Page 91 of Ashes of Sin and Stardust

Great. Here comes another annoying one-sided conversation that I don’t want to be a part of.

“Hey Ben,” she smiled. She always called me that, because that was what my nametag said at the bar.

I didn’t answer, just stared at her face, pale and gaunt.

“I got sick,” she shrugged. “Turns out the house had mold.”

I don’t care.

“We had to call some people to come in and do some work. And I had to take antibiotics.”

I really don’t care.

“My mom doesn’t believe in medicine, so it took a few days of me being really sick before she finally let me take them. But I feel a lot better now.”

“Fucking hell,” I muttered, and turned away. She shrank back from my language but didn’t leave. I stomped away from her, hoping to end the conversation before I said something stupid.

“It’s not her fault,” she said. “Her sister died from a Polio vaccine when she was a kid, so she doesn’t trust modern medicine at all.”

“Yeah, it is fucking her fault. When your kid is sick you take them to the damn doctor, you don’t lock them in a moldy house and let them wither away!” I whirled around and shouted at her. “I mean, look at you! You look horrible!”

Her eyes glassed over again.

“You’re all skinny and pale. You look like someone sucked the damn life right out of you!” I lifted a hand and gestured to her. Her shoulders rounded in and she dropped her chin, but she kept looking at me, big fat tears starting to roll down her cheeks.

My breath caught, and my stomach flipped. I felt my blood turn south and I stared at her as she stared back, her lower lip quivering. She took a deep breath and lifted her hand to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand, but I reached forward and caught her wrist, holding it tightly and looking at her.

She did look prettier before she got sick. But she was still breathtaking now, cowering slightly but standing resilient against my words, refusing to run away while she faced me with her tears.

That was the first time I had any respect for her... and the first time I felt anything real for a girl.

As I felt myself get hard in my jeans, I stepped back, clenching my fist, resisting the urge to smack her for forcing me to feel something that I didn’t want to feel.

“Stay away from me,” I growled, and ran home.

I’d discovered porn much earlier in my life, as young boys tend to, but it hadn’t excited me. I’d watched people sucking and licking and fucking and screaming, and I though the whole thing looked fake and boring.

After I watched Savannah stand there, shaking and crying from my words, I tried looking for something more interesting... and I found it.

After that day, I watchedenough porn to make up for the past few years of not being interested in girls, and my whole perspective changed. When Savannah came to follow me around and annoy me, I glared at her, scoffed, or rolled my eyes, just to see her reaction. Once I teased her about her ankle-length dresses. When she tried wearing something shorter, I teased her for being a whore. Sometimes I ignored her until she was in tears, only to throw her a glance at the last minute, smile, and then go back to ignoring her again, just to keep her hooked.

Every time, it ended in her tears, and my being turned on. Then she’d turn and run away, and I’d stand there feeling powerful. Valid. Wanted.

Dad’s college students quit after a few weeks of dealing with his bullying and his bullshit, and I was back to work. Savannah seemed to miss her daily bullying, so she came by the bar sometimes and annoyed me at work. I snapped at her, teased her, or ignored her as I saw fit. Every day she came, she ordered a sweet tea and sat at the bar.

“I thought you couldn’t have sugar.”

“I can, but my mom doesn’t like me to have it. She thinks it’ll make me stupid and fat.”

I poured her some sweet tea and muttered, “Maybe now you’ll actually grow some tits.” She blushed but drank her tea.

She sat there sipping her one-dollar drink with free refills and attempting to gain my affection, and every day I withheld it while I tortured her mercilessly. The hours I spent ignoring her or teasing her were the highlight of my day.

Things changed sometime that fall. The leaves started to turn, and I was on fall break from school. I spent an afternoon at the lake eating a sandwich, and part of me actually wished I was back at the bar with Savannah sitting there on the last stool, staring at me while she bit her lip and got her sugar fix.

Savannah found me there at the lake, sat down on my blanket, and handed me a glass of lemonade. It was tart and not very strong, like it had been watered down, but it went well with my sandwich. I tore off a piece and held it out to her. When she reached her hand up to take it, I smacked her hand hard.

She winced and withdrew her hand, looking at me with betrayal, but I kept my eyes locked on hers, holding out the piece of sandwich.

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