Page 113 of Final Girls

Somehow, I manage to sleep for most of the flight, although even that offers little relief. I dream of Sam sitting stiff-backed on my living-room sofa. I’m in a chair across from her.

Did you kill Lisa Milner?I ask.

Did you kill those kids at Pine Cottage?she says.

You’re avoiding the question.

So are you.

Doyouthink I killed people at Pine Cottage?

Sam smiles, her lipstick so red it looks like her mouth has been smeared with blood.You’re a fighter. One who’ll do anything to survive. Just like me.

A flight attendant snaps me awake as we make our descent into New York. I get into the upright position, shaking the dream away. I look out the window, the night sky and plane’s interior lights turning it into an oval mirror. I barely recognize the reflection staring back at me.

I can’t remember the last time I did.

PINE COTTAGE

10:14 P.M.

In the bedroom, Craig wasted no time in shedding his pants. Quincy didn’t even realize they were off until he was on top of her, drunkenly kissing her, pushing the dress up to her stomach while grinding hard against her inner thigh. When he reached for Quincy’s breasts, she put her hands over his, nodding her consent.

She was ready for this. Janelle had prepared her. She knew what to expect. She was a vestal virgin, tossed upon the altar, waiting for eternity.

But then Craig’s breathing grew ragged and rough. So did his movements, which had been made brutish by too much alcohol and pot. When he slid his knees between her legs and pried them open, Quincy’s whole body tensed.

“Wait,” she murmured.

“Just relax,” Craig said. His face was buried against her neck, sucking it, skin sticking to his hungry mouth.

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

Craig made another attempt at parting her legs with his knees. Quincy kept them shut, thigh muscles straining.

“Stop.”

Craig thrust his mouth upon hers, his flopping tongue silencing her. He was heavy on top of her, pinning her down, breathing like a bull while bucking against her closed thighs. Quincy felt like she was being smothered, suffocated. Craig’s hands fell from her breasts to her knees, prying at them.

“Stop,”Quincy said, putting more force into it this time. “I mean it.”

She gave Craig a shove, slid out from under him, and sat up, back against the headboard. Craig’s smile lasted a few more seconds before fading as realization set in.

“I thought we agreed to do this,” he said.

“We did.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Quincy didn’t know if there even was a problem. Her body pulsed with desire, aching for Craig to be on top of her, against her, inside her. Yet a small part of her knew it didn’t have to be like this. If they continued, it would be rushed and blunt, almost like they were following another one of Janelle’s stupid rules.

“I want my first time to be special.”

She thought it would make sense to him. That he would see how much this really meant to her. Instead, he said, “This isn’t special enough for you? It’s better than what I had.”

The words confirmed something Quincy had always suspected but never wanted to ask. This wasn’t Craig’s first time. He had been through this before. The revelation felt to Quincy like a betrayal, small yet painful.

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