Page 19 of Nonverbal

I run a finger along my side where my stitches were, tracing the scar forming beneath the fabric. My mom said those same words right before introducing me to that man.

Trust me, cookie. Mama knows what’s best for you. He’s wonderful, and he’s going to take care of us. Won’t it be nice to have a man around?

I used to trust everything without question. I trusted my mom, my situation, what other people told me. Being naïve made the world simpler. Even as an adult, I fought to hold tight to that innocence. I liked that innocence.

But I’m no longer that person. I can’t be. My life will never change if I’m too skeptical and scared of everything. I’ll never experience sex the way others do.

I don’t currently have a reason not to trust Josh. And everyone deserves a chance, even if he is ignorant. Since I don’t know anyone who can vouch for his character, I can only trust him enough to continue the night. Cautiously trust him.

I uncurl my toes, which have been trying to wiggle their way free of Amber’s wedges, and return the smile. People say weed is relaxing and makes you want to eat, so it might help my sensitivity in this unfamiliar place—help with Josh’s unfamiliar touch.

I nod.

“Is this your first time?” he asks.

I nod again.

“Then let’s do shotgun so it doesn’t burn your throat.”

This is fine. I’m okay. Everything is okay. This is what hookups are. This is what independent people do. Soon, I’ll be riding Josh and then riding the waves of sexual ecstasy. All this discomfort will be worth it.

Pushing the comics aside, he grabs a lighter from the nightstand. “I’ll take a hit, then blow the smoke into your mouth. You inhale and hold it in your lungs for a few seconds. Got it?”

I nod and smile.

The lighter flames the green crumbles in the bowl-pipe thingy on the bong, smoke filling the glass tube. Josh seals his lips around the top and draws the plumes of smoke into his body. When it’s time, I open my mouth and inhale what he offers.

It’s weird to inhale smoke. It’s weird to inhale anything except air. I stop breathing, smoke trickling from my gaping mouth.

“Close your mouth, quick,” he says. “Then breathe in through your nose. Suck it down.”

I do it, resisting the urge to cough. After a handful of seconds, I breathe out, my tongue now tasting of weed farts.

Dave is in the doorway again. He hands Josh a plate of brownies and then disappears.

Josh offers me one of the small brown squares. “Now try this. They’re not strong either.”

I know people are supposed to be really into eating after smoking weed, so I take a brownie, take a bite. I still feel normal. Does it work right away or take time?

After we both consume a brownie, we flip through more comics and I use my fingers to tell Josh their worth. We go through the entire box, stopping to skim a few, which takes a while. Normally, I love looking at comics—holding them, pricing them—but my thoughts feel miles away. Somehow, I’ve disconnected from my body, watching events unfold from above.

Josh lays me back on the bed. He’s on his side, one hand supporting his head, the other drawing infinity signs on my stomach. I stare at the ceiling. It’s covered in glow-in-the-dark star stickers. I still don’t feel anything. A little more calm, I guess. Spacey. The flu has lessened.

He kisses me, breath tasting like alcohol and stale farts. “You’re pretty, Paige,” he says. “A lot prettier than I thought someone like you would look. You feeling good now?”

I shrug.

His hand moves under my dress and discovers I’m not wearing panties. “Give it more time.”

An anxious but relaxed energy surges through me. It compels me to say, I’ve never told anyone about my problem except Amber, a few internet strangers, and one doctor. The doctor gave me a prescription for muscle relaxers and said it would fix my issue. It didn’t.

“Some women take longer,” Josh states, his fingers slipping inside me.

My hand disconnects from my brain and tells him,

His finger stops moving and he stares. “Shit. That sucks. Coming is the best feeling. You can’t come at all?”

---