She went upstairs to put the clean towels on the shelf and heard, through the wall and over the drone of the TV downstairs, a muffled, gasping cry from Tagen’s room.
Know that I am screaming.
She stumbled back downstairs to the kitchen, as far as she could get from the anguished sounds he was making. She paced over the stone tiles, her hands digging at each other and her blood pounding in her ears.
He couldn’t help it. God, you had only to look at him to know that was true. She’d never seen anyone so far from horny in her whole life. She’d never seen anyone hurt so much. And she’d never seen anything so big straining at the front of someone’s pants.
Horror clenched at her again, that same old mindless panic. She rubbed at the bad side of her face, hating herself, hating the weakness that rode her like a rabid baboon on her back. There’s a man in the house and he’s going to get me. Sooner or later, he’s going to get me. The only thing worse than hearing that dull, mechanical drone eat up your brain when you knew it wasn’t true was suddenly facing the possibility that it might be true, it really might be.
‘It’s just the heat. He said so. It was nothing personal. Just the heat.’
She picked up the phone and the yellow pages, and looked up air conditioner repairmen. She called them all. It took two hours. The best offer she got was still better than a thousand dollars, and the soonest he could come would be some time in September. She made the appointment, knowing Tagen wouldn’t still be around, out of penance.
The TV was still on. She got up numbly and went to watch it, rubbing her stomach and wishing she had the nerve to go upstairs.
And do what? There were only so many times she could apologize before it lost all meaning. Besides…what if she interrupted him? What would he do? What would he expect?
She could see herself pressed facedown on the sofa-bed, her hands twisting in the sheets and her mouth open in silent screams. She could see her body rocking in the short, brutal jerks of his fucking. She could see it all, clear as day, and knowing he’d never do it didn’t make a damn bit of difference. She’d seen him look at her. She’d pretended not to for as long as she could, and then she’d pretended not to know why, but the clock was striking midnight now and it was time for the masks to come off. She’d seen more than idle curiosity in his covert gaze.
Yeah, and she’d done more than feign ignorance. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, right? And the truth was, hadn’t she liked it just a little when she felt his discrete stare gliding down her body? Hadn’t she found reasons to bend over or reach up, reasons to keep her back turned and her eyes occupied so he could really get in a good long look? And when she was up in the small hours of the night, hadn’t she heard the bad jazz of premium cable soft-core porn and felt that little sting of triumph, knowing he was watching and thinking, however absentmindedly, of her?
And now she was freaking out at the thought of him hard and hurting, when she had been so pleased, however secretly, at the idea that he found her desirable. When she’d spied on his naked body and thrilled to see it. When she had been curious, however uneasily, at what it might be like to be held by him. That wasn’t just neurotic, that was hypocritical and stupid.
Miserable, Daria sat down on the couch and stared into the open, pitiless eye of the television. It was still on CNN, Tagen’s second-favorite show of all time. Two reporters were grimly rehashing the morning report.
“—still have no suspects in what police are calling the Dog Pack murders, which occurred fifteen miles east of Blue Ridge and took the lives of thirty-six people. The bodies were found early yesterday afternoon and police believe the murders occurred the previous night in a gang-related execution-style spree. Although some of the victims were shot to death, many others were bound with duct tape and then killed with what has been described as a hooked instrument or pry bar. Sources at the crime scene have informed us that sufficient force was used to crack the skull of the victims into two pieces, and that pieces of the brain were ritually removed and left at the scene. Investigators refused to confirm this report, and instead said they are actively pursuing leads. We’ll have more on this shocking story as it develops, but first, a look at the local news.”
The second reporter waited until the camera turned on him and then solemnly said, “Authorities were called to a local hardware store earlier this morning when a full-scale riot broke out after store managers refused to honor rain checks issued for air-conditioners. Over fifteen people rushed the warehouse of the D-I-Y Depot, knocking over dozens of displays and stealing merchandise, as well as assaulting employees. Two victims were taken to the hospital and released after treatment.”
The screen chanced to show a man in a store apron, his face still chalky with shock. There was a bloody scratch on his forehead, and one of the lenses of his glasses was cracked. “Air conditioners are considered a seasonal item by the district operators and I don’t have any control over ordering or shipping them,” he was saying. “I issued those rain checks in good faith, but the backlog on those items was…was pretty long, and at a certain date, seasonal items just aren’t restocked. I tried to explain that and offer refunds, but they…they…just swarmed me.”
Another screen change, this time to a furious-looking woman in a sweat-damp tank top. “I’ve been on that waiting list since the beginning of June and now they tell me they’re not getting any more?! They’re getting leaf blowers! They’re getting plastic pumpkins! It’s the middle of July! It’s a hundred and eight degrees outside! I’ve got kids!”
Daria switched off the television and rubbed at her forehead. She was sweating. This had to be hell for Tagen. But what was she supposed to do about it?
The thought brought back a crushing nausea and Daria got up and wandered back to the kitchen, fighting tears. Tagen had really picked a prize when he came to her for help.
She cleaned up the dishes drying sticky on the table and put them in the dishwasher. She wiped down the countertops, the cupboard faces, and then cleaned out the sink. She still felt sick and stuffy-headed, so she ran a bucket of mop water powerful enough to make her eyes water. She got on her hands and knees and started scrubbing the kickboards, letting the pine-oil scented steam blow out and fill her senses.
“Oh Gods, must you?”
She turned, hugging the scrubber to her chest, and saw Tagen in the doorway. He was bare-chested, physically dripping sweat, and he was pinching the bridge of his nose with the world’s worst headache painted across his face for the whole Earth to see.
“Sorry,” she said, and quickly began to gather the cleaning supplies. “I’ll open a window.”
When she returned from dumping her mop bucket, Tagen was sitting at the table, popping ice cubes from the tray one at a time and pressing them to his brow. His eyes were closed. He looked more than merely hot and hurt and tired. He looked like he was dying.
“I tried to call a repairman for the air conditioner,” she said. “It’s…not going to happen.”
He did not look up or respond in any way.
“They don’t have any in the stores right now, either,” she continued. “So we’re stuck with the heat.” Her hand was rubbing at the side of her face. She made it drop, and stuffed it into her pocket for good measure. “Tagen, I’m sorry. If I’d only known, I—”