Power [II Draft]

She senses his awkwardness as she moves in closer.  It reassures her, at first, despite her own vulnerability.  It is only after she wraps her arms behind his back that she realizes he's petrified.  Her own fear melts away, and she decided to return the favor.

Adam Remaster.

Craning her neck towards his slender, delicate neck, she inhales him.  He smells of earth and winter sky.  Slow to move, she closes her eyes and moves just a bit down his neck.  Her hands move to his hips with fluid motion; her jaw creaks open, systems of ropes and pulleys.  It doesn't feel as gentle as she intends it.  She's fumbling, and feels awkward again.

Maybe he isn't interested in this.  I should probably stop.  Why isn't he reacting at all?

The alcohol leans Jayna forward despite herself, and she hazards a breath as her lower lip just barely brushes his collarbone.  She lingers.

...breathe.

It shudders out of her pitifully as she realizes her lip is stuck.  Desperation increases with each passing moment.  She hastily moves down, knocking her teeth into his collarbone, and decided to pretend it was purposeful with a playful bite.

Please.

Moving her hands to the pit of his stomach, she sways off balance then pulls herself back using his shirt as scaffolding.  Pressed right up against him, scents of body odor mixing with beads of forehead sweat.

He isn't even hard.  What am I doing wrong?  Am I that bad at this?  Is it because I have a kid?  Fuck him if it's because of that.

Jayna transitions from unsure to upset.

"Let's get you out of these clothes."

She fumbles with his shirt for a few seconds, then resigns herself to tearing it off.  This makes her sad.  Adam just stands there.  This makes it worse.  Without stopping to explore his body, she buckles to sadness and unbuckles his belt.  Unceremonious and indiscriminate, she throws it through the air behind her.  She thinks he might have moved a little, so she keeps going.

You do this next part well.  It's how you get people to like you, after all.  Don't you want him to like you, Jayna?

She pulls the top of his jeans flap with her left hand and his zipper down with her right in one motion.  She pushes her hand where she thinks he is, and finds the familiar shape.  Holding on, looking up, she searches for love in his eyes.  She can't tell what she sees there, and is too scared to hang around.

You'd better try harder.  He doesn't seem to like you yet.

Tears are starting to fall.

He definitely won't like that.  Hurry hurry hide it hurry

She spirals downward onto him hoping to replace choking sobs with choking throbs and hide their reason for being.  He isn't helping.  He's hardly moved.  She moves for him, with desperation.

Why did they never like me?  I tried so hard.  They always beat me.  I feel like I deserve it, I just don't understand why.

He begins to respond.  Simply at first, then more, and more, until finally she is forcing herself as far as she can, a perverted penance for all the wrong and undesirable parts of herself.  She begins crying in earnest.  She hopes he can't tell, and after it's calmed down for a few seconds she comes up for air and looks up at him.  He still hasn't moved.

He's going to beat me too. I can feel it.  Or he'll just call me a whore and walk out, if I'm lucky.  Please just walk...

He looks down at her slowly, and moves his hand towards her. 

Take him to the bedroom.

She grabs onto the rising anchor, hoping to be towed from her turbulent emotional waters.  She stands up the rest of the way and leads him down her apartment, past her son's room and down to her doorway.

Don't think about it too much.

Pulling him towards her, she feels him go a bit too far.  An extra push is all he needs to land on her bed instead of the floor, and she gives it to him.  She's the only one that deserves to hurt, in her mind.  Why that is, however, is a mystery to her.  She's a perpetual victim of her time and place.  An unsolvable riddle.  A lock without a key.  It doesn't keep her from inserting every key she can find though, hoping each time it's the one.  She knows there must only be one.

What is it about me?  Why am I so awkward?

She strips off her clothing and launches through the air, almost sending her knees into his chest.  She looks down at him as her legs find their comfortable resting place and she calculates the trajectory.

Why do relationships always feel like roller-coasters out of my control?

Jayna realizes her back is arched, sweaty strands of hair clinging to her face and back as she settles onto him.  She opens her eyes to look past her headboard and out of the window.  The vapour mercury street light glows green in the snowy night, a boreal sky occasionally breaking through the migrating drifts.  Sweeping her hair out of the way, she draws a sharp breath in and looks down at Adam without ruining her position.

Why does this feel exactly the same when it should be so much simpler?

She aims, he triggers, she takes the shot.  A full-body shiver forces her to exhale.  It's happening - the chain reaction.  She's no longer in control, and he certainly isn't either.  It's just happening, moving along, cooperating with both but taking orders from neither.  All is light and shadow on their erotic funeral march.  She can't stop it now.  Hair and skin are the perfect sandpaper.

What do they all have in common?

"Adam...

What could the answer be?

"...I...

have a heart that's barren.

"Love..." her core melts down while the resonance cascades.

All they have in common...

He cries out.

...is...

"You."

...me.