It would be perfect - or at least easy - if I loved her. Really. Then there'd be a hell of a lot less guilt at least. I mean, sure, having to compare lust and love, that sparks all the guilt indicators, turns on all the 'you're such a fuckhead, Chase' lights in the old reptilian brain-center, y'know? If I could fall back on the 'hey, I love her too, and it wouldn't be fair to you if, y'know' routine. Then I could fuck her in peace. Easy.
But I didn't. It was just the shape of her shoulders made me want to toss her on the bed and do her 'till she screamed; the fall of her hair, the cool shape of her ear beneath it.
I guess it probably started when Karolina left. Or, actually, when I came to comfort Nico afterwards. Nico missed her. I did too.
"You just miss having a hot girl around," Nico said, morose.
"There's still plenty of those around here," I replied. "Karolina was a solid eight," I said, "but you're a nine." A muscle in my head clenched. "Nine and a half when you smile," and then she did.
"You're so lame," she told me.
The Asian sensation, Pusher Man said, and is she. Is she ever. The first kiss sealed it, y'know - sealed my fate, I guess you could say. Abandon hope, all ye who enter here. It didn't matter that I pushed her away, that I told her I didn't 'feel for her like that.' It was like karma, some shit like that, inescapable destiny, forces larger than anything I knew pushing me towards an edge.
I kiss her. She doesn't taste like redemption or damnation or any of that metaphorical bullshit. She tastes like girl. Very fucking hot girl.
Tears are growing cold on my face. My hands are hot on her skin beneath her shirt.
Gert said she was broken, y'know? The only thing here not broken is the ship, right? Yeah. She's very much right, man. We're all broken here, I mean - it's like that metaphor in the Stand, right? We're all in God's playchest, and somebody dropped a cherry bomb in it. Some of the stuff is okay, some of it's knocked around, and a lot of it's too damaged to fix. We're the last.
Then the shirt's off, the bra follows, and my mouth is full of breast, my hands full of Nico.
The smell of her is seduction. It is sex, and more than that, it is fucking.
She locks the door behind me with a distracted look. She buries her hands in my hair and moans, her nails scraping sensually against my scalp.
Chase, this is so good, she whispers. Nico, this is so wrong, I thought.
But y'know what?
The sex was fucking incredible.