The Mass, page 11
His eyes widen, only for a second, then relax. “I’m being respectful. I just met you, and I’d like to spend at least an hour with you before I go tickling your arm.”
Hot and admirable. With a smile stretching my face apart, I release his arm, returning some of his space. “What happens after two hours?” I ask.
“Maybe I hold your hand.”
“And after three?”
“Will we make it to three? I might fall asleep.”
“Ooh, burn.” But we both laugh.
The boat docks. Daniel steps off the boat like a champ, which is already an improvement. Once we’re both on land, we walk to the jam-packed entrance. Security guards check bags left and right, but visitors get in and out pretty quickly. It’s not like Fantasy Land has any staffing shortages.
Then I notice the metal detectors, and my heart launches into my throat. Even though it’s rare for an alarm to sound over an IM rod, I still don’t like the idea of something or someone scanning my body for metal I know is there and always will be.
Daniel goes first, passing without question. Then it’s my turn.
“I have a rod in my leg,” I tell the male security guard before moving. I point to the vertical scar.
He motions for me to step through, but nothing happens. At the airport, they scanned my whole body. Thankfully, this dude doesn’t ask any questions and just lets me into the park.
“Are you Wolverine?” Daniel asks.
“I wish. It’s titanium, not adamantium.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Does what hurt?” I ask, moving ahead of him so he’ll stop staring at my leg.
He catches up with a single step. “So this is Fantasy Land!” He takes in the view, the crowds, but mostly the giant stone castle guarded by a fifty-foot red dragon. “Looks like every kid’s dreamland.”
“It felt that way the first time I came here.”
“What does it feel like now?”
I’m not as awe-struck as I thought I’d be. Then again, the mind of an eight-year-old is vastly different from an eighteen-year-old. As a kid, all I saw was a world outside my own, a place where problems could be forgotten, where life was simply one fantasy after the other. And it got even better when I separated from my parents and felt the added gratification of freedom. I could be a pirate, a princess, and a dreamer all at once. I could run from place to place, ride every ride multiple times, and eat sugar, all without being told to slow down or watch out, or that’s not ladylike! I could be the person I needed to be. The person I wanted to be.
Now all I see are screaming kids, couples arguing, and overpriced merchandise. Everyone looks sweaty, even the children. It baffles me why all the old people wear long pants and why six-year-olds still need to be in strollers. And why does that fat husband think wearing plastic armor will impress his wife? Maybe I need to be high to enjoy this. Too bad I left all my goodies in the hotel room. I thought the slushie would be enough.
Before I can answer Daniel’s question, he grabs my hand and pulls me through the marketplace, away from all the vendors, straight toward the castle. We pause in front of the dragon, who looks way less intimidating than I remember. Daniel surveys the castle, his grin stretching by the second.
My eyes fall to our conjoined hands.
“It hasn’t been two hours,” I tell him.
He gives my hand a tiny squeeze. “I said maybe I’d hold your hand after two hours. Which also means maybe I’d hold your hand sooner.”
“Charming.”
“I thought I was Aladdin.”
“You can be both.”
He smiles to one side. “So, where do you want to go first?”
“Let’s go on The Dwarf Demon.”
“Which is…?”
“An underground roller coaster. All in darkness.”
“Sounds terrifying. Lead the way, my lady.”
Daniel
I decide to treat this evening as a date, minus the fact that Maya is paying for everything.
I let her choose what rides we go on, and she chooses everything, even the “Gypsy’s Carrousel” full of screaming kids. Some of the rides are lame, but Maya finds pleasure in everything. She takes pictures with anyone dressed as an elf or fairy. On our way up “Mount Doom”, she pretends to be scared but then on the way down, releases the most epic scream of the year followed by insane laughter. Inside the costume shop, she tries on one of the most scandalous elf outfits that barely covers her bottom, but rather than buy it for herself, she hands it over to a fifteen-year-old who hasn’t enough cash and wants to wow her boyfriend. Maya finds pleasure everywhere, even in generosity.
Nearing eleven o’clock, fireworks explode across the water. Maya looks happy, but her hand tremors against mine. I wonder if the loud noise triggers flashbacks of the concert shooting. Does she think about her parents’ deaths? Does she remember being shot? Is it something she still fears? I want so much to ask about her experience. How she’s managed to survive all this time on her own. And to be so nonchalant about it. Like it wasn’t even that big of a deal.
“Are you okay?” I ask once the show is over.
She laughs. “I need a drink.” Her eyes scan the area for a vendor, but only beer is sold outside the restaurants.
“Do you want to go back to the hotel?” I ask.
“But we haven’t gone on all the rides yet.”
“Yeah, but the park closes in like an hour anyway. We can come back tomorrow and spend the whole day here if you want.”
“True. Let’s go then.”
My legs are cramping by the time we make it back to the boat. I haven’t exercised in weeks, and my body isn’t used to this humidity.
Maya is noticeably limping, favoring her left side over her right, but she doesn’t voice any complaints. Even if she was in pain, I don’t think she’d be keen to express it. Instead, she looks out across the dark water and smiles nostalgically. I wonder what she’s thinking about.
When we dock, she lets out a weird little yelp. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?” I ask, deeply concerned she’s trying way too hard to hide her discomfort.
“Just sore,” she says with a wide grin. “A couple of drinks should numb it out.”
“What about some Tylenol?”
“Tylenol? I have much stronger stuff.”
Of course, she would have prescription pain medication. The one time I hurt myself playing football, my eighth-grade broken ankle, I was prescribed Vicodin, but my dad only let me take it for two days before switching me to Tylenol. He even joked, saying I only earn Vicodin if I take a bullet someday. I’ll never dare remind him of that.
“Do you have to take pain medication often?” I ask. “For your leg?”
She laughs like I made a joke. “Vicodin doesn’t mix well with alcohol, so unless I want to get blackout drunk, I don’t take it unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Couldn’t that kill a person?
“Besides,” she continues, “I only get refills if I visit my doctor. So my supplies are limited.”
“Aren’t you supposed to see a doctor? For follow-ups and stuff?”
“Hey, do you want to check out the nightclub before we go to our room?” she asks, obviously not interested in answering my question.
“I’m not sure I have the stamina for a club right now.” I’ve never actually been inside a club. Barn parties are more my style.
“Maybe another night,” she says after a yawn.
She seems tired enough to crash, but the minute we get back to the hotel room, she kicks off her shoes and goes straight for the bottle of Jack. I’ve seen people do shots of whiskey at parties, but never have I seen a girl drink straight from the bottle.
“Much better,” she says after a long swig. “Your turn.”
I stand under the AC vent. “I said I’d take a shot with you. That was like three.”
“Then just take one, and you can catch up later.”
“Why do you like whiskey so much? Is it the taste?”
“Hell no.” She laughs. “It’s the burn. It was also my father’s favorite…” She cuts herself off and shakes the bottle in front of my face. “Come on, just one shot. Pretty please?”
How can I say no to that face? My face warps in every direction after I take my swig. Maya giggles as I search the fridge for a chase. Thankfully, there is coke.
“I can go down to the bar and get you a slushie if you want,” she says. “They’re really good.”
“No thanks,” I say after downing half a bottle of sugary soda. “I’m good.”
“You’re not going to party with me? This is our first night at Fantasy Land!”
“Maya, it’s kind of late.”
“It’s not even midnight.”
“And I need to shower again.”
“You don’t smell.”
“And I haven’t drank in a while.”
“One more shot. Please?”
“I’d rather have the slushie.”
“I’ll go get you one!” She leaps for the door.
At least that gives me a chance to shower in peace. Maya must not have a working nose. Guys always smell bad when they sweat. Unless they’re vegans, then they smell like gold.
I wash with cold water to keep cool and prevent a boner. I could just drink a ton, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about anything rising. But getting shit-faced would cause a horrible hangover and ruin tomorrow.
I want to relax. I want to feel good without losing control. Can I strike a balance with Maya? She seems to go straight for the highest setting on the remote.
As I slip into boxers, the main door opens. I hobble for a corner to secure privacy, but Maya barges straight into the bedroom with two slushies.
“What are you doing?” she asks suspiciously.
“Putting on clothes.”
“Oh.” She sets down our drinks and enters the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. I panic for a second, thinking she’s up to no good, but then I hear the water turn on. She’s just taking a shower.
I finish dressing, grab my drink, and head for the living room. Feeling stressed at this point, drinking helps to mellow me out. I turn on the TV and lean back into the sofa.
I’m on vacation. I shouldn’t stress about anything.
About fifteen minutes later, Maya moseys in with her melting drink and wet hair. The sleeves to her extra-large purple t-shirt are cut off, and she’s not wearing a bra underneath, so anytime she raises her arms, it’s a clear shot of porcelain white side-boob. I don’t think I’ve ever been with a girl so unreserved. Then again, have I ever been alone with a girl in a hotel room? How many first-time moments will I have during this trip?
“Feel better?” she asks, tapping her finger against the side of my glass.
“I feel pretty good.”
She smiles and wraps those perfect lips around her straw. For the next hour, we watch TV and drink. Eventually, hunger strikes. Maya eats potato chips like it’s the only food on Earth while I finish the last of the pizza.
“So, Daniel, tell me something real?” Maya asks, rubbing her bare foot against mine.
I take the bottle of whiskey from her. “My mom wanted to call me Jack.”
“Really?”
“Yes. But Daniel is a family name on my dad’s side. Every other generation names their son Daniel.”
“I have no idea why my parents picked Maya.” She laughs, trying to take the bottle back. “They probably just went with whatever was trendy at the time.”
“How about I hold onto this for a while?” I ask, cradling the bottle as if I need it more, even though I’m at the point where I’ve had enough to feel good but not enough to get sick or crazy.
“Are you going to drink more?” she asks.
“Maybe we should save some for tomorrow night.” I tuck the bottle underneath the couch. When Maya tries to retrieve it, I grab both her hands. She throws her head back and laughs.
“You’re really strong,” she says.
“Am I hurting you?” I ease my grip, but that gives her another chance to grab the Jack. I move faster, grasping her forearms this time. She laughs once more, and then it happens. She kisses me.
It’s near-instant how she goes from lying next to me to being on top of me, her fingers in my hair and her tongue down my throat. This is exactly what I feared would happen. She’d want to have sex with me almost immediately, and I wouldn’t know what to do. But I don’t panic. How can I? Everything feels amazing. Now the only fear that comes to mind is she’ll jump off me and shout, “Just kidding!” Which wouldn’t be the end of the world but would make this moment confusing.
I push those thoughts aside and allow my body to lead. My reactions are as near-instant as hers.
My hands wrap around her waist and up her shirt. I touch every part of her upper body, caressing the lines of her back, finding the muscle definition that still exists despite her lack of mass. When my hands reach the back of her neck, she lifts her arms, taking her shirt right off.
In all my life, I’ve never had it happen like this. Most girls in Morville want committed relationships before taking off their clothes, which I respect, until they do things like cheat on me.
I shouldn’t think of Anna. She’s nothing compared to Maya, with her long black hair now tangled in my own. Maya, with her pulsing hips and frisky hands and an uncontrollable mouth that just can’t seem to separate from mine.
I’m going nuts with her on top. I feel trapped on the couch, so with little effort, I stand, hoisting her up with me.
“What are you doing?” she asks, finally pulling her mouth free.
“Bedroom?” I suggest.
“I can walk.” She tries to wiggle loose.
“I want to carry you.”
“I’m not a baby.”
Her eyebrows narrow, so I ease her down. She immediately grabs my hand and pulls me toward the Titania bed. She wants me to lie down, so she can be on top. Now I’m tempted to ask questions like are you sure this is what you want? She might be too drunk to think clearly, making me feel like I’m taking advantage of her.
But she shows no signs of being too impaired. Her tolerance is likely way higher than the average girl’s if she can chug whiskey. What about me? Am I drunk? Am I thinking straight?
And then she takes off her shorts and underwear. How the hell am I supposed to think clearly about anything now?
But strangely, I notice the scar first. A single line, about a foot long, running vertically down her thigh. I wonder how much damage was done. How much of her femur is left, and how much is metal? What was her recovery like? Is she still in recovery?
Maya opens one of her suitcases and pulls out a condom. I don’t say anything, even though a part of me wants to ask what kind, what size. She yanks off my shorts and boxers and slides the condom on with ease. It doesn’t feel restricting, so it must be right. I’m sweating again, so I take the liberty of removing my shirt myself.
As soon as all my clothes are off, she’s on top of me with her mouth covering mine and her hair everywhere. There’s no turning back now. I just hope I don’t disappoint. If she’s an experienced drinker, does that make her experienced in other ways?
Shut up, brain. You will disappoint her if you don’t stop thinking.
When we finally connect, it’s like I’m in another world. Maya doesn’t care about anything other than total satisfaction, and I join her in the pursuit. She feels tight, but not virgin tight, more like she hasn’t had sex in a while tight. Maybe that’s why she’s so anxious to do this.
Or maybe she’s actually into me. Which ups my confidence and my performance.
Fifteen minutes later, I fall backward, exhausted, taking her with me. Her forehead lands on my shoulder, and her arms dangle lifelessly across the bed. I close my eyes and listen to her breathe. Thoughts melt like candle wax, and I finally find a moment of quiet inside my head.
Maya
I wake up sore.
It’s a big change going from girl to guy. And, in this case, a good one.
Daniel is lying beside me, gently snoring as the morning light sneaks through the curtains. His lower half is covered by white sheets, leaving the rest of him on display. He has curly black chest hair, dark nipples, and a perfect six-pack. I’d have to ditch alcohol and potato chips if I ever wanted to look that good again. But the whole working out part would probably do me in. How long has it been since I’ve done a pull-up? Or even hung from a bar?
I roll out of bed and stumble over clothes to the bathroom. I need to pee, hydrate, and put my head under cold water. Some people need meds, sleep, and quiet time to battle a hangover. I just need a temperature change, chips, and another drink. Then everything returns to normal. I’m back on the horse, ready to ride.
After chugging sink water, I throw on clothes and head out the door, leaving Daniel to snooze. I buy one bottle of water and two bottles of OJ from the nearby vending machine. That’ll mix nicely with Jack.
When I return to the room, Daniel is awake but still in bed, rubbing his forehead and looking at me like he has amnesia.
“Morning, sunshine,” I say, handing him the cocktail.
“This is terrible,” he says after one sip. “Did you mix this with whiskey?”
“Yes.”
He sets the bottle on the nightstand. “I’m good. Thanks though. How are you?”
I sit beside him with my chips and offer him the water instead. “Can’t complain. Do you want to go into the forest today? We could do zip-lining. There’s also this sick mermaid lagoon. And a waterfall.”
He drinks nearly half the bottle before answering. “Uh, sure. What about the park? You wanted to finish doing all the rides.”
“We can do that in the evening.” I offer him some of the chips.
He turns them down. “How about breakfast?”
“This is breakfast for me.”
“Are you on a chip diet?”
“Ha.” I fill my mouth with two chips, then crumble the empty bag. “You can call for room service. Or we can grab something on the way out.”
