AN: The song is "Turn It On," by Sleater-Kinney.
don't say the word
if you don't want it done
don't tell me your name
if you don't want it sung
"Your family," I said thoughtfully, stretching out
beside him in a tangled mass of sheets. "Mine. The age
difference, of course."
"Of course," he agreed with more than a little
bemusement.
"And," I added, "I really don't want to be one of
those skanks who sleeps with her whole band."
"You're planning on sleeping with your whole band?"
"Well, I'm just saying, it could start a trend."
"Sarah McLachlan isn't a skank," he pointed out.
"She married her drummer."
don't come any closer
that's good enough
don't go away
I can't stand the thought
"We're not getting married, and her drummer probably isn't
20 years her junior."
"Well, Patti Smith has a companion 26 years younger than she
is."
"Patti Smith is-how do you know who she's dating? How do you
even know who Patti Smith is?"
He gasped. "What, you think I'm both young and stupid?"
I laughed but didn't answer.
"Oh, now I'm hurt," he said. "That wounds me,
Molly. Seriously."
it's too warm
inside your hands
it's too hard
it's too good
"No, I'm serious," I persisted.
"No, you're reaching."
"Well, maybe I am," I said defensively, hating myself
for the wave of irritation rising inside, forcing itself outward
through words I knew better than to choose. "What would you
call it? I pay you--basically--and then you sleep with me.
Doesn't that make one of us a--"
"Except that I wouldn't sleep with you for what you pay
me," he teased.
"You're mocking me now, aren't you?"
"No. Maybe a little. But now that you mention it, maybe this
would be a good time to negotiate a little pay increase?"
it's just that when you touched me
I could not stand up
I fell into
I fell down
I couldn't help but laugh.
"Seriously, you should consider it. I mean, I live at home,
so it isn't a big deal, but have you seen Judy's place? I don't
know she can live there on a daily basis."
"No, I haven't." When had he? "When have
you?"
I hated him for the smirk that passed over his features at the
perception of jealousy, no matter how well-founded it might or
might not be. He paused for effect, then relented: "She used
to let me stay at her place when I'd been out late and didn't
want to deal with, you know, stuff. For a while I was spending
the night pretty constantly," he said with a perceptible
tinge of nostalgia. When was this? What had he been out late
doing that he wouldn't want to face the reaction at home?
I didn't ask him any of these questions, though I was fairly
dying to know the answers. I kept cool and quiet until he laughed
again at some private memory. "Denise, actually, used to
joke that she wondered if something was going on between Judy and
me since she found me on the couch nearly every morning."
"Denise?" He didn't respond, waiting for me to put it
together. "Oh. Oh? Really?"
"Yeah," he said patiently.
"How could I not know that? She's been with us for
years."
"You're pretty self-involved sometimes." I could tell
he was trying to be careful. It would be pointless to defend
myself; I couldn't disagree with that assessment.
why can't you tell me
is it worth a fight?
do i sound crazy
well i just might
"The point is, there are a lot of reasons why we shouldn't
be doing this."
"There are," he agreed.
"So explain to me again why was this the right thing to
do."
"Because either we can look at those reasons and get scared
and run away, or we can be brave and strong and face them. Deal
with them."
I wasn't convinced, but I pretended to be.
why do your words have to ring so false?
why do your eyes have to change so much?
it's too warm inside your hands
it's too hard, it's too good
I don't know how it happened. We were talking and the next thing
I knew it was morning and I was alone, for reasons that were
obvious and understandable. My instinct to be forgiving was
quickly diminished when I realized that I couldn't open the
bedroom door. I couldn't figure out how he had locked it from the
outside, but it held firm despite my best attempts to get it
open. Perhaps he'd enlisted the help of a kitchen chair. What
really confused me was why? I stumbled into the bathroom and
found a note taped to the mirror. In block letters, it simply
said, "sleep now." I considered my options. Climbing
out the window would probably work. But the sunlight that leaked
through the blinds was jarring and unpleasant, as I'd become
increasingly nocturnal as the result of the now-broken sleep
fast. I returned to bed and, despite the persistent dull fear of
what might happen, did as I had been told.
it's just that when you touched me
I could not stand up
I fell into
I fell down
Succumbing to my body's gnawing desire for sleep was like eating
the forbidden apple. You can think of a million reasons not to,
but maybe the consequences are worth it for the feeling of
undoubtedly immense pleasure you'll get after you give in to
temptation. At first, it was the best physical feeling I've had
in my entire life, facing the soothing darkness. But then the
dream faded in. It seemed to have already started by the time I
showed up. This time I was on the outside, watching myself and
the stranger with the face of a person I once knew as the final
confrontation edged closer. I can't remember the exact plot, I
didn't write it down. But the outcome was different. This time
instead of waking up to death, I survived. Wounded and hardened,
but I made it through. The stranger simply disappeared. What the
hell was that supposed to mean? What was he trying to tell me
this time?
just turn it on, you can turn it on
you can turn it into my song
turn it all night long
turn it on, turn it on, turn it on, turn it on
Would it be safe to sleep at night now? Had I unwittingly
achieved something somehow? Had he simply tired of performing the
same act night after night? I tried to clear my head after I
dragged myself out of bed. It was 6pm and the sun was gone. I got
dressed and, for lack of anything better to do, simply waited. By
6:30 he was there, opening the door with a broad smile. "Did
you? You look a little better."
"Thanks," I said, unable to stay annoyed in the face of
his obvious and somewhat touching concern for my welfare.
"Yes, I did."
"I'm sorry about the door thing."
"Yeah, it's all right."
"I locked the front door when I left so no one could break
in or anything," he added.
"Thanks," I said again, sincerely this time.
I still had misgivings about this whole thing, of course, those
nagging issues that continued to play on an endless loop in my
head. But if he had been out to endear himself to me completely,
he had accomplished his goal. You'd be surprised how many people
would be willing to let you kill yourself if they were still
getting what they wanted out of you. I guess I've always been a
sucker for someone who actually cares whether I live or die
don't say the word
if you don't want it done
don't tell me your name
if you don't want it sung
