Page 33 of Creatures Like Us
I close my eyes and try to think past it. It’s uncomfortable, getting hard. I’ve never enjoyed it much. Masturbating is just a chore like any other, like brushing your teeth. Sometimes, Iforget to do it, and the consequence is a pent-up need I have to take care of sooner or later.
But not now.
Asher’s body is still lined up against mine, his arm wrapped around my waist, his cuffed hand digging into my chest. He’s spooned me all through the night. Asher, my prisoner?…
To be honest, I’ve never really thought of him that way, even if it’s technically true. He could have left last night—he could have strangled me, he could have killed me, and left without looking back. But he stayed. Why did he stay? Why didn’t he push down on my throat, like I allowed him to?
If I can’t have him with me, I might as well die by his hand. Such was the trajectory of my thoughts when he straddled me, when my pulse thundered against his palms?…
There was no fight in me left. Not after what had just happened.
Holding the knife to Asher’s throat brought me nothing but fear, just like last time. He made me feel like a monster when he didn’t struggle, when he said,Do it. My initial anger when he attacked me dissolved into a great weariness, bringing with it the wish to sink into the dark, and the wish for Asher to be the one to send me there.
The chain clinks as he withdraws his hand. So he’s finally awake. I turn around, and we lie side by side, gazing up at the ceiling, like last night. The silence is comfortable, as it tends to be between us, but the situation is so new and unfamiliar that I can’t help but speak up.
“How did you sleep?” My voice comes out rough and dry.
Asher yawns. “Pretty awesomely. I think it was the best I’ve slept since I got here. Maybe it’s because it’s cold in here, and you’re warm.” He snuggles up to me and slings an arm over my chest.
Oh.
This feels strange. It’s not what my heart is used to at all. It starts beating, loud and hard. I’m sure Asher can feel it too. When he throws his leg over me, I panic; he’ll surely feel the tent in my pants, so I roll back around.
“Oh,” he mumbles, retreating to his side of the bed. “Sorry. Too much touching?”
“No, it’s just?…?I’m not used to it.”
“How does it feel?” He trails a hand over my arm, down my sleeve and into the hem, two fingers ghosting along my pulse point. “When I touch you?”
I shiver all over. “G-Good,” I choke out.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No. Um. Maybe. It’s?…”
“A lot?”
“Yeah.”
We lapse into silence, and I close my eyes again. I’ve started to fall back asleep when Asher speaks up.
“I want a cigarette.”
Of course that’s what he wants. “Okay.”
I make a move to get up, but Asher wraps his arm around my waist again. “No, lie here for a little longer.”
I gulp, suddenly nervous. My heart is pounding, and my throat feels tight. “Why?”
I should have predicted this from the start. Feeling too much is dangerous. Hoping is dangerous. The hope that Asher likes me, that hewants me, is so dangerous that I hardly dare conceive of the thought.
He kissed me, but I have a feeling he didn’t do it for the kiss, per se, but because he wanted to pull a reaction out of me. Anyone else would’ve just slapped me in the face and yelled at me, but Asher isn’t like anyone else, and that’s why I like him. I’m not like others either, and I never thought I’d find someone who’s so like me and so different at the same time.
But the core of us is the same. I think he’s started to realize that too.
“Can I touch your arm, Noah?” he asks.
“Okay.”
