When you let it happen once, it's a lapse in judgement. A fluke, an act of spontenaety. It's something you can leave behind and move on from, and always fall back on the excuse of, "Yeah, but I only did it once." When you let it happen twice, though, it becomes a full-blown mistake. At that point you've made a choice. You've willingly dove into the wrong. You're fully accountable for the blame. After the second time, it's hard to walk away from it. And when it happens more than twice... You're involved. You're in deep shit. You've lost control.

And that's exactly how it happened. After it happened the first time, there was a kind of lull. We didn't talk about it, but we both understood that it was wrong, that it shouldn't happen again. We kept our distance... for all of, I don't know, three days. And then we found ourselves alone together again. And we made the choice. With full knowledge of the consequences, we let it happen again. From there on out we were willing criminals, accountable for the blame and so much more. And we showed no sign of letting it stop. We were drawn to one another, tempted by the obvious fucked-up-ness of our lust, entranced by the most dangerous kind of curiosity. We would start looking for ways to just happen to both be home when we knew Sean was gone. She would come into my room sometimes after Sean had gone to bed. We would give secrets glances and subtle touches when heads were turned. It turned into a game. It was dark and addicting. It thrilled and destroyed me simultaneously. But it passed the time, and I guess in the end, that's all I was really looking for.

It was getting closer to summer. The windows of my bedroom were open, and warm air crept inside. We were naked on top of the sheets, our minds dulled from sweat-worthy sex and summer heat. She laid across me, her hands folded on top of my chest. Her chin was rested on top of them as she stared right at me, smiling as I smoked my cigarette. Her eyes were glazed and gleaming with contentment.

"What?" I asked, exhaling a puff of smoke and breaking the warm silence. I cocked my eyebrows curiously at her. I reached forward and brushed a sweaty strand of red out of her smiling face. "What's so funny?"

She shook her head softly. "Nothing. I was just... looking at you. You're so gorgeous."

"Gorgeous?" I asked, chuckling. "Not the adjective I would have had in mind, but..." I shrugged and took a drag. I looked at her, wet red hair tousled all around, pale skin against my own, fingers idly caressing wrinkled sheets, sunlight dancing around her. This was gorgeous. It was pure electric fire on my tongue, a drug that hit me slow and heavy. Being with Ellie felt... edible. I could have eaten this entire moment. I wanted to feel this kind of high, always. I guess that was the force that pulled me ever-deeper into this sinful situation: the wanting. I was drowning in want. The excitement of Ellie, the freedom of her skin in my hands, was exactly what I needed to distract me from my shitty days.

She looked at the clock. "I should get dressed," she said with a sigh. I could feel her breath on my chest as she spoke. "I don't want to get up, though." She dropped her head and kissed my chest, closing her eyes. "Sometimes I feel like I'm sabatoging myself," she mumbled.

These were the kinds of comments she would make in the afterglow of sex. Being with Ellie wasn't only an amazing fuck; there were always these moments of spilled aching, inner most thoughts unchained, that followed. Deep, dark, philosophical conversations about the fucked up world and our meaningless part in it. Sex and the Meaning of Life, brought to you by Ellie Nash. When she wasn't wearing clothes, she wasn't just naked... she was naked. All of her scars were visible; she was defenseless. It was only in those moments that I could listen to her speak and know for sure she was telling the truth. In the beginning I was weary of these post-sex conversations; they dug too deep. Deeper than I was willing to go. But somehow they became required, and their intimacy was comforting.

I dropped my hand onto her head and combed my fingers through her sweaty hair. "Sabatoging yourself?" I said, rolling the words slowly over my tongue, soaking in the idea.

"I mean, my counselor tells me I have self-destructive tendencies... but it feels like more than that." She lifted her head again, propping it on my chest so that she could look right at me. "I feel like every time I start building my life up, getting things the way they need to be... I feel like, behind all that, I'm just tearing it down again. It's like I just, every time I get close to being okay, I get scared and try to fuck it up. Because it's easier to just keep fucking up than actually take care of myself. I give up before I even try. I'm not satisfied until I've ruined everything."

I pet her hair as I listened to her. Self-destructive was kind of an understatement when it came to Ellie. She walked her life along a thin wire, teetering above a pit of fire. "I know what that feels like. I mean, I'm not exactly an over-acheiver, if you haven't noticed. I never even graduated high school. I dig living with just the bare minimum; that way I'm never disappointed." I shrugged as I paused to take a puff of my cigarette. "I guess that whole 'low-expectations' thing is sort of ingrained in trailer park kids since birth, though."

Ellie smiled at me. "Oh, us children of the drunks. So cynical and defeated. Fucked for life." She let out a groan-heavy sigh and rolled off the bed, grabbing her black panties and stepping into them. I watched with a slight smirk as she dressed herself, bewildered as always that we were here like this, doing this, enjoying this. "Guess I'll start some dinner," she said casually, slipping on her white t-shirt. "I'm thinking burgers tonight... sound good?"

I nodded. "Sounds good to me," I replied with a stream of exhaled smoke.

She pranced out of the room and went to work in the kitchen. When my cigarette was spent I got dressed and relaxed in front of the TV. When Sean came home awhile later, Ellie was doing her thing, I was doing mine. We were only a few feet away from each other, but we were comfortably oblivious to one another's presence. It was exactly what Sean would expect to see upon walking into the house. He had no idea that buried deeply under our surface thoughts were secret schemes for our next rendevous.

"Smells good," he said, shutting the door behind him. He walked into the kitchen and gave his girlfriend a "Honey, I'm home" kiss on the cheek before joining me in the living room. He propped his feet up on the coffee table and stared at the glowing boob tube. "Did I miss anything?" he asked absent-mindedly.

I shrugged. "Wouldn't know. Only woke up half an hour ago myself."

Sean laughed, I chuckled, and we continued watching TV together. I was amazed how easy lying to him had gotten.

o o o o o o

"You're getting laid," Phil observed a few days later, peering over his hand of cards at me with a sly grin. There were four of us, kicking it at his apartment one day for a game of cards. "That's what it is. You haven't been in this good a mood since that Jap girl dumped your ass." Clint and Spinner, slightly inebriated, hooted and hollered in agreement.

I proceeded to pelt Phil with a barage of pretzels, shaking my head in disapproval. "That Jap girl was my wife, dickhead," I informed him. "Would it kill you to be PC for once?"

Phil only laughed harder. "Whatever, man. I'm just curious who the lucky lady is. Is it the blonde from Red Lounge? Ooh, wait. It's that Charli girl you used to date, right? Clint told me she came into the store the other day all, 'Uhhhh, Tracker, I miss you so much, I need your sweet juicy man meat!'" He laughed wildly, Spinner and Clint joining in.

I rubbed my temple and took a sip of my beer. "You guys are ridiculous. You know that, right? You act like you're still seventeen years old, for Christ's sake."

Spinner wrinkled his nose in confusion. "Dude, I am seventeen."

I sighed with heavy impatience. "Spinner, shut up." I laid down my cards. The rest of the guys followed in turn. I lost miserably.

Clint's eyes lit up mischieviously as he dealt out the next hand. He grinned at me. "Wait, I bet I know who it is. It's Slutty McRedhead, am I right? I mean how can you live in the same house as that ass and just, you know, NOT?" He continued his speech non-verbally, making gestures with his tongue and hands that would probably frighten small children.

I was discomforted. My secret fuck-buddy was not exactly something I needed these idiots knowing about; especially not Spinner, who went to school with my brother, who, oh yeah, was dating said fuck-buddy. I shook my head incredulously, as if such a suggestion was unthinkable. "You're a sick man, Clint," was all I said.

"Whatever man, don't act so high and mighty. You'd fuck her if you got that chance at least, wouldn't you? I mean, damn..." He puckered his lips together and shook his head, his eyes slightly gone in a fantasy.

Seeing as that wasn't a question I didn't feel even remotely comfortable answering, I tried to shift the conversation completely. "You know, if you're so interested, douchebag, why don't you ask Spinner. He knows about Ellie first hand. Isn't that right, Spin?"

Both Clint and Phil immediately whipped their heads around, staring at the teenage boy with sudden burning interest. Spinner slowly lifted his greasy hair from his cards, gazing back at the three of us with an unmistakable deer-caught-in-the-headlighst expression. He grinned shyly.

"Hot damn," said Clint. "You and Reddie hooked up?"

Phil gave him a suspicious eye. "You been messing around on my sister, man?"

"Whoa, no," said Spinner, holding out his hands in defense of his innocence. "It wasn't like that. Ellie and I messed around for awhile, but that was like, a few months ago, before I got with Manny. It was right after I broke up with my last girlfriend, Paige. It wasn't that big a deal, not really."

Clint hooted with boyish laughter. "'Wasn't that big a deal, not really,'" he mimicked, poking fun at Spinner's lame attempt at nonchalance. Clint reached over and gave the younger guy a punch in the shoulder. "Listen to junior over here, trying to play it cool. Like he gets fine ass all the time or something. What a joker. Spill it, kid. Is that kitten really as juicy as she looks?"

I found myself poised on the edge of my seat for some reason as I awaited Spinner's answer to that question. I mean, I already knew the answer first-hand. But nobody knew that I knew, least of all Spinner. It was a surreal and awkward position for me to be in. I took a sip of my beer and listened.

"Well, I mean, yeah, she's pretty good," Spinner said, his inexperience bleeding through his big-man talk. "She's kind of... wild, you know? Like, not crazy wild but... weird wild. Like, kinky. She wants everything to be weird and scary... she would always want to smoke pot beforehand. And she would like, scream..."

Clint and Phil guffawed and drooled as they listened to the details of Spinner and Ellie banging, stuffing their faces with pretzels and gummy bears and washing it down with warm beer. I tuned him out almost immediately, realizing this was all too fucked up for me to hear. Sex with Ellie had been such a secret, hidden thing for me until that point. As Spinner wove his less than eloquent tale in his childish, ADD-ridden speech, I was forced to realize that Sex With Ellie wasn't much of a secret at all. There were probably dozens of other idiot teenage boys like Spinner and depraved older guys like me that could recount Sex With Ellie in great detail. At that moment I was reminded of Ellie's scars; not just the visible marks on her arms that told the story of a troubled girl, but also the ones that lingered beneath the surface. Scars that marked her experience, her dangerous games, her self-destructive tendencies.

I guess I'd acquired such a flare for lying to those around me that I had barely even realized I was lying to myself, too. I had somehow been able to live with the assumption that Ellie was my secret. Ellie, to me, existed only in my bed, in our private world of hot sex and melancholy conversation. She was so vulnerable in that place. Not kinky, not a stoner, not a slut who wanted it weird and scary. I had temporarily forgotten her fucked-up existence in the outside world, but Spinner had reminded me of it. I felt sick to my stomach.

"Uh-oh," I said, wanting to put a stop to all of this. I lifted the plastic rings that remained from the six-pack we'd torn through. "Looks like Clint drank the last beer."

"Ah, fuck," said Phil, taking my bait like I knew he would. Spinner's story was abruptly ended with my announcement. Beer, after all, was far more essential that teenage sex stories.

"Guess Junior's going on an errand," I said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a ten for Spinner to take. "Run on down to the Stop N Shop and get the big boys a sixer, Spin."

Spinner stood up and scratched the back of his greasy head. "Um, what if I get carded?"

Clint, Phil, and I laughed. "The Stop N Shop down the street? They won't card you, man, trust me. Now scram."

He took the money and scurried out the door, and the rest of us continued our card game and loud chatter. My hope was that by the time Spinner came back, the subject of Ellie would be long forgotten.

Needless to say, I was a tad tipsy by the time my evening of cards with the boys had come to an end. I fumbled to fit my key into the door of my duplex and stumbled inside when I at last got it to turn. Faintly familiar music, probably one of my CDs the kids had jacked, was playing low on the stereo. Stale cigarette smoke, unwashed dishes, and teenager-stench hung heavily in the hair of my dirty house. The lights were low, and Sean and Ellie were curled up on the couch, greedily sucking face. I felt a surreal pang in the pit of my stomach as I watched my brother's hands roam longingly over her clothes.

I tossed my keys onto the table and coughed loudly. Out of politeness, the two of them separated in the typical "caught in the act" way, pretending as though they were only sitting innocently. I fought to avoid looking at them; tried to keep my face as indifferent as always. I ducked quickly into my room, shutting the door behind me and rubbing the drunken tired from my face. I laughed quietly at myself. Why should I surprised to find them making out? Just what was it about seeing them together like that that made me so unsettled? I exhaled. It was one of those unbearable moments of reality, reminding me of who exactly I was: a deadbeat loser banging his little brother's girlfriend.

She came to my room again that night, and at first I was reluctant to let her sneak into my bed. Every time I tried to touch her I would see Sean in my head. Sean, kissing her so obliviously. How could he be so completely unaware of how dangerous she was? What would it do to him, if he ever found out about Ellie, creeping into my room for sex? Or running around with guys like Spinner, getting wasted with Craig? She was a runaway train, and we were all victims trapped under her wreckage.

But thoughts like that, thoughts of guilt and regret and consequence, quickly disappeared as always. My concerns were blurred by every piece of clothing she took off. I pulled her close to me for a hard kiss, slamming her hips against mine as I did. I was caught up in our game again, uninterested in anything but a good fuck. I shut out the outside world, as I so often do.

Sometimes I feel like I'm sabotaging myself, she had said. I knew that feeling all too well.