“That felt weird,” I said, reaching Caro.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, grabbing my chest, “I just I feel weird.”
“Weird like how?” she inquired more intently.
“Like. . . vulnerable,” I said with a precise word.
“Wow, the impervious feeling vulnerable. This truly is an epic night. You really need to understand your flaw more, Dani. You let it have too much control.”
“I don’t think I do.”
“That’s a joke right? It completely runs your life, Dani. All you do is put Band-Aids on it to try to maintain it. You should see when you sleep, it’s terrifying. It’s like three different people live in you.”
“Is that why you never stay the night?” I ask with a grin.
“Maybe,” she retorted with a seductive smile. She grabbed me and pushed me against the hood of the car, “Can we play that game?”
I nodded my head, and Caro retreated to her purse. She came back brandishing a black tactical knife with a black four-inch blade.
“New knife?” I asked.
She nodded and shoved me further back on the hood of the car. I moved up the hood until only my feet dangled off the front end. Caro crawled up onto the hood and straddled me. She licked her lips with excitement. Her correlation between sexual desire and the need to inflict pain was uncanny. She enjoyed this game. She told me once that it made her feel like she had the power taken from her a long time ago. Sometimes she was tamer than others, sometimes it was a blood bath.
“Here,” she said, grabbing the champagne bottle again and pouring it directly into my mouth. It began to foam and run down the sides of my chin. She ran her hand across my mouth, wiping away the excess as she took another swig before placing the bottle on the hood.
She unbuttoned my shirt, revealing my stomach and chest, then ran her nails across it lightly to build anticipation, making small traces with the knife on my torso. She moved the knife up to my neck, watching everything she was doing but avoiding eye contact with me. I knew the things she expressed had nothing to do with me personally.
She traced a line across my neck with minimal pressure, a possessed smile on her face. She gripped my right shoulder with her left hand and drew the knife down just below where my left ribcage ended. She made a slit, not too deep but not shallow. My body tensed at this action. She duplicated her action on the right side, deeper this time. I could tell she was going to advance to the finale quickly. She gripped my shirt and shoulder, and pulled me up close to her. She placed the knife at my throat again.
“You are nothing,” she whispered in a low voice to herself. Her arm tensed as she prepared to make her move. I winced in anticipation, but there was a delay.
“Dani . . .” she said, beginning to crawl off of me.
“What?”
“Dani, you’re not healing,” she said in a panicked tone. She began running her hand across the wound, blood quickly began to run down my sides toward the back of my shirt, “What’s going on, what did I do wrong?”
“Nothing,” I replied calmly. I slid off the front of the car and moved my shirt to the sides. Blood continued to run in little streams down them. Although the cuts were not too deep, blood flowed continuously. I supposed a few stiches might have sufficed.
“Do you need to see a doctor?” she asked. I could tell guilt was setting in.
“Caro, I’m fine. I’ll just clean it up—” I began, but was interrupted by ensuing sirens and red and blue flashing lights.
“Ah, shit!” Caro exclaimed, “Well, that was fast.”
I quickly grabbed the knife out of Caro’s hand and tossed it over the edge of the outlook. I then grabbed the champagne bottle and dropped it to the ground making it shatter against the pavement.
“Dani, I told you that was new!”
“We’ve got bigger problems right now.”
“We could totally outrun them.”
“Outrun them? Are you crazy? Just sit on the hood and have your hands visible,” I said over the noise of the sirens. Caro begrudgingly did as I said, “I’ll talk.”
Four cops walked up on us, two on each side of the car.
“Lantis Police, let me see your hands!” One commanded.
Both of us casually lifted our hands up and out.
They rounded to the front of the car so they were facing us. One, who had his gun drawn, foolishly holstered it.
“Evening, ladies,” the first officer said. He was a man in his late forties, with a brown goatee just starting to gray. He had an age to his face that made me think he must be a heavy drinker, smoker, or both, or perhaps it was the job.
“Evening,” we replied quietly.
“Holy shit!” the man exclaimed, and one of the other officers once again removed his gun from his holster, “What the hell happened to you?”
“I just cut myself a little on the glass,” I said, moving a piece of the bottle with my foot. Another officer shined his flashlight at the ground where the glass was shattered.
“Is that right? Cause that doesn’t look like you cut yourself a little,” he said, as he glanced over at Caro, “Maybe you had an altercation of some sort?”
“Nope,” I said.
“I’m not so sure I believe that,” he replied.
“She just fuckin told you –” Caro started.
“Hey, I’m not talking to you,” the officer replied, sticking his hand towards Caro’s face to silence her.
She smacked his hand out of her face. Dammit, Caro.
