Dark City

35.

The room felt strangely quiet once the pace of their breathing calmed. Tom looked down at the beautiful, ruined creature beneath him, her hair loose and tangled, her cheeks glossy with what might have been pool water or tears. She kissed him. He clutched handfuls of her glistening damp hair, deepening the kiss, pressing into her as though he might yet absorb some of her lustrous passion.

"I love you," he sighed. He hadn't meant it the way people usually meant it. He loved her body, her taste, her naivety; but mostly he loved the way she made him feel about himself. Strong, experienced, mature. He wanted to take if back as soon as he said it. A guy should never say those words before at least first six months of dating. And never to a girl as young as Alex.

To his relief, she didn't say a word in response, even after her blush faded. He hoped that maybe she didn't hear him.

Downstairs, the music reeled and people shouted as the bass began pumping.

"Was I okay?" she asked. "It's been a while for me."

"Yeah. This was amazing." Tom wondered if he should tell her it was okay that she had been a virgin. He didn't want to embarrass her being caught in a lie.

Alex curled up in his arms and recited "Poppies in July."

Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?

You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns.

And it exhausts me to watch you

Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.

A mouth just bloodied.
Little bloody skirts!

There are fumes that I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?

If I could bleed, or sleep!
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.

But colorless. Colorless.

Tom listened and kissed her tenderly on the forehead when she was done. "So I should send you a bouquet of poppies, not daisies?" he whispered.

"Don't send me anything," she said. "Mother will get the flower dictionary out."

Tom laughed, but his head swam with panic. He couldn't decide if the notion of actually dating Alexandria Stockton appealed to him. He was on the rebound from an unfeeling narcissist and his best friend would literally murder him if he ever found out. There was also her youth. She clung so tightly to his arm. Orgasm had a sobering effect, and it dawned on him that he had stumbled into this without considering the consequences.

"We should go back down at some point," he said, severing the intimacy.

"No," she whined sweetly. "Stay."

"It's Halloween." Tom reached for the clothing on the radiator. His pants were damp but warm.

Alex sat up and twisted the sheets around her torso. "Tom?"

He adjusted his mask in a mirror, watching her in the reflection. "Hm?"

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No."

"Was this a mistake?"

"No. Let's enjoy the rest of our night, okay?" Tom tied off the back of his mask. "I'll meet you down there."

Alex went into her purse, rattling through what sounded like pill bottles. Tom left discreetly, checking the hall before he going outside and closing the door behind him. He didn't mean to linger in the hall, but he heard Alex through the wall. She was crying. The sound made him sick with guilt.