his lips with his fingers as his mouth moved lower.

His fingers continued to rub in tight circles when his mouth finally found what they'd been yearning for since she'd tugged off her jeans. He couldn't keep the moan inside this time as his lips pressed against the softness of her pussy. He moaned again when he tasted how rapidly her body reacted to him -- her warm juices sweet on his tongue as he instinctively parted her folds.

"That's better," she sighed, and he could feel the tension in her legs start to dissipate, if just a little.

She was relaxing, and after a couple of minutes, she dropped her elbows and lay back on the bed.

Taking that as tacit approval, Andrew pulled her a little closer now that she was more horizontal. His tongue dove deeper inside her as he did, eliciting a correspondingly deep sigh from the young woman on his bed.

Gently, he hooked his thumb down to lightly rub above the knob of her clit. Her hands grabbed at the mattress in response. They balled into fists, scrunching the sheets into a death grip as his tongue continued to tease her.

She was wet in earnest now, enough that his lips dripped when he pulled back for a moment to take a breath. He chanced a look up at her and saw her eyes were closed, lying back completely on the bed. The pale skin beneath the tattoos on her thighs was flushed a light crimson.

Every sense inside him was primed and excited.

He slipped a finger inside, prompting a sharp inhale that he took as a very good sign. He inserted a second, then moved his lips back between her thighs, making direct contact for the first time with her now swollen clitoris.

The moan she let out came from down deep as she arched her back off the bed -- like the feeling he'd been teasing for so long finally arrived and still overwhelmed her. Andrew didn't stop, sliding his fingers in and out while he lightly licked her clit with quicker, shorter strokes.

As he closed his lips around it, sucking and playing with her, Selena's thighs reflexively closed around his head and she gasped -- panting sharply while a high-pitched whine squeezed out of her tensed lips. One of her feet kicked the floor next to him and her hands snapped to his head -- one tugging his hair to jam his face against her pussy, and the other pawing at him in the other direction.

For a moment, he was afraid she wanted him to stop, and he froze. But the piercing whimpers turned into a long, hissed "yessss." The hand that had been pushing him away moved up to her chest and grabbed one of her small, perky breasts over her shirt, squeezing in rhythm with the teasing his tongue had resumed.

He could feel the tension building in her compact body and knew she was getting close. That only urged him on further, heating his cheeks with a ravenous excitement he hadn't felt in years, exhorting him to pick up the pace.

The initial sensation had clearly caught her off guard, but she was ready now, and tried to stay more still, even as she squirmed beneath his lips and his fingers. His hand replaced hers on the shirt above her breast, allowing her to clutch at his head instead, digging into his hair while she pulled his face into her.

He could feel her calves tighten, her feet hooking in, her toes curling. Every part of her body was drawn tight to keep the dam from overflowing inside her.

It made him as turned on as she was. But his stiff cock was an afterthought -- he was exhilarated by her taste, her smell, her soft skin, by the noises she made egging him on with every shallow pant, every involuntary moan.

He let out one of his own, caught up in the moment, giving her clit a tweak with his tongue and then lapping up the stream flowing from her drenched pussy. The moan vibrated into her body and seemed to travel up her pointed hips, along her squirming torso, past the wolf's maw on her neck -- and was released again out of her own lips.

Andrew couldn't tell if the humming, buzzing in his ears was his moaning, hers, or maybe neither of them. Letting go of all sense of pacing, he unleashed his tongue and his fingers on her, rubbing furiously over her clit. She wasn't using any words, just moans that were cut off by what air she could gasp inside her chest. The noises she made were shorter and their pitch higher and higher, matching his own rhythm of intimate torture against her most sensitive part.

Every muscle was tightened, tensed -- screaming to be let go. And as he sucked on her throbbing, hardened clit one last time -- her slim thighs doing their best to act as a vise on his head -- they all finally released at once.

She let out a series of choked, staccato sounds that bordered on whimpers as her body twisted and shuddered. Her hands grasped at his head, keeping his face smashed against her, encouraging him to keep going right on through her orgasm. He eagerly obliged.

Finally, she settled, sliding herself further back across the bed so she was no longer in danger of teetering off the edge.

It was Andrew panting hardest now, gasping for breath, and he collapsed onto his back next to her. His dick was hard as a rock, sticking straight up with precum leaking down its relatively modest length.

Alongside him, Selena's eyes were shut, and even more of her petite body was exposed as her arms stretched straight over her head and off the other end of the bed.

"Do whatever you want," she mumbled to him without opening her eyes, the words a post-orgasm mush.

Andrew's cock was screaming to take her up on her offer, to plunge right inside that drenched, tight pussy his mouth had gotten to enjoy.

But... that wasn't what he wanted. Wasn't what he needed.

He eyed her trim stomach, her body bare below the bottom of her wrinkled crop top. Wolf tails and paws dangled to her bony hips, stretching slightly with the rise and fall of her breaths while they gradually approached something closer to a normal rhythm. He let his gaze travel along the honed slants of her body, enjoying an unfettered look, free of judgment.

No, she wasn't his type personality-wise. She was definitely sexy, though -- there was proof of that all over his body.

In the photos on her profile, and again when she'd arrived in person, Selena's tattoos, her hair, and even her seemingly permanent scowl had made him too anxious to really think about something like if he found her attractive. That wasn't why he was on Tinder. But now with the chance for a close inspection....

The piercings in her brows, ears, and nose added personality to what otherwise appeared to be a relatively plain, angular face with a short, snub nose and small, thin lips that even at their most relaxed always seemed to be pressed tightly together.

Her cheeks were flushed and her immaculately styled hair was listing and slightly smushed against the bed, some errant strands matted to her forehead.

With her eyes closed and her body finally loose and relaxed, she was a far cry from the tightly wound, abrasive punk who had shown up at his door. Now she looked every bit the 23-year-old kid she was.

Andrew wondered how many other people really ever got to see her like this, to peek behind that carefully curated façade.

Or maybe I'm just making up a whole story about some woman in my bed because it makes me feel better.

That didn't mean he could stop himself from wanting to kiss her, or at least to reach out and touch her -- just some way to manifest the intimate connection he was feeling into something physical, something real. It was almost more meaningful with a stranger, he thought. The level of trust they needed to have in each other to be so vulnerable with someone they just met....

The sex had always been secondary for him. This is what he'd been craving. This... connection.

Selena's arms had gone limp while he watched over her, and her breathing was slow and rhythmic -- asleep.

Reluctantly, he rolled off the bed as quietly as he could before crossing the hall into the bathroom.

Standing over the toilet, he closed his eyes and recalled where his nose had been a few minutes before, the taste of her on his tongue, how his hair felt tugged in all directions by her fingers -- what it'd felt like to gasp for air and inhale her orgasm as her body writhed against his mouth.

He spurted instantly, softly groaning as his knees wobbled, shooting into the bowl. He stroked out a couple more jets, feeling the relief wash over him.

But the relief quickly gave way to an empty feeling. It wasn't regret, it was...

Okay, I had my one-night stand. Am I fixed yet?

Andrew didn't feel particularly better than he had before Selena arrived. Maybe a little relieved that it was over, he supposed -- and of course some unabashed satisfaction at knowing he still had his fastball.

Is that all I was supposed to get out of this, Paul?

Unable to answer himself, he gave a deep sigh instead, flushed, wiped himself clean, and washed his hands.

Back in his room, Selena had moved. He'd half-expected to find her on her way out the front door by the time he returned, but no. She was lying with her back to him on the far side of the bed. From her breathing, it seemed like she was still asleep -- or rather, asleep again, he supposed. She hadn't bothered to pull the covers over herself, so he could see that she'd put her panties back on.

Andrew picked up his boxers from the floor and did the same, slipping under the covers as unobtrusively as he could. She didn't move, her breathing still steady and slow. Her hair was mussed, pressed against the pillow and crushing her now tilted fauxhawk. He could just make out the green in the darkness. The rest of her appeared just as scrunched, like all the tightness and tension that had been there before she orgasmed had returned. Even in her sleep.

It made him want to reach over and smooth everything in her out again.

He hadn't been sure how this part of the night would go. Were one-night stands supposed to stay the night? Cuddle? Before Selena had shown up -- back when the universe of pussy was all abstract -- he would've been more than fine with both, frankly. Now that it was real, though... it felt awkward. He'd run over in his head a million different permutations for how the night might go.

This wasn't one of them, he thought with a sigh.

Slowly, as his eyelids got heavier, he was able to clear away his own worries and tensions for the night, nudging them to melt away into the black while he drifted toward sleep next to the terse, tense stranger in his bed.

***

"My mom died today."

Andrew's eyes snapped open. The words were so quiet, so soft that he wasn't sure they hadn't just been in his mind, some trick of the twilight zone between consciousness and sleep. He turned his head to look at her, just in case.

In the faint moonlight leaking in through the curtains, he could make out that she was still in the same position, still tightly curled at the other side of the bed, looking away. He could see now in the mirror on the wall in front of her that her eyes were open, though. He flicked his away, to the back of her head. But she knew he was awake, and that he'd heard.

"I didn't... I just..." she said just as quietly, trailing off. Her voice was steady, no hint of a quaver, but so much softer than he'd heard it at any other point tonight. "I had to tell someone. Hear it out loud.

"Make it real."

Andrew had no idea what to say. He hadn't entirely ruled out that he was dreaming, and hoped he was. His brain knew that this was weird, but he also knew that it was 1 in the morning and this 23-year-old kid was in his bed -- and apparently had no one else to tell that her mom was gone.

He wanted even more to reach out and touch her, to let her know someone was here. But he knew it wouldn't mean anything. He wasn't someone. She wasn't anybody to him, and he wasn't anybody to her. So he decided just to listen.

"Oh?" he said cautiously, hoping it would be enough to get her to say what she needed to say -- whatever that was.

It wasn't.

"Tell me about her?" he tried next.

He thought that was a nonstarter too, but after what felt like a solid 30 seconds of silence, she spoke again in that same low tone, but with a more familiar edge.

"Can't. Just know she was a piece of shit."

"Oh."

He let that sit for a while, not sure where to go next.

"She... wanted to see me. In the hospital. Tracked me down." Her words slowed, like she was having trouble forming them and getting them out. "Haven't seen her since I was, like, 8. Or 12. Fuck, I dunno." She sniffed.

She was getting to something, he thought. He didn't poke or prod, just let her get there.

"I didn't go." Now her voice quavered. Cracked. "Kept putting it off and off...."

Andrew finally reached toward her. He couldn't stop himself. Gingerly, he laid a hand on her pale shoulder. She flinched, but didn't pull away, and he followed it up with what he hoped was a comforting squeeze -- even from a stranger.

"I'm sorry, Selena," he said. To a degree, he knew what she was going through. He'd lost a parent at a younger age than she had -- but his dad had died knowing his son loved him and vice versa. Not really anything like what Selena must've been feeling.

She didn't react.

In her position, he wasn't sure what he would've wanted to hear -- or what he would've wanted to say.

But he knew damn well what he would have been thinking.

"What do you think she would've wanted to tell you?" he said softly, unsure how she would take it. Maybe it would piss her off. Andrew was willing to bet it probably didn't take much to do that.

Instead, she snorted. "She probably wanted to stick me with the bill."

He let out a polite chuckle, but didn't say anything more, letting her think it over -- though he was sure she'd already thought it to death. He knew he would have.

"I'll never know," she said after a long pause, barely louder than a whisper. She sniffed again.

He gently stroked her upper arm and tried the other question that would've been racing around his own head.

"What would you have told her? If you'd seen her again?"

She shook off his hand, but didn't move otherwise for close to half a minute.

"I don't fucking know," she said, quietly seething, but not at Andrew. "That she's a fucking cunt."

He had no response for that. She didn't seem to expect him to, either. After a few more moments of silence in the dark, Selena took a deep breath, and the sigh that rattled out of her let him know she was trying to keep as much as she could inside. But she couldn't bottle up everything.

"What if she was gonna say sorry," she mumbled, as if she was having to force herself to say the words. He could hear the tears in her voice, and she snuffled back whatever crying she wanted to let out.

Andrew didn't know what to do, so he just reached out again and caressed her arm. She didn't stop him this time, only folded her legs tighter into her coiled body. Scooting closer, he glanced to her eyes in the mirror -- downcast, dripping a few tears.

Carefully, he lowered his arm and wrapped it around her bare midsection, closing the remaining distance between them. He wanted to give her every chance to show she was uncomfortable with it, or didn't want it -- but she didn't, so he hugged her loosely from behind. It was the only thing he figured a stranger could really offer.

Unexpectedly, she spoke again in a ghostly rasp.

"Why," she said. "I'd ask her why."

Selena cried quietly while he held her. It didn't last long, but he could hear her sniffling and felt the tiny jolts echoing through her body as she shuddered out halting breaths.

Nothing needed to be said in response. He knew exactly what she meant.

I would've probably done the same thing. Especially at her age. The only answer she could've possibly gotten from her mom would've hurt even more, no matter what it was.

His instinct had been to hold on, to comfort her. She needed something, someone. And he had a feeling a person like her didn't need that often.

What kind of 23-year-old kid ends up in a stranger's bed just so she has someone to tell that her mom is dead?

He answered his own question almost immediately.

Someone who's used to carrying a lot of shit all on her own.

Holding her close, his face almost against the nape of her neck, Andrew felt more admiration for her than pity. Thinking what he'd been like at 23 made him cringe. Adding this to the equation?

No wonder stress even follows her into her dreams.

He didn't let go when her breathing returned to normal, and she didn't push him away as the rhythm of her breaths steadied into sleep.

In the night, he inched closer and held the stranger in his bed a little bit tighter -- not quite sure if this one-night stand thing was all it was cracked up to be.

Chapter 2

[vibe track: revolusion - elliphant]

Cameron jerked awake on her side. Her heart was already beating fast.

Where the fuck am I.

The mirror across from her stared with bewildered, straining, red eyes and it all came back to her. Somewhere in the night, he must've pulled the sheets over her.

Morning light was pouring through the ugly, cream-colored curtains. She could feel he wasn't next to her anymore.

Must've gotten up already. He seemed like the type.

What was his name again? Mar... cus? Marlo? Marvin? Melvin? Yeah, definitely something like Mar... something. Or Mel.

Who even knew if that was his real name, or just the name he'd put on his profile. He kept calling her "Selena," and it'd taken her a few beats to remember that was the name she'd put on her profile.

Whoever he was, he was a fucking psychopath. Who the fuck puts a mirror right fucking there on the wall so you have to see it when you wake up. A fucking creep, that's who. Probably watches himself jerk off to like, fucking... fuck. I dunno. Whatever. Fuck it.

Cameron heaved a deep sigh.

They say -- whoever they are -- that people who lose someone wake up in the morning sometimes thinking everything is still fine, even if only for a few moments. She'd been hoping for that.

She didn't get it.

The rest of the night was a blur still, but the call from the hospital -- she didn't forget that for a second. Not even while she was asleep.

Cameron slipped out of the bed and made sure everything else was still where she'd left it, pulling on her jeans and hoodie, and checking her backpack.

Laptop, phone, mixer/controller, headphones, cables, chargers, iPod, cigarettes, lighter, deodorant, duct tape, pocketknife, pepper spray. Everything was there.

Quietly, she opened the door a crack, poking her head out cautiously while she tried to remember which way to go. Some noises like dishes and cabinets clanging around came from the kitchen to the right, but on the left was her real target.

She shuffled into the bathroom and closed the door behind her, trying to minimize how much noise she made. Odds were good he'd noticed she was awake, but she wanted to make it clear she wasn't ready for whatever inevitable morning-after talk he was probably going to try and have.

Cameron had been prepared for a weirdo. She hadn't had a lot of options after midnight, but she'd picked Mar... Mel-- this fucking guy -- because he was definitely safest. He looked like a pussy on his profile, which wasn't ideal, but meant he was probably just going to be into something fucking creepy instead of something worse. She hadn't cared; she'd just needed... something. A distraction, she supposed.

Once he'd given her his address, that'd confirmed it. Safe enough neighborhood -- families and golden retrievers and shit. Probably an accountant or a clerk or a... bank teller. Something like that. Bored as fuck and realizing no 23-year-olds fucked him when he was 23, but now maybe he could lure in a few desperate enough.

Maybe that's what the fucking creepy mirror is for. Take some photos to prove it after he roofies them or whatever. Or... after he holds them when they tell him--

She sighed, resting her face in her hands, just sitting on the toilet for another moment. None of that bullshit mattered.

Her phone buzzed, reminding Cameron that she'd never texted Kendra back. Sure enough, there were 13 new notifications, all from her friend. Cameron didn't need to read them to know what they said. So she didn't, just responded so that Kendra didn't do something stupid.

hey. i'm ok. coming back soon.

They'd made a pact to always let each other know where they were, but this time things just got... fucked. The last time Kendra hadn't heard from her for a couple days, she'd called Gram. That was the absolute last thing Cameron needed right now.

Good get yo ass here u in trouble ;)

That didn't make her want to go back to their apartment, either. Kendra would want to talk.

Cameron buried her head in her hands again. She'd dreaded the sun coming up. But it had anyway. Tomorrow had come, and now everything she didn't want to face was here.

No point in hiding from it.

She got up and washed her hands, splashing some water on her face. She looked like shit still, and her hair was a mess that she wasn't even going to try and address at this point, leaving it drooping and scraggled.

Bracing herself, she made her way down the hallway and into the living room and kitchen. Marmel, or whoever the fuck he was, was sitting at a small kitchen table, spoon in a bowl of cereal. He wasn't looking at it though -- he'd clearly just been waiting for her and pounced when she entered the room.

"Hey, morning," he said with a disarming smile, approaching her with a coffee cup in his hand. He wasn't smiling across all of his face, just, like, half of it, or maybe a quarter. One corner was pulling the rest of it over. It gave the impression that they were in on something together, and that nobody else was.

Does he practice that in his bedroom mirror? Fucking probably. That's probably what he jerks off to.

He was moving to intercept her, so she slowed rather than slam right into him. She figured that would've been rude.

Instead she just gave a little huff, as if she were trying to hide her annoyance. She wasn't.

"Umm, do you... want some coffee?" He held out the mug, handle toward her. It said English Teachers Get LIT with a fire emoji on it.

So not an accountant. But close. Even fucking creepier. Guess I know why he likes the young ones, fucking pervert.

She must've taken too long to respond because he moved on down the menu.

"Or, umm, can I get you some breakfast...? I make a mean cereal." He tried on a goofy grin now. "Oh and feel free to take a shower, if you want. Take your ti--"

"Nope. Just gonna go."

He definitely looked disappointed.

What, does he want round two? Or just wanna tie me up in his basement full of mirrors so he can dress me up in a schoolgirl outfit while he grins and dumps coffee all over me?

"Oh, okay, umm, you sure? You can take the coffee to go if you want. I know I can't start my day without--"

She couldn't take it anymore.

"I don't want your fucking cereal, I don't want your fucking shower, and I don't want your fucking coffee. Get the fuck out of my way."

She didn't wait, just brushed past him and pulled on the door handle...

Which didn't budge. Locked. Of course.

FUCK. Why can I never make an exit line fucking land. Goddammit.

She turned the lock on the handle and rattled it again, but it didn't move.

"Here, sorry, it's still--"

She fumbled with the deadbolt and got it turned before he could reach over her, yanking open the door and flashing one last glare in Marmel's direction as she quickly walked out.

He didn't close the door behind her -- watching her go -- which made her walk even faster. She let out a relieved sigh as she rounded the corner, out of his sight, and saw her car was still there.

Who would wanna steal it anyway.

Definitely nobody who lived in this neighborhood, she knew. It was morning in lower-middle-class suburbia, the rhythmic skt-skt-skt-sktttttttttttt of sprinklers on the lawns and a constantly droning lawnmower in the distance, even at this hour.

It made her stuff her hands deeper into her pockets and pull up her hood, even though it was already muggy out.

Her Toyota Camry was older than she was and sported a peeling, shit-brown paint job, which made for a convenient nickname -- the Shitmobile -- that also just matched its general vibe.

Inside, she slammed the door shut, mercifully making everything a little quieter, muffled. She took another deep breath and dropped her forehead onto the steering wheel, sitting in the quiet and stillness.

Marmel didn't really deserve any of that shit, she admitted to herself -- and only herself. He didn't even have a basement. He was just... being a nice guy. The kind of guy who knows how to fucking go down on somebody and then doesn't complain he didn't get anything in return.

She stopped there. Cameron knew that wasn't even close to how he'd really shown her kindness when she'd needed it, practically begged for it. She didn't want to relive that, though. As far as she was concerned, the rest of the night hadn't happened.

Still, just because she wanted to pretend her moments of weakness hadn't happened, that didn't mean his moments of being kind to a... somewhat curt... stranger hadn't happened.

Cameron knew that even when she wasn't trying to be a bitch, she wasn't exactly all sunshine and rainbows. But she did feel a little bad that she'd made an extra point of being dickish to... fuck-- and now she felt kinda bad she didn't remember his name, too.

She pulled out her phone and held it under the steering wheel, finding his profile again.

Marvin. Fuck yeah, fucking nailed it. See? I remember people's names. I'm a social fucking butterfly. Boom.

...

Marvin. What a stupid name. He doesn't look like a Marvin, either. Does anybody?

It was before 8 a. m., but it was late August, so it was already getting hot in the shitbox. That was enough to get her moving.

The engine turned over a few times and kicked to life. Her phone synced to her makeshift tape-deck-Bluetooth adapter, blasting an electronic beat right alongside hot air from the AC.

As the air gradually cooled, Cameron closed her eyes and reclined the seat, letting herself get lost in the music, feeling it wrap around her. Hoping it would carry her away.

The speakers in her car were shit, but it was enough -- being in a small space, feeling the car rattle and vibrate as the track built to the drop. She sighed, letting her body relax into the baking hot fabric, hood still up to shade her closed eyes. She could feel herself start to sway, her arms and neck having to do it all, just beginning to move along to the current--

SMACKSMACKSMACK

Her eyes snapped open, more than matching the annoyance on the face of the old man rapping on her window. She levered her seat back up -- wishing her eyes could burn through the glass -- and made a show of moving her hand as if toward the dash to turn down the volume, but diverted to her backpack to rustle out a cigarette and her lighter.

She wanted to keep glaring at the man while she took a pull, but she'd underestimated how badly she'd needed a cigarette. She sucked in and felt everything inside her relax a little bit.

Fuck. Better than coffee, Marv.

Rolling down the window, she exhaled into the old man's face, which he didn't seem to appreciate. He coughed and backed away sputtering, letting her hit the gas and leave him -- and this creepy suburbia -- behind.

***

It only took about 20 minutes to get back to her place, which was another reason she'd chosen Marvin last night.

Back in her part of town, there were no lawnmowers or sprinklers. She felt less out of place here, surrounded by the concrete, the lights, the smells, the people. Although, she wasn't that big a fan of the people here either, not that there were many out this early.

Because we're all at church, obviously. She snorted at the thought.

The door to the apartment she shared with Kendra and three other women around their age was unlocked, which it almost always was. The stench of stale beer, pot, and worse hit her in the face as soon as she opened it.

There were 10 or 12 people jammed onto the couches and chairs or just lying on the floor in the living room. Typical for the aftermath of a Saturday night. Maybe even a little light. She recognized some of the asses and some of the faces, but definitely not all. That wasn't unusual, either.

A fan was oscillating in the corner, doing its best to spread the stench around to as many corners of the apartment as possible. She could hear muffled music coming from down the hall, probably from Kendra's room, since Cameron knew she was awake.

Carefully, she maneuvered through the tangle of sleeping, snoring drunks and to the hallway. The door to Kendra's room, directly across the hall, was closed, as was Naomi's and Parker's. Viv's door was open, as it always was. She prided herself on her open-door policy, which Cameron could see from here meant a couple of bulky guys who looked like they might've been brothers.

Cameron didn't want to talk to Kendra yet, so opened her own door instead. She wasn't surprised there were a few people passed out in here, too, although she wasn't happy about it. She liked people even less when they were in her space.

And most of her space was, well, space. She hadn't decorated the walls with anything, leaving the peeling, puke-green paint unobstructed. A carpet that she hadn't vacuumed since she'd moved in hid all sorts of gross shit she probably didn't want to know was there. There was a stained, thin mattress on the far end of the room and another along the side. Hers was in the middle of the room, and nobody was on it. That was good at least.

Just to make sure, she opened the closet and inspected her clothes and the couple of boxes in there. Everything looked undisturbed. Everything that was hers, other than the Shitmobile, was in this closet or in her backpack.

She set her pack down on her mattress and saw that the wooden sign she'd left on it was still there. She'd found that carving the message into wood with her knife made it carry a little more weight than a paper or something that could get pushed aside without even noticing.

ANYONE FOUND ON MATTRESS WILL NOT WAKE UP

-MGMT

Only a couple of times had someone tested that out. Cameron hadn't killed them, true. But she did leave them with the marks to remember not to do it again, if they were ever stupid enough to come back here in the first place.

Behind her, Kendra opened her door, letting more than just the gentle bass of what she was listening to waft out into the hall. Nobody stirred.

"Well look who's draggin' their bony little white ass home after sunrise," Kendra said, making no effort to keep her voice down. That didn't seem to bother anybody either. Cameron could hear the smirk in her friend's voice.

Trying to keep her face unreadable -- that was the politest thing to do, she figured -- Cameron turned around and gave a one-motion wave. "Hey."

Kendra was taller than Cameron, with dark black skin and, today anyway, her hair in corn rows already, dangling midway down her back. Every day her hair was in a different style, always before Cameron could get her head off the pillow. Even today. She was wearing some loose shorts and a tight shirt, and already had done her makeup.

Must have an overnight guest.

"You know what I'm gonna say," Kendra said, crossing her arms and looking at Cameron like she was some kid who'd been caught shoplifting again.

"Yeah," Cameron responded, trying not to roll her eyes. Kendra meant well. But she'd always had a big-sister complex even though she was only a couple years older. Cameron rarely admitted to herself that she didn't mind it most of the time, even... sort of appreciated it. This, though, was not one of those times.

"yEaH," Kendra said, mocking Cameron's sullen tone with a teasing grin. "Seriously though, girl, we made a promise, remember? I didn't know where the fuck you were."

"Yeah. I know." Cameron sighed, knowing she owed her friend more than that. "I do, really. I just... things moved fast and then I just passed out."

"Where?"

Cameron shrugged. "Some guy's house."

"Well, I guess he wasn't an ax murderer then, huh?"

Cameron shrugged again. "Didn't take an ax to me anyway."

"Oooh, so he wasn't very good, huh?" Kendra winked and elbowed Cameron in the ribs, apparently done with the lecture. Cameron flinched and slapped her elbow away. Kendra knew she hated contact, but that's why she did it in the first place.

"I mean..." Cameron gave yet another shrug but raised an eyebrow. "I will say the man knew his way around a pussy."

"Hoooooo girl got her pussy AAATTTTE!" Kendra squealed through a giant, stupid smirk, sticking her hand up for a high five. This time some of their sleeping guests did seem to stir.

Cameron snorted and couldn't stop a smile from tugging the corners of her mouth wider. Kendra had that effect on people. She put her hand back down after Cameron finally gave her a limp high five.

She'd just do something even more annoying if I didn't.

Apparently satisfied, Kendra looked like she wanted to say something else, but decided not to at the last second. She wasn't usually one to hem and haw.

Cameron had a pretty good idea of what it was, though, and she certainly wasn't going to make it easier.

"I'm gonna go shower," she said instead, grabbing a shirt and some fresh(er) underwear from the pile on the floor of her closet.

"Hey, wait, Cam," Kendra said, putting a hand on her shoulder before she could make her exit.

Yep. Knew it.

Cameron slumped her shoulders and blew air out her nose to let Kendra know she didn't want to talk about it. As if Kendra needed a reminder that she wasn't a talker.

"Gram tell you?" Cameron said, not meeting Kendra's gaze.

She nodded.

"How the fuck did she even..."

Kendra shrugged. "You oughta know by now, 'there ain't nothin' about you she don't know first.'"

Cameron slowly raised her eyes to Kendra's, and immediately regretted it. Everything she'd worked so hard to shove to the side this morning came rushing back, pushing out every other carefully assembled distraction.

My mom is dead.

I didn't say goodbye.

And I'll never know what she was gonna tell me.

My mom is dead.

She could feel her face start to twitch, and she looked away, blinking back what was welling up in her eyes.

Kendra wrapped her up in a hug, close and tight. There was probably no one else on the planet Cameron would've let squeeze her so tight. But right now, she was glad she did.

Cameron found herself returning the hug, clutching her best friend as much as she could without dropping her change of clothes. She pressed her head into the crook of Kendra's neck and leaned into her with almost her full weight, letting Kendra hold her and all her baggage. She smelled fresh, put together. Capable of keeping them both upright.

"I'm so sorry, babygirl," Kendra whispered, rubbing her back. Just like Marvin had done.

The only response when somebody fucks up as big as me, I guess.

They embraced for what felt like a full minute, standing in the doorway of Cameron's room, surrounded by unconscious strangers and a soft EDM beat floating in from across the hall.

Finally Cameron pulled away, and averted her eyes from Kendra's, as if that would hide the tears. She wiped them away with her fresh clothes instead.

"I love you, Cam. Gram does too. You're not alone, girl, hear me?"

Cameron nodded, still not wanting to risk looking Kendra in the eye. She might not have been able to hold it in if she did.

Chapter 3

Paul's tray rattled onto Andrew's desk and he pushed aside a few papers, making some more room. Andrew eyed the tray -- loaded up with everything the cafeteria had on offer today -- bemused, while Paul dragged a chair over.

The two teachers had lunch in Andrew's classroom a couple-few times a week during their off period. They were less likely to be interrupted here than if they had lunch in Paul's office near the boys' locker room.

On the outside, and maybe even a little further in, they seemed like complete opposites: Paul was tall, strong, and black, with a bushy beard and a football coach's voice that could boom over any crowd without even trying.

Andrew could get attention, too, he just was usually a little subtler about it. But he was definitely wispier, squishier, and, although he could work up a decently swarthy tan, was as white as white could be in ways beyond skin color.

There were only so many teachers around their age here, so when they'd both started a decade ago, they fell in together and quickly found their personalities fit with each other perfectly.

"I don't understand how you don't end up taking a nap all afternoon with a lunch like that every day," Andrew quipped.

"Psh, what makes you think I don't? I just send 'em out to run the track 'til the bell rings."

That got a smile from Andrew.

"Oh man, I was thinking of you during that meeting this morning," Paul said, spreading ketchup liberally over everything on his tray. Andrew had long since stopped being weirded out by it. "When Lonnie was shoveling pancake into his mouth while he gave that entire update on the field trip plans? I was like 'oh man, Andrew is about to fucking lose it!'"

Andrew winced and laughed.

"Oh my Godddd," he groaned. "I know, I don't understand it. Do people seriously have to fucking always have something in their mouth during these things? And insist on fucking talking?? I kept hoping he'd choke to death on it."

"So..." Paul said after swallowing a bite of ketchup with some chicken sandwich in it. He looked at Andrew with excited impatience, imploring with his hands. "Come on! Quit beating around the bush! Tell me all about it!"

Andrew grinned sheepishly. He'd known this was coming. Of course Paul would want to know about his one-night stand over the weekend.

"Well..." Andrew started, not really sure how to finish. "Umm..."

"Yeah?"

"Well I mean it happened, sort of, so, yeah. It was... I guess it was good?"

"How can it sort of happen??" Paul said incredulously. "You got yourself some pussy or you didn't! And it was good or it wasn't!" Paul began again, with a patient grimace. "Okay, let's start with the basics. What was she like? She hot?"

Andrew wagged his head from side to side. "Yeah, I mean -- yes. She was definitely hot. She was... not exactly what I was expecting I guess, but...."

"Hey, that's good! Open yourself up to the universe of pussy, and --"

"Yeah, yeah, and the universe of pussy blah blah blah." They both laughed. Andrew took another bite, then started at the top. "Okay, so she was 23, which was like, man... what am I doing, you know?"

"As in like, 'man, what am I doing... hitting the damn jackpot on my first match out of the gate??'"

Andrew's eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips tightly, letting Paul know that wasn't exactly what he'd meant, no.

"I mean, she was definitely really, really sexy. But it was also like, I dunno, dude, I'm 36 years old. It was like... it was uncomfortably close to banging a student, you know? Like, I coulda been her teacher when she was in high school. It was kinda weird."

Paul looked skeptical. "Right. Okay. So she wasn't 50 years old. Strike one! I bet it just got worse from there, huh."

Andrew laughed and responded with an expression that he hoped translated to "oh, just you wait." He swallowed a bite and then continued.

"I felt even older because she was like, all tatted up -- way, way cooler than me, you know?"

Paul shrugged, not shocked. "Well yeah, that was kind of a given, no surprise there."

Andrew kept going, not missing a beat. "And she had this like, green hair on top in like a... not a mohawk but like a--" He tried to demonstrate with his hands, which must've been enough.

"A fauxhawk?"

"Sure." Andrew shrugged. When he got his haircut, he just told the stylist to cut it "shorter."

"Okay, just move on," Paul said. "So she's cleared the very high bar of being cooler than you."

"Well, so... you know, one thing led to another and...."

"And??" Paul said. "You're skipping the good part!"

"I, uh... I ate her out," Andrew said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Okay, that's a good start!" Paul exclaimed. He was excited for his buddy now. "You bring it? I mean, bring it?"

"Honestly? Fuck yeah I did," Andrew said with what he thought was a well-earned smile.

"My boy!" Paul high-fived him. "Okay, and then...?"

"... yeah... that was kind of it."

Paul just stared, then covered his face in his hands. When he pulled them away, he still looked like he couldn't believe it. "She was just like 'all right, thanks, see ya?'"

"Umm, no... actually..." Andrew wasn't sure what to say about the rest of the night, so just came out with it. "She actually stayed the night, but right before I'm about to fall asleep, she... told me her mom just died."

Paul froze, his mouth agape, unsure if Andrew was joking.

"Like... like that day?" Paul asked.

Andrew nodded, an empty smile on his face. "Hand to God, 100 percent not a joke."

Paul shook his head, bewildered. "Wow. That's like -- I mean, hey, that's awful, geez -- but...." He couldn't wipe the trace of a smile off his face as he finished a spoonful of ketchup and whatever was underneath it.

When they made eye contact, Paul started to crack up laughing, although they both knew it wasn't exactly funny.

"Dude, what the fuck! Only you. Seriously. Only you could end a one-night stand without actually having sex, and then the girl tells you her mom died and stays the night. I mean..."

Paul started into another laughing fit just as another tray clattered onto a student desk.

Heather, the third heat to their trio, dragged the desk closer to where the other two were sitting. About as tall as Andrew, maybe a smidge taller, Heather was a fourth-grade teacher around the same age as the other two. Today she was wearing a typical long skirt with a thin, brown cardigan over a yellow, short-sleeved blouse, and her dark blonde hair was smartly done up into a ponytail.

The schedule in the elementary wing was a little different than at the high school, so when she had time to join them for lunch, she was always a little late -- and always got stuck with the shorter desk.

"Damn, what'd I miss!" she said, her green eyes lighting up at the prospect of something hilarious happening.

Paul looked at her and started a fresh round of guffaws, holding up his hand for her to wait a minute while he caught his breath.

She put a forkful of salad into her mouth and was about to say something, then caught herself and took a second to finish chewing.

"By the way, Andrew, tooootally was looking for you this morning when Lonnie was shotgunning pancakes during the faculty meeting."

"Hey I said that same thing!" Paul said, abruptly snapping out of his laughing fit.

"Okay, well, spill! Is this about Operation One-Night Stand??" she said, now that Paul was ready to resume the conversation.

Paul nodded emphatically. "You are not gonna believe this." He gestured for Andrew to do the honors.

"What, did he not do it? Andrewww, come on, did you not do it? Tell me you opened yourself up to the universe of pussy," she said, with a look she would give to one of her fourth graders if they made an excuse for why they didn't have their homework.

Andrew groaned. "Yes, yesss, okay? I opened myself up to the universe of pussy!"

Heather went to high-five Paul, but Paul cautioned for her to wait a minute before getting too excited.

"Okay, I'm just gonna hit the highlights," Andrew said, ticking them off on his fingers. "She was 23, had a lot of tattoos, had a fauxhawk--"

"Oooh, hottt!" Heather said. "Okay, well don't let me stop you! Keep going!" She took another bite of her salad and eagerly motioned him on.

"Well... I, uh, I ate her out--"

"Hoooo he's still got it!" Heather interjected again, elbowing Paul.

"--and err... then she told me her mom had just died."

Heather's fork froze midway to her mouth and she looked back and forth from Andrew to Paul and back again. Then she started giggling too.

"See?? Now you know why I was laughing!" Paul said.

"Oh. My. God," Heather got out between laughs. "Only you!"

Andrew nodded, acknowledging how ridiculous the whole thing was.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, that's terrible, poor girl, that's like, maybe the saddest thing I've ever heard," Heather said, stopping herself mid-laugh. But then she resumed, undoubtedly imagining the awkwardness of what Andrew had gone through after all the handwringing he'd done beforehand about all the ways his one-night stand might go wrong.

Andrew just finished what was left on his tray, exchanging amused looks with Paul until Heather's laughter subsided.

"Aww, hey, I'm sorry buddy," Heather said when it did, placing a hand on Andrew's. Then her face brightened. "But hey, you got out there! You did it!"

Paul nodded in agreement.

"That's right," he said. "Operation One-Night Stand is complete! Just think how much easier the next one is gonna be after that!"

That made them all laugh, including Andrew, though he wasn't sure he really wanted there to be a next time. The truth was, he'd felt more comfortable after Selena had told him about her mom. It was the sex that came before he wouldn't really be thrilled about navigating again with another new person.

Heather must've recognized the sour look on his face because she started tsking at him, glancing over to Paul.

"Wow. The universe of pussy's swallowed him up already, hasn't it," Heather said, deadpan, shaking her head slowly. "I knew he couldn't do it. He's probably planning a second date with Punk Hottie right now. Dunno how you're gonna score a third date after that though, hot shot -- gonna be out of parents to knock off!"

All three of them laughed, but they also knew there was some seriousness to their otherwise pretend concern. He just wasn't a one-night-stand kinda guy, and they all were well aware of it.

"Hey really though, you took a big step, man," Paul said. Heather nodded her agreement as Paul continued. "You gotta get back out there, and this was a good start. Doesn't have to be all at once, ya know?"

"Plus," Heather added, "now you can add some sexy little 23-year-old screaming out your name to your spank bank. And hey, Andrew," she added gravely, "that's something no one can ever take away from you."

They all laughed again.

"Nah, she didn't even know my name," Andrew said. He wasn't really sure why he said it, honestly, but it was out before he could take it back.

"I mean, that's okay." Paul said. "Probably better, really, right?"

Heather nodded. "Absolutely. Don't want some crazy college kid blackm--ouch! Oh, err, yeah, I mean just like, better that she doesn't know your name, all in all. Keep it anonymous."

Andrew snorted. They were real subtle. "I actually just used a fake one."

"Oh that's smart, way better," Paul said, a little relieved. "What'd you go by? Carlos Danger?"

Andrew snorted. "No, just umm, Marvin. Or... maybe Melvin. I'm gonna be honest, I don't even remember. But one of the two."

Paul and Heather exchanged looks again. They always seemed to do that.

"Marvin?" Paul repeated. "Marvin?"

"What's wrong with Marvin?" Andrew asked defensively.

"Nothing!" Heather responded. "But... you know, you... you don't really meet a lot of Marvins without like, access to a Delorean, is all."

Andrew rolled his eyes and laughed. "That's not even true, I've got a Marvin in one of my classes! I'm pretty sure."

"You mean Melvin?" Paul said.

"Yeah, I mean, okay -- Melvin then. Boom. Point proven," Andrew responded smugly.

"Yeah because he's definitely the vibe you wanna give off on Tinder," Paul retorted.

Andrew opened his mouth to respond but then pictured the kid with the pimples, braces, and an infamous lack of awareness among the teachers about his showering habits. "Okay, fair."

"You know what he needs?" Heather said after a few moments. "A wingman."

Paul's eyes lit up. "You know what, you're right! Let's celebrate!" He nudged Heather, who nodded along in eager agreement.

"Yeah, let's go to that club downtown on Friday!" she said.

"They're all downtown," Andrew pointed out after thinking about it for a second.

"Yeah but like, you know the one...." Heather struggled to come up with the name. "It's next to where that... where that Chinese place used to be?"

"The Great Wall?" Paul offered.

"No, no, the other one, uhh, you know that one Tom always wanted to have the staff party at?"

"Okay, we're getting way off track," Andrew said with a laugh. "You mean Moonlight?"

Heather shook her head. "No, it was like, Happy Time or -- oh, yeah the club! Yeah! Moonlight! Let's go there!"

Paul slumped. "C'mon, you guys are killing me, you know I can't do Friday."

"You guys have games already?" Heather asked.

"It's the first one of the season!" Paul said, as if everyone should know. The football team's schedule evidently wasn't as big a deal over on the elementary side.

"Oh. Well... damn. I can't do Saturday, I've got a daa-a-aaate," Heather said, dragging out the word into a singsong.

"Whaa look at you go girl!" Paul gave her a fist bump.

"What can I say, boys still linin' up to buy what mama's sellin'. And who can blame 'em!" She gave a sultry little shimmy in her seat, eliciting a laugh from the other two teachers. "Before you ask, he's a young and ambitious entrepreneur who's going places," Heather said proudly. A little too proudly.

"Oh yeah? Hmm." Andrew tried to decipher what that meant exactly. "So he, what... drives a bus?"

Paul shook his head. "You ever hear of a bus driver who owned his own bus? No, no. He's a truck driver. You know, long haul. I'm thinking... ice road trucker who got lost and needed a place to stay."

"And then clearly fell in with the wrong crowd in the big, bad city!" Andrew pointed at Heather as if he were trying to be subtle about it, then tapped his head and stage whispered to Paul, "Not exactly working with a full 18-wheeler up there if you know what I mean."

The two guys laughed, enormously pleased with themselves, while Heather looked at them in mock annoyance, tapping her fork against her tray.

"For your information," she said when they were close to done, "he's... a full-time Uber driver. BUT!"

Too late, they were already into an even more raucous round of snickers.

"BUT BUT BUT!" she continued, undeterred. "He's got a 4-and-a-half-star rating!"

It took a full minute for the two of them to stop cackling to each other this time.

"Well hhhhooooookay, you boys up there in your ivory towers, you enjoy going to your fancy nightclub full of lady stockbrokers and lawyers," she said with an extra dose of sarcasm once they'd calmed down a little. "I'll be gettin' a little--" she smashed the sides of her fists together and rubbed them back and forth, making a noise vaguely like a creaking bed, as if that was enough to finish her thought.

Paul and Andrew looked at each other in confusion, then took turns at taking their... best... guesses.

"You're gonna... fight two cats in heat?"

"Get into a train crash?"

"Try to put in a USB stick the wrong way?"

"Play a game of pool without any pool sticks?"

"Start a fire with pool sticks?"

"Direct airplanes to land with pool sticks?"

"Learn how to use chopsticks?"

She glared at them both as they grinned back at her with juvenile satisfaction.

"Okay, first of all, you know I can use chopsticks because I was the only one of us to use them when we used to eat at Happy Garden--"

Andrew exclaimed, "That was it! Happy Garden!" Paul gave him a quiet kudos.

"--SECONDLY, obviously I meant getting dicked down by a 4-and-a-half-star cock so hard that when I limp in on Monday I'll have to tell the kids I got hurt climbing a mountain or something. But, you know," she said with a snooty sniff and a dramatic flip of her ponytail, "we're a little classier over there in the elementary. I was just trying not to be so crass."

"Psh, now who's in an ivory tower," Paul muttered.

Heather just shrugged and took another bite of salad.

After another few moments, Andrew got back to the topic at hand.

"You still wanna go without Heather?" he asked Paul. Heather cut in.

"Of course you should!" she said, her mouth full of salad. She covered her mouth and stopped to swallow. "Besides, you don't want me there anyway. I'd just scare off all the impressionable young ladies. They'd think I was just there to show off my stable of studs. Quite gauche behavior among us classy ladies, trust me," she said with a wink.

"Okay then stud, we're doing it!" Paul said, reaching across the desk to try and punch Andrew in the arm playfully. He didn't quite get far enough, then just gave it up. "Eh whatever, you get the idea. I'm coming to get you on Saturday night. No backing out now!" Then as an afterthought, "And leave Marv at home, huh?"

Andrew wasn't super enthused about the idea, but he wasn't doing anything else on Saturday night so... why not?

"Well I guess I can't very well fit the universe of pussy in my living room," Andrew said with a mix of joking and real reluctance. "So, sure. I'm in."

Chapter 4

[vibe track: katy on a mission - katy b]

Cameron didn't love doing the early set. But it was what she could get at this point. As she watched a bachelorette party flail away on the dancefloor, entirely too much light still beaming on it, she knew exactly why.

How was she supposed to get into a flow when people were like this? They were talking for God's sake. She rolled her eyes.

The crowd this early on a Saturday night was the desperate and the casual. People who probably would be asleep before the real night even started. And the first rule of the early set -- or any set, really -- at a nightclub was to match the vibe to the crowd.

So she'd pulled out her Desperate and Casual list, which she was thinking of renaming "Bachelorette Party." It was full of bouncier, lighter electropop beats instead of the chill trap and future bass that she liked to feel wrap her up in its embrace. Her people didn't come out 'til the end, when the high started to wear off and everybody still there realized they hadn't gone home with anyone.

But this was good too, even if she wasn't in the mood. It was still solid practice to do some live mixing. She put on her headphones and let her instincts take over, mashing up vocals this crowd would probably recognize with the bouncy beats that kept them feeling like they didn't drive minivans and watch reality TV to distract themselves at night.

She let her eyes roam the room as her fingers synced the next track, matching the tempo and fading out from one song's chorus to another, the underlying beat tying them together until it was time to switch it up.

This was where Cameron felt most at home. She didn't have to talk to anyone, letting the music do her talking for her. She closed her eyes and bobbed her head, her hips, to the beat, trusting herself to know what she was doing just by instinct and touch.

When she opened her eyes again, she noticed a couple of guys sitting across the room from the bachelorette party, in one of the tiny booths. The fact she could see their faces at all was proof enough it was still early.

One of them looked familiar.

Melvin?

What the fuck was he doing here?

Holy shit, did he fucking track me down? I was right, he is a fucking creeper. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

She kept her eye on him, stealing glances when she could spare the attention, but... he didn't seem to even notice her. Not once. Which was a little weird, she thought, since she was kinda hard to miss.

On a small, elevated platform at the front of the dancefloor, Cameron was wearing a dark gray tanktop that exposed her tattoos. The ripped, faded black jeans probably didn't scream for attention either.

But her hair, meticulously coiffed tonight and tilted forward, was tipped in deep red. And at the club, she always wore all her piercings and her collection of bracelets and wristbands. She thought she would've stood out, especially to somebody like Melvin. Maybe if she pulled down her pants he'd recognize her.

Was it Melvin? Or was it Marvin? Fuck, not this again.

Cameron put it out of her mind, but kept an eye on him and his buddy -- a bigger, gregarious-looking bearded guy in a loose shirt. She would've gone with a tighter one -- he looked like he was hiding some muscle under there, but maybe he wasn't flashy. He had a flashy smile though. A real charmer, clearly.

A couple of smarmy fucking creeps, out on the prowl together.

Still, Cameron couldn't stop her eyes from flicking over to them throughout the night, again and again.

If he doesn't even know I'm here, why the fuck is he here?

She snorted at what that sounded like in her head.

I mean, he's clearly not the type. He hasn't even gone to the dancefloor. He just keeps looking at the bachelorette party and downing shots. Doesn't even look like he's having a good time.

At one point she thought they were going to leave, but they didn't.

The bachelorette party picked up steam though, which helped Cameron out at least. She dialed up the intensity, and the lights -- she wasn't in control of those -- finally got more focused, throwing the room into sharper contrast. A couple of the bridesmaids around the same age as Melvin and his pal were grinding away at every guy on the floor. She took that to mean she was doing well enough.

Better get home soon or you'll have to postpone your white wine brunch.

Cameron watched them with a little curiosity. One of them, a tall, leggy brunette, with an electric, devilish grin looked like she'd done plenty of teasing younger guys on dancefloors. Another, a bigger blonde, looked like she was wearing a dress that hadn't seen the outside of the closet since she was Cameron's age -- and she acted like it, too, lurching all over the place.

If Kendra gets married someday, am I gonna have to throw a party? Am I gonna wear some tight dress that used to fit me 10 years ago and flail around on the floor, grinding up against any cock I can trap? Did they ever think they were gonna be that way?

She shook her head.

No. She didn't know where she'd be in 10 years, she thought as she transitioned into the next track, but it wasn't going to be in a dress.

***

Cameron slammed the door of the Shitmobile and lit up a cigarette, staring up at the starless, moonless night sky. It always looked that way to her -- whatever might've been trying to shine through overpowered by the city lights.

Her shift was over. She got paid a little, but that wasn't why she did this. For now, anyway. There were a couple other people out here in the alley behind the club smoking already, but not that many. She couldn't imagine what it must've been like before vapes.

Of course, you could probably smoke inside then. Musta looked badass in there.

She coughed just thinking about it, though.

"I hear you, but I gotta -- hey, bro, just a sec, hold on -- I drove him, I gotta make sure he gets in an Uber at least."

Cameron turned to look at the guy on his phone, talking urgently to someone and trying to keep his drunk buddy upright.

Wait...

Melvin.

Damn. Melvin really can't hold his liquor. No surprise there. Knew he was a fucking pussy.

"I know!" the guy on the phone said. It was the same friend who was with him in the booth. Must've been their designated driver.

The guy lowered his phone and looked around, spotting the bouncer next to the door. With a little effort, he dragged Melvin, limp arm around his neck, to the bouncer, Bobo.

She wasn't sure what Bobo's real name was, but that's what everybody called him. Not that anybody usually called him anything. She'd never seen him do anything other than stand there, but that was probably because nobody was gonna do anything in front of him that might risk him doing more.

Cameron took another drag and watched the show with a smirk.

"Hey, this is a real longshot, but my wife's mom was in an accident, she's in the hospital, nobody's home with my kids -- can you please make sure my buddy gets in an Uber? I'll get it here, pay for it, everything, I just gotta go now."

Cameron's eyes hardened and she exhaled a lungful of smoke into the night.

Bobo lowered his stare to the two men in front of him.

"Sorry, can't do it." He spread his massive hands. "Don't know you, and that's our policy. Can't be responsible for everybody after they leave the club, too."

"Yeah," the guy said with a wince and a sigh. "I get it. Thanks."

He turned around and walked Melvin to the wall across from where Cameron was standing, where there weren't any smokers. They didn't give her a second look.

Fuck.

Cameron dropped her cigarette to the ground and stomped it with her heel, knowing what was about to happen even as she tried to stop herself.

We're fucking even, pervert.

"I'll take him," she said, opening the passenger door of the Shitmobile.

The guy looked around like he wasn't sure who'd said something, then settled on her. She could see Melvin's eyes now were lolling around.

Huh. Really fucking slammed those shots I guess.

"Huh?" Melvin's buddy said.

She threw the fast-food cups and wrappers from up front into the backseat, wiped off the worst of the lingering crumbs, and turned back to the two of them.

"Come on," she said, letting her impatience show.

The friend looked her over from top to bottom -- and then top again, puzzled.

"Do I... know you?" he said.

"No."

"Well, thanks for the offer, but--"

"I know him though."

"Yeah...?" he looked like he would be very surprised if that were true.

"Yeah." Fuck, moment of truth. Which one was it? Goddammit.... "Melvin."

The guy holding Melvin cocked his eyebrow, then his chin dropped practically to the sidewalk. A wide, wide grin quickly spread to replace it as he looked her over again, like he was seeing something else this time instead of what he'd seen before.

"Yes! Yes, this, this is, uhh, Melvin," he said, helping him toward the car.

She walked around the other side, trying not to look too pleased that she'd evidently guessed right.

BOW BEFORE CAMERON, QUEEN OF REMEMBERING RANDOM DUDES' NAMES, MWAHAHAHAHA.

Melvin was muttering as his buddy buckled him in.

"whrrrr, heeeyyyy UNIVRRZZZZOV PSSSSSSSSSSSSSS" he mumbled.

His friend chuckled and gave him a pat on the cheek.

"That's right, pal. Be good. Hey -- seriously, thank you," he said, looking to Cameron. It was such a serious look that it made her turn away instead of return it. She didn't want to think about why she was doing this. "You're really saving my ass."

She just nodded instead and he slammed the door shut.

Well, he tried to.

"You gotta just--" she groaned as he tried again "--no, wait, just, yeah you gotta hold the handle open while you shut -- yeah there you go."

He finally got it shut and waved, then jogged off to wherever his own car was. Bobo was giving the whole scene a curious look. She didn't blame him. She'd never come in or out of this place with someone else who wasn't Kendra before.

Cameron sighed and eyed Melvin in the passenger seat. He was swaying a little, his eyelids opening and closing slowly.

"If you need to throw up..." she considered for a moment where would be best, "just... fucking don't, okay?"

He turned to her. "You..." he said, pointing at her with a growing grin.

"Yeah. Me."

"Hey," he said, smiling dumbly.

"Hey," she said.

"You... you... you look like this girrrrllll," he said, trying his best to compose himself, but still slurring.

She started up the car and headed out of the alley, into the nighttime traffic.

"Yeah?" she said, rolling down her window and propping her elbow up on it. She looked at him curiously. Maybe he'd tell her all about his sex/mirror/coffee dungeon.

"Yeahhhhh" he repeated, leaning back. "You'd like her," he said, nodding emphatically as they moved.

"Probably not."

"No, no," he pleaded. "Like, really. She's... com-pli-ca-teddddd," he said, enunciating each syllable carefully.

She snorted. "Yeah. I'll bet."

"Srrrsssly! She was like..." He took in a breath, swaying dangerously, putting his few functioning braincells toward finding the right word.

What? A bitch? No, he's sens-i-tive, she thought to herself, mockingly. He probably thinks I'm some crying little girl who just needs a real man to give her a good fingering. Fucking creep.

"She's like... strong."

Cameron looked at him questioningly. She wasn't expecting that, even from a guy blitzed out of his mind.

Although, I could definitely beat the shit out of him. I guess if that's your benchmark, then sure, tough guy, I'm strong.

"You can just telllll." He nodded at her. "Carrrries that shit around, on all her owned. Errr, own in her allned. Y-you get it."

He was quiet for a minute, and she snuck a few glances at him while he tried to keep his head upright and his eyes open.

Strong?

It had been her weakest moment. She could barely stand looking at him because it reminded her of the blubbering mess she'd been, of how little she'd been able to control herself -- or anything else. Just knowing that memory was somewhere inside her, the pathetic loneliness of curling up in a stranger's bed... he was a living reminder of everything inside herself she didn't want to acknowledge.

Then why did you volunteer to take him home?

Cameron glared at the road and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. She wasn't in the mood for stupid questions or even stupider answers.

"THIS IS, THE STORY OF A GIRLLLL, WHO CRIED A RIVER AND DROWNED THE WHOLE WORLLLDDDD!!!!" He belted out the lyrics with an imaginary microphone, doing her the favor of interrupting her thoughts.

"Shut the fuck up," she said sharply, turning her glare to him. "Shut. The fuck. UP. No fucking car karaoke!"

He stopped, looking cowed. She sighed.

It's not his fault. He did what you asked him -- begged him -- to do, you pathetic piece of shit. Don't take it out on him.

"Is that even a real song?" she said, taking some of the edge off her tone.

He looked at her like she'd insulted his mother.

"Y-yessss. You're just, sooo, sooooooo youngggg -- Oh my god I'm so OLD!"

Yeah. Crying little girl. Who says I don't fucking know people.

"I'm not that young, sorry pervert. And you're not that fucking old, hate to break it to you. Way too old to get blackout drunk at a club though, you're right about that." She looked at him again. "What the fuck were you doing there anyway?"

He shook his head. "I dunno," he mumbled quietly, looking like he was really pondering. "Why wassssshe there? I duh-nno. She looked... hey -- hey, be real with me, hokay?"

He turned to look at her with pleading, glassy eyes. She gave him a blank look back. It didn't stop him.

"Do you think she looked, like, like, like she was like, pretending? Or like... like do you think she's like, acthhhuallly that, like, like, happy?"

"Huh?" Cameron had no idea what he was talking about now, which frustrated her more than she figured it should have. "Who? The girl I'd like?"

Now he gave the confused look. "Whaaa? No, no, you wouldn't like her. Well..." He thought about it for a second. "Well everybody likes her, hactually. So." He shrugged sloppily.

"Who the fuck are you talking about?" She turned to look at him, but he'd passed out again.

Cameron groaned. Why was she getting wrapped up in this anyway?

Just drop him off at his house, maybe make him barf on that old guy's lawn first if I can find it, and then reap the rewards of balanced karma and never think about this fucking night or this fucking place again.

She slowed in front of the duplex she was pretty sure was his and put the Shitmobile in park.

"Hey, rockstar, wake up."

He didn't.

Ugh.

She reached into his left pants pocket and rooted around, but only came up with his phone. She stuffed that back in and with another groan, leaned over him and rifled through his right pocket.

Nothing.

"FUCK," she yelled, slamming herself back against the driver's door, facing him. That jolted him awake.

"Mal?" He looked around wildly.

She glared at him as he got his bearings, eventually noticing her. His eyes softened, coming down from high alert.

"You--"

"YES, ME, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" she screamed at him, kicking his seat harder than she'd intended. It startled him into shutting up though.

Then he scrambled for the handle and got the door open just in time to heave all over the sidewalk.

She groaned again, covering her face with a hand.

This is what you fucking get. This is what you FUCKING get for being nice. The ONE fucking time. Now you've learned your lesson.

Cameron sighed as Melvin coughed, sputtering up the last of it. He was gulping in deep breaths now.

Well, at least he didn't throw up in the car. Silver linings I guess.

After a few more convulsions and a pitiful groan, he finally swung his feet back inside, wiping his nose and eyes with his sleeve. He was a mess.

He looked at her, a little more lucid in the moment. "Thanks," he said, and gave a weak, embarrassed little half-smile. Just a tug on one side of his mouth, like nobody but her was supposed to notice. Or maybe that was just as much as he could manage.

He started to get out.

"Hey dumbass, you don't have any keys."

Freezing, he patted his pockets... then slumped back in the seat again, thumping his head against the head rest.

"Shit," he muttered. "I don't... shit."

She groaned again and opened her door, walked around to his side -- tiptoeing around the puke puddle -- held the handle, and banged the door shut.

Fucking door.

As she got back in, her defeated passenger was silent, just staring at the ripped fabric on the ceiling. She started up the car and they drove in the silence for a few minutes.

"Who's 'Mal'?" she asked, calmer, breaking the quiet.

He opened his eyes -- he must've closed them at some point -- and delicately swiveled his neck halfway toward her. It looked like it hurt just to move his head that much.

"My ex," he croaked, coughing a little.

She nodded.

Ohhh. Duh. Shoulda figured that one out. All coming together now. What else could make some 40-year-old dude drink his weight in watered down shots?

"Where are we going?" he said, looking around like it hadn't even occurred to him before now. Every word still seemed to make him wince.

"My place."

He eyed her suspiciously and she glared back.

"Yeah, because you're the one who should be weirded out right now."

"Yeah," he conceded, looking conciliatory and kind of sheepish.

By the time they got to her apartment building, he was in and out of consciousness, mumbling nonsense. He weighed way too much for her to haul in on her own.

"Move. Your... feet. Mother. Fucker." She grunted out, hauling him out of the car. He helped a little, and they made it up the stairs and to her front door, the beat from inside muffled only slightly as it pulsed out into the rest of the building.

The regular Saturday night rager was in full swing. It was dark, just a dim light on in the corner along with the one in the hallway. She dragged him through the couple of dozen teenagers and twentysomethings smashing into each other's bodies to her closed door. Which was probably a good sign, all in all. Kendra's was closed, too.

Cameron managed to turn the knob without dropping the dead weight slumping against her or being dragged down herself. After she kicked her door open, she let out a cross between a groan and a scream, finally fucking fed up with this night.

There were five people in her small room: two guys snorting something off some girl's bare midriff on one of the mattresses, one sitting next to them, and another passed out on Cameron's mattress. The wooden warning sign was flipped over and sitting right next to the passed-out girl. She couldn't have missed it. Or shouldn't have, anyway.

"GET THE FUCK OUT!" Cameron screamed, piercing through the music enough that they all looked up at her in alarm.

The one who clearly wasn't high yet scrambled out, and the others weren't far behind, scattering whatever they'd been snorting onto the floor.

The bitch on her mattress didn't move. She was about Cameron's size, but even skinnier. Probably from doing so much of whatever had her passed out.

Cameron put Melvin down as gingerly as she could on the floor, out of the way of the door. He didn't protest or even really seem to notice.

The bass was vibrating through her, fanning the flames of her frustration. She was taking deep breaths now, but wasn't sure if it was because of having to drag Melvin's ass all the way up here, or because she was about to lose her shit all over this dumb bitch. Probably both.

A couple of quick strides and she found herself reaching down, grabbing a handful of the bitch's roots. They were brown, in stark contrast to her shitty dye job.

"GET. THE FUCK. OUT!" Cameron screamed again, yanking the girl by the hair, tugging her a foot or so across the mattress and onto the carpet. That woke her up, eliciting some protests as she tried to figure out what the fuck was going on.

Cameron didn't give a shit anymore. There was one fucking rule: Don't get on Cameron's mattress. It was the only place she had that wasn't shared, that was really hers.

NOT FOR ILLITERATE FUCKING METH HEAD WHORES.

She reached back and grabbed one of the bitch's flailing arms, yanking it as hard as she could along with the handful of hair. She felt some of it come loose, tearing off the scalp. The girl screamed and was trying to get up, but she couldn't twist her legs around into the right position while Cameron held her arm.

The girl kept crying, screeching at the top of her lungs as Cameron dragged her into the hallway. Nobody gave them a second look. Maybe they couldn't hear over the blasting bass, or more likely they just knew it was none of their fucking business.

Once they were in the hallway, Cameron dropped her, standing over the girl with a leg on each side, so she couldn't get up. Trading one hand for the other, Cameron got a fuller grip again on the bottle blonde hair. It was matted with a bit of blood from where she'd torn out a handful.

"READ. THE FUCKING. SIGN." Cameron yanked the girl's head up to make sure they were making eye contact. Her eyes were drowning in tears, bloodshot, her lips trembling. She looked fucking terrified.

Good.

"I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU NEXT TIME, BITCH," Cameron screamed, an inch away. Into that tiny gap, she shoved up the tuft of hair she was still holding in her other hand, smashing it into the girl's face. "TELL ME YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND ME. NOD YOUR FUCKING HEAD!"

She did, and Cameron let the clump of hair go, some of it sticking to the girl's sweaty, tear-streaked face and some of it falling into her lap.

In her room, Cameron slammed the door shut behind her. Her breaths were coming in heaves and she bent over, hands on her knees.

"FUUUUCK!" She let the scream stretch until she didn't have anything left to scream out.

Then she turned and slammed the side of her fist against the door, adding another dent to the others she'd left in it over the years.

Fuck.

Calm down. It's over, she told herself, trying to breathe through her nose. It's over. In and out. In. And out.

Fuck.

She took one more deep breath in, then exhaled slowly and opened her eyes.

Melvin was still slumped against the wall where she'd left him, completely unaware of what was going on. The thump of the bass was barely muffled in here, but it felt quieter anyway.

A rough, wood wedge served as a doorstop, which she slid under the door. It didn't have a lock, but this was far from the first time she'd wanted to be left alone by the drunk and high zombies outside who were always looking for somewhere to wander.

Across the room, she started to drag Melvin by the arm -- much more gently than she had with the fake blonde. He only managed to slump over, so she gave up and just moved her mattress closer to him.

"Here," she grunted, lifting him up and trying to kick it under him. "Lie, down, Mel." She managed it, or close enough. It was small and flimsy, but better than the filthy carpet. It was barely big enough for her, though, much less him.

Good enough.

She heaved another deep breath, feeling the adrenaline being replaced in real time with fatigue as she sat back against the closet door, figuring out what the fuck to do next.

Wait, his name's Mel, and his ex is Mal? No wonder it didn't work out. She snorted.

His wallet had fallen out of his back pocket, apparently, while she'd been manhandling him around, and was sitting on the floor next to the mattress. Lighting up her phone so she could see in the darkness, she opened it up, though she didn't know what she expected to find.

There was a $20 bill, which she left there. An old library card. Few credit cards. Driver's license.

Brutal driver's license phot-- shit. His name's not Melvin. Or fucking Marvin.

Henry Andrew Mullins.

She looked at him again, lying on his stomach on the worn mattress in her room. His face was jammed against the middle of it and half his legs were on carpet. But he seemed more at peace now than the worried looks that had been swimming across his face all night.

Yeah, she thought, cocking her head while she examined him. He looks more like a Henry.

Wait. But his friend handed him over when I said "Melvin."

She thought about it for a second, putting together the pieces.

Melvin went and fucking bragged about stuffing his face with 23-year-old pussy, didn't he.

She sighed, slowly shaking her head. Well, can't blame him for that. He was probably a fucking virgin.

Cameron studied him. Henry Andrew Mullins. English teacher. Coffee addict. Piss-poor drinker. Did he tell his friend more about me? All about the lonely, sobbing bitch who just wanted to be--

She shook her head before she could let her train of thought get much further down that track. She was determined not to -- to never relive that again.

In the pathetic, passed-out stranger on her mattress, she couldn't help but see herself just a week ago -- a pathetic, passed-out stranger in his bed. She couldn't figure out if that made her more sympathetic toward him, or more disgusted.

Probably both.

After putting the license back, she pulled a messy stack of photos out of the inside pocket. Several were clearly a smattering of school pictures of what appeared to be a half-dozen or more different kids at varying ages, up to probably high school.

Fuck, are they yours? Do you have a whole family?

Another couple of photos all the way in the back: him, when he was younger, and another woman. The woman actually looked familiar to Cameron...

Bachelorette party! The one whose dress actually looked like it fit.

Everything snapped into place now -- why he was so fucked up, why he had been paying so much attention to the bachelorette party without actually ever getting on the dancefloor.

The woman was beautiful, way out of this guy's league. Cameron hadn't really paid close attention in the club, but it hadn't looked like she'd lost much since the photo was taken. She was hanging on his back in front of some tree, and they were both wearing flannel, hipster-ish tops with tight jeans. She -- Mal? Has to be -- had deep, chocolate-brown hair and an electric, toothy grin.

They looked young. Cameron's age, maybe. They were making goofy faces, but she could see he still smiled the same way -- the left corner tugging at half of his face. He had longer hair, too, and his body looked trimmer. She wouldn't have given him a second look then or now, though.

The other one was a wedding photo.

Not just his ex then, his ex-wife. Damn. Still carrying it around, huh. Let it go, bro.

They looked happy, shoving cake into each other's mouths.

She flicked her eyes up to his face now. It was pale, some drying snot or vomit or some combination caking the corners of his mouth.

With a sigh, Cameron rested her head against the closet, staring up at the dark shadows on the ceiling made by the soft glow of her phone.

What the fuck am I doing. Why did I even drag his pathetic ass back here? Just because his buddy's mother-in-law was in the hospital? What, you're gonna just go into some trance every time somebody mentions their mother now?

She shook her head lightly, rattling the closet door, and her gaze drifted back to the unconscious man on her mattress. She didn't even know him. Hadn't even known his name until just now. And he didn't know hers.

I don't owe him shit, she thought reflexively, until she realized nobody had said she did.

She sighed again, getting up.

Whatever. I'm "com-pli-ca-ted," remember?

Scoffing, she gently placed the wallet on the floor near the top of the mattress.

And... strong enough to carry your drunk ass up a flight of stairs and in here, I guess. What's that make you?

Cameron shook her head again, tired of thinking about it, and instead pulled off his shoes -- yet another in her series of good deeds. With some effort, she reached around and undid his pants, tugging those down, too.

He looked even more pitiful now, face plastered onto her shitty, stained mattress in his boxers, stinking like a back alley.

I'm probably the same every night. But, you know, with better legs.

Silently, she pulled off her own jeans and tossed one of the other, even shittier mattresses onto the carpet next to him. She made sure there was a gap between them so he wouldn't roll over into her.

From the closet, she retrieved the ratty old blanket that she used at night. Leaving it out on a Saturday night was guaranteeing that someone would do something unspeakable to it, so it stayed in the closet when they had company.

It was plain, a dark blue, and the softest thing she owned. She couldn't remember exactly how long she'd had it, but couldn't remember having it before she'd started staying with Gram. Maybe Gram had gotten it for her.

The blanket was plenty big enough for both of them, so she tossed one end over him and lay down under the other.

Cameron settled into the unfamiliar mattress, getting more comfortable, but keeping her eyes the whole time on him -- Henry.

***

Cameron must've drifted off to sleep because she jolted awake at the sound of his groaning.

The music was off, and it sounded quiet in the hall. Party must've petered out. It wasn't quite morning yet because it was pitch black in here, the way she liked it at night.

She could see his outline in the dark, holding his head, looking around the room. Probably trying to figure out where the fuck he was.

Cameron reached for her phone next to her and turned on the flashlight, shining it toward the door.

"Bathroom is down the hall to the left," she said quietly. Softly, almost. "All the way at the end. Don't go in any other doors."

He startled when she spoke, like he hadn't known she was there. She kept the flashlight on the door and let him get his bearings. He coughed a couple of times once he got to his feet.

"Thanks," he croaked out. Henry gave the door a tug but the doorstop was jamming it. It took him a couple more tries before she lowered the light to the doorstop so he could figure it out.

As he stumbled out, she turned off her flashlight, the light from the hallway spilling into the room and making her squint. The phone display read 4:14. She was surprised the party was so dead. Maybe the bitch bleeding out of her skull had ruined the mood.

Kendra had texted her a couple times to make sure she was the one in her room, but Cameron had already been asleep. Kendra was probably asleep now, but she texted her back anyway, just so she couldn't say Cameron hadn't responded again.

A couple of minutes later, silhouetted against the fluorescent light of the hallway, Henry peeked back in the door, probably tying to make sure it was the right room. Now that Cameron could see him in some light, she saw he looked even more like shit than he had when he'd slumped onto her mattress.

It wasn't just the booze, or whatever drugs he'd taken -- do 36-year-old English teachers take drugs? -- he just looked... beat. Like... like he was hungover as fuck, but that was the least of his problems.

That she could relate to.

He didn't close the door, but instead came back to the mattress and retrieved his wallet, then patted his pockets.

"Umm, I... I don't have my keys," he said in a stressed whisper.

"Yeah. Just... forget it," she responded at the same low volume. She wasn't sure why; nobody who was passed out would wake up if they talked normally. "I'll explain in the morning."

"I... I think...." His eyes darted to the door, back to her, his wallet -- everywhere. He looked freaked out. "I think I should go, I'd... I'd really like to just go--"

Cameron rolled her eyes. Jesus.

"Close the door." She was still whispering, but wasn't in the mood to go through all this again and wasn't about to hide it. She pointed to the mattress. "Lie down."

He was still hesitant, really didn't want to be here. All in all, she reluctantly admitted she understood that part. If she'd woken up in a place like this after sleeping every night in a place like his....

Cameron took a breath, summoning some patience.

"You didn't have your keys, so I took you to my place for the night," she said a little more gently. Then added, "It's okay."

Sens-i-tive guys always wanna hear that. I think.

He didn't look like that made him feel any better, but he went back to the door and closed it. She shined the light on the doorstop to remind him, and he jammed that in too after fumbling around with it for a bit.

Taking a deep breath of his own, he slipped back under the blanket and onto the mattress next to her. She switched off her light, plunging them back into darkness, only faint rays of streetlight bending their way around the ends of the blackout curtains that covered her window.

Cameron kept her eyes on him the whole time, her head propped on her elbow. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out that he was on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

She didn't know if he was talking to her or not.

"For what?"

"For... I don't know. Whatever I did that ended with you taking me back here," he said.

She assumed that meant he was sorry about her trouble, not sorry he ended up in such a shithole... but, eh, she couldn't blame him if he meant a little of the latter, too.

"You didn't do anything," she said in a low, quiet voice -- not quite a whisper. Cameron wasn't sure she'd ever used that voice before, really. But it came out like an instinct. She wasn't used to talking to people so quietly, when there was nothing else to focus on. It made every word... weigh more. Or something. She wasn't sure how to express it.

"I... I remember seeing... did I -- I didn't do anything, right?" he turned to look at her now, though she wasn't sure how well he could actually see her.

The fan in the living room was oscillating back and forth still. She could hear that even with the door closed. The only sound louder was the occasional stomping from the floor above. A car here and there zoomed past outside. Otherwise it was unnervingly silent.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to see him more clearly in the dark.

What is he trying to say?

"You got pretty drunk with your buddy," she said with a shrug of her one available shoulder. "Then he had to go. His mother-in-law's in the hospital. So I took you home."

Whatever it was he wanted to know, she figured that was probably good enough.

He exhaled -- relieved, maybe -- and turned back to the ceiling, wiping his palms across his face.

"What did you think you did?" She wasn't usually curious, but she couldn't help herself.

"I... don't know. I... know that the... umm, ingredients for some bad decisions were in the mix. I guess." He let out a combination of a sigh and a laugh, and although she couldn't see it, she could imagine the way he must have been smiling, with only a corner of his mouth.

"You mean Mal," she said, taking an educated guess.

His head jerked to look at her and he winced at the quick movement. "I... uh, oh God. So I did do something?" There was no smile in his voice now. It was hollow. Desperate. But certainly not shocked.

She shook her head calmly. "No. Just mentioned her. Your ex-wife."

Even in the dark, she could tell just from his outline that he wanted to crawl into a shell from embarrassment and shame. She understood that feeling, too -- although her reaction was usually to bash the nearest person with the shell and then run like hell to where nobody could find her.

He nodded. "Yeah. She was there."

"At the bachelorette party?"

He looked at her again, surprised. "Is there anything I didn't tell you?"

"You didn't tell me that, just wasn't hard to put together. You didn't take your eyes off her all night."

"You were watching me?" he said, confirming that he was unaware she'd been at the club at all. "Where were you?"

Shit.

This is why she tried not to get into conversations. She always ended up saying something she didn't mean to.

"I was the DJ," she said, choosing not to respond to the first part of his question.

He eyed her, weighing something. "That makes sense."

"Because I look like a club DJ?" She felt a faint smirk trace itself onto her face.

"Yeah," he said with a quiet laugh. She could see his smile clearly, even in the black, right in front of her. It was a warm, self-deprecating sort of grin. Wry, she guessed, even though she couldn't define the word. She didn't know anybody else who smiled like that. Like... like they were sharing an inside joke while everything went to shit around them.

He turned and closed his eyes, trying to settle into Cameron's thin mattress.

She rested her head on her folded arms, watching him. He seemed tense still -- but not panicked anymore, at least.

"Selena -- thank you. Seriously. I'm lucky I met you," he said, even more quietly than they'd been speaking. Sleep was clearly about to overtake him.

She didn't close her eyes. She didn't intend to close them the rest of the night, to make sure... of what?

Just... making sure. That's all.

"Cameron," she whispered into her wrist, so quietly that she knew he didn't hear her. That was okay. She didn't want him to.

"My name's Cameron."

***

Thank you so much for reading! This is easily the most difficult, complicated, and also rewarding piece of writing I've ever done, and I'm tremendously excited to share these characters with anyone who connects with them... even if that only turns out to be two or three people. But if that's you, I'd love to hear from you as we go along (: