Free Poison Shy by Stacey Madden Page B

the tap and drank it with her back to me.
    â€œMelanie, I’m sorry. I think I had too much to drink.”
    She dropped the mug into the sink; it crashed against my unwashed plates. “So did I!”
    I stared into my lap and fingered the crotch button on my boxer shorts.
    â€œWhere’s that wine?” She opened the fridge, moved some things around, closed it. Stood on her toes and reached up to look through my cupboards, her naked breasts stretching out and flattening against her chest.
    â€œListen,” I said. “If you want to leave, I’ll understand. I’m really sorry about this.”
    She found the wine on the counter next to the toaster oven and took a swig straight from the bottle. “And go back home to Darcy? No fucking way. I’m staying here whether you like it or not. If your dick decides to wake up, let me know. I’m going to bed.”
    I scrambled off the couch and converted it to bed mode. Melanie stood behind me like a dominatrix, holding the bottle of wine by its neck. It swayed between her legs like a pendulum. I got the feeling she wasn’t afraid to use it on me if necessary.
    Once the bed was made, she shoved me aside and crawled under the sheets. She was out within seconds. I sat on the edge of the mattress and watched her sleep with the resigned composure of a born loser. Had I really been so naïve as to expect, or even hope for, a happy ending to the night?
    I went for a pee, and returned to find Melanie sprawled out diagonally across the mattress, snoring like a moose on her drool-dampened pillow. I eased myself down onto the very edge, my shoulder pressed against the cold metal bar of the bed frame. I had no sheets, no room to move around and get comfortable.
    After twenty restless minutes of shivering, I turned onto my stomach and blasted the night’s disappointment into the hollow darkness of my apartment with one long, deflating fart. Sleep came a bit easier after that.
    I dreamed I was wrapped in a cocoon sealed with a zipper. It was full of water, but somehow I was able to breathe. I was warm and comfortable, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Before long the water started to boil. I reached up to open the zipper but couldn’t find the tag. The casing was sealed from the outside. My flesh started to blister. I tried to scream but no sound came out of my mouth.
    In an instant the water evaporated. Something had landed on top of the cocoon, puncturing it with its weight. A kind of peace flowed through me. I had goosebumps. My crotch seemed to glow.
    The zipper tore open and I was slurped back into waking life, though what I saw when I opened my eyes was more frightening than any dream.
    Melanie sat on top of me, fully naked, eyes frosted like her vision had turned inward. Her face and body were covered with streaks and handprints of her own menstrual blood. She writhed on top of me like a serpent. Ran her blood-smeared hands through her hair, across her nipples, along my chest, marking me.
    â€œWhat —”
    She grasped at me and put me inside her. She was warm, extremely wet. I tried to look into her face but all I saw was a dark mask. She leaned forward, dug her nails into my scalp, held me down.
    The realization that I wasn’t wearing a condom hit me like a dart. I tried to pull myself out from under her but she slapped me hard across the face. Grunted. One of her nails broke off against my skull. She cried out and leaned backward, breasts to the sky, arms and shoulders loose. Her thighs squeezed my hips with every contraction.
    I lay there, panting and swollen. There was blood everywhere. I could smell it.
    â€œMelanie . . .”
    She didn’t move. She was frozen, like a human spider crab, in the most uncomfortable position I’d ever seen. If it weren’t for the subtle rising and falling of her abdomen, I’d have thought her neck had snapped and she was