by Lyssa Dering
“I didn’t mind waiting, though,” says Romy. “When we had sex the second time, it was…” She giggles. “Well, it was good. And Neisha’s into it all the time now.”
I wake to my alarm’s shrill beeping. The dream I was having slips into the recesses of my mind as I blink up at the pink-tinged sky. Sunrise. In my world, it happens at 9 a.m. so nobody has to miss it.
I go find Lake. He’s serene as fuck asleep in my guest bed, but I’m not one of my creations working a job in an idyllic bakery or cafe. I have things to do besides getting Lake settled. I guess I could manifest someone to do it for me so I don’t have to wake him…
Surprisingly, that doesn’t sound like a chore. Who knew getting laid by a man I didn’t make could give me this much mental energy? Maybe it was the crying—a cathartic release.
Lake stirs. “Hey.” His voice comes out rough with sleep and utterly sexy. After last night’s weirdness, would he be up for round two? Am I up for round two? Probably not. Not if I have to cry.
“Look…” I sit down on the edge of the bed and smile down at Lake’s prone form.
He tenses and pushes himself into a sitting position, holding the edge of the blankets up to his chin.
“I was planning to create a custom house for you, or at least customize an apartment I’ve already built, but, uh…” Who am I kidding? Lake’s looking at me like I’m a suspicious shopper or an enemy ready to strike.
A feeling I don’t recognize flutters in my belly. Not nervous butterflies—something worse.
“I don’t need anything special,” Lake says. He’s dying to get away from me; I don’t need powers of empathy to tell.
I cough, trying to make that bad feeling go away. I’d try to use my power to command it, but for whatever reason, it never works on my emotions. Just my appearance and pain caused my physical exhaustion.
I take a deep breath. “In that case…” I materialize a key to the apartment building I’ve been working on for new arrivals and hold it out to Lake. “This belongs to an apartment in a teal building two blocks East, which is toward Grover Street. Corner of Tenth and White Pine.”
Lake takes the key. “And my clothes?”
I gesture toward a nearby closet. “They’re in there.” I smirk. “You can keep the robe and slippers. There’ll be more clothes for you in the apartment.”
Lake’s face remains stoic aside from a slight pursing of his lips.
“Oh, and also, there’ll be a phone waiting for you. I think I put it on the bedside table… Anyway, contact me anytime.” If he doesn’t contact me, I’ll contact him. Check up on him. “And you don’t have to pay for a wireless plan or anything. Everybody here has one for free. I send out messages.”
“Okay.”
“Make sure you read them.”
Lake’s gaze hardens a fraction. “Okay.”
Is there something else I should say? The fluttering in my stomach builds and spreads to my limbs. “I’m sorry the sex wasn’t mind-blowing for you.”
Lake looks away and back again. “It was fine.”
Wow. I’ve never gotten such an underwhelming review in my life. Better luck next time, I guess. Statistically, Lake won’t be the only queer guy to cross over into Wish City, and there are a couple I’m looking forward to in particular. Sweet, fawning men who’ll be trying not to come from the moment I start touching them.
Not like Lake.
I give Lake a smile before taking my leave. I’ve got things to do, people to see, and dark corners of Wish City to watch like a hawk.
4
Lake
It’s colder outside than I remember, and blustery. Trudging in my uncomfortable dress shoes from Wish’s street toward Grover, I hug myself against the chill. I might have asked Wish for a coat if he’d been in the house after I finished showering and getting dressed, but he was nowhere to be found. And for some reason, I have to wait until I get to this apartment to get the phone he promised.
My teeth are chattering by the time I make it to the building at Tenth and White Pine. Universe, it has to be one of the ugliest pieces of architecture I’ve ever seen. The exterior is turquoise brick. Why? Why not just brown? Lights at the perimeter illuminate purple windows—ugh—and a golden roof. I retrieve the key Wish gave me from the pocket of my trousers. It’s gold, too and has a number one on it. Of course, the door nearest to me has a number twenty-four.
The building is shaped like an open staple with a fenced-in center. I go to the opposite end and find apartment one. Its metallic number gleams from its place on the heliotrope door. I slide my key into the lock and walk into the dark interior.
I skim my hand along the wall until I find a light switch. I expect a pleasant glow like in Wish’s house to illuminate the apartment, but instead, stark white fluorescents buzz to life. I squint at the harsh light. The large space is half living room and half kitchenette with a table outfitted in the ugliest of picnic-style tablecloths. I lock the front door. Once I spot a clear path to a hallway up ahead, I turn off the fluorescents.
The hallway holds two doorways. One leads to a bathroom, and the other to a bedroom. On the nightstand, as promised, I find the phone. As soon as I touch it, it turns on, showing me a home screen with three icons: Contacts, Messages, and Phone. The phone itself is silver, lightweight, and doesn’t have any ports. As I thumb through the interface, finding it very similar to those of the phones I’ve had before, I find nothing about a battery, storage, WiFi, data… The wonders of the afterlife, I guess. In my contacts, there is only Wish. His phone number is 1. Just 1.
I laugh. I laugh hard and figure crossing dimensions can’t have been easy on my psyche. I just woke up an hour ago, but a part of me wants to go back to sleep. And sleep, and sleep…
Instead, I fish the invitation from “A Friend” out of my pocket. I folded it up to hide it from Wish, so the card stock is a creased mess, but I can still make out the address stamped on the back. I look through the phone for a navigation app but can’t find one.
I message Wish. Thanks for the phone. No maps app?
Check again, he answers.
When I do, there it is: an icon in the shape of a little folded map. Just like that, huh? Something that probably took a whole team of people back in the land of the living several months to do. The interface is simple, but still. Amazing.
I type in the address to Club Neon. A bright green navigation pin marks the location a six-minute walk away.
My phone tells me it’s 11:23 a.m. Not exactly a clubbing hour. But what am going to do—sleep away my afterlife? “A Friend” did say to come as soon as I got free of Wish, and I’m free.
The Messages app takes over my screen, displaying another text from Wish. Is the app to your satisfaction, Sir?
My gut twists. But of course, he doesn’t mean Sir like that—not in the kinky way. In fact, I’ve never met anyone less submissive than Wish.
Works well enough, I answer.
You’re welcome.
A full-length mirror glints from the far wall. I catch myself in its reflection. I can’t meet anyone in this—not in day-old clothes. Wish said he would have clothes for me, but if they’re anything like that robe and slippers (which I purposefully left behind)…
At least the closet’s a walk-in. I find a string dangling and pull it, which illuminates the little room. There are certainly a lot of clothes in here, and almost all of them are black. I breathe a sigh of relief. Among the darkness gleams a silk button-down, and I pair it with black jeans. I even find a nice fur-lined leather coat.
In the bathroom, I fiddle with my hair, limp with lack of product. I shoot Wish another text. Can I get some hair mousse or something?
He doesn’t answer right away. When my phone vibrates, I’m in the middle of putting on a pair of lace-up leather shoes.
Going somewhere? he asks.
I should have known asking for a navigation app and mousse would tip him off. Maybe, I text back.
Be careful. Stick to cle
arly marked areas, and if someone offers you a syringe, say no. It’s a drug you won’t like.
Hmm. Why won’t I like it?
It’ll make your heart hurt, and it’ll make you want to fuck anyone, anywhere, no inhibitions.
My insides curdle at the thought of Wish making a drug like that on purpose. Maybe that’s the kind of guy he is: lecherous and sex-obsessed. It’s a version of things that makes sense with how he’s treated me so far, and from what I’ve heard. I probably shouldn’t have caved to his advances so easily, but it’s not as if he’s damaged me. Sometimes sex can be heartbreakingly wonderful, but sometimes it’s just sweat and skin and awkward moments you have to lock away in the back of your head.
Gross, I text back.
Your mousse is in the bathroom.
The mousse is indeed sitting on the edge of the bathtub. I’m struck with a sense of having my space invaded, and I have to ask. Can you see me? Look in on me?
I’m not a voyeur, Lake. And I already know what that beautiful body looks like.
The line doesn’t do anything for me. I don’t answer. Shaking off the feeling that I shouldn’t be rejecting the man who’s taking care of my soul, I set out for the club.
Outside of Club Neon, I have another fit of laughter. That sign I saw on the way here—“LIVE NUDE MEN”—beams from the club’s exterior. And at the bottom of the sign, square lights flash a rainbow of neon colors in succession. It’s a gay club. Has to be.
The inside is bursting with glistening bodies. A guy wearing a furry crop top brushes past me as I try to figure out where any rooms would be, let alone the Crimson one. Colorful lights sweep the whole space in some programmed pattern, and a bass beat thumps in my chest.
Overwhelmed, I approach the bar. It’s like forcing my way into a bunch of sardines to get the bartender’s attention.
“What can I get for you?” she shouts.
“Where’s the Crimson Room?” I shout back.
“Upstairs!” She points to a staircase in the corner.
“Thanks.” Getting to the staircase is a pain, but I make it. Where there wasn’t a doorman at the club’s main entrance, there’s one at the top of the stairs, sitting in front of a glass door behind which is only blackness. The man holds out his hand, and heat rises to my face. What does he need? It’s not as if I have an ID.
The man grabs my arm. Reflexively, I pull back, but then I spot a mark on the underside of my wrist. The man lets me go, and the door behind him slides open. The mark is a tattoo: a tiny star.
Did Wish give it to me? Did the mysterious stranger? I try to rub it off, but it doesn’t smudge. I think it’s real. Anger makes my temples throb, but I’ll ignore it until I have someone to yell at.
I walk through the open doorway. I feel rather than hear it close behind me when the skin on the back of my neck prickles. When I turn to look, the door is either gone or expertly camouflaged. It’s just a wall, still glass, still black, like a turned-off phone screen.
I give a sickly swallow. I don’t know why this is called the Crimson Room when there’s no red in here at all. Suddenly, the walls light up with a floor-to-ceiling video, multiplied on each of the four walls. It’s a porno. Wait, it’s Wish. He’s on all fours, screaming as a hugely muscular man pounds into him mercilessly. Everywhere I turn, Wish is getting brutally fucked, and tears glisten on his cheeks. The muscular man slaps him hard on the ass, and Wish shouts, “Harder! Harder!” The muscular man shoves Wish’s face into the floor.
My stomach twists. I don’t want to get hard from this, because I don’t know for sure if Wish is acting. But even as confusion and panic beat through me, my dick swells, making my jeans tighter. Wish looks at the viewer—at me—and I reach out, hypnotized, and smudge the screen with my clammy fingers. I want to taste Wish’s tears. I want to lick those reddened cheeks. On all four walls, Wish gives a strangled moan and shoots his load, but the muscular man keeps fucking him, not letting up for a second.
I want to rub my dick against something, but there’s nothing in here. Just me and the video, and I’m trapped in here, aren’t I? I scream at Wish. Why is he doing this? I need to get out!
I push down my arousal and search the screens for imperfections—something to indicate there’s a hidden exit. But I’m not in the real world anymore. Nothing has to make sense. I notice I’m panting and try to take deeper breaths. Fuck. Fuck!
Why did I come here? I can’t trust anything in Wish City!
In the video, Wish begs the muscular man to stop pounding him. “Please. I can’t take it anymore! You’re tearing me open!”
The muscular man covers Wish’s mouth. “Shut the fuck up, pig. I don’t care if it hurts. You’re nothing but a hole. Got it?”
Wish cries and whines and nods.
I cover my eyes.
“Is it too much?” The voice comes from behind me.
I whip around and— It’s Wish! The video’s light reflects off his pale skin where his black suit fails to cover it. He has no shirt on underneath the expertly tailored jacket.
He smirks. “I wasn’t sure if the crying thing was about humiliation or—”
I shove him against the nearest wall. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Did he leave me that invitation? Is this some fucked-up game?
Wish doesn’t fight me. He just laughs. “I’m not him. He doesn’t know about me. Relax, Lake.”
The Wish in the video is full-on wailing now, and though I’m trying to ignore it, I’m still hard. “Explain yourself,” I growl, my temples throbbing anew.
“I’m like his evil twin.” Wish leans his head back, baring his throat. “I’ll do the things he wouldn’t dream of. Give you everything you want.”
Mad with arousal and frustration, I shove my thigh between his legs. “Like what?”
“Whatever will get you off.” Wish rests his hand on my elbow, his touch so gentle compared to mine. He moans brokenly. “We need you.”
I can barely make out his words over the wails in the video, so I lean closer until we’re almost kissing.
“He thinks there will be others,” Wish says, “but we’ve already had them. They have no fight in them. You do.” Wish kisses me. Then he’s gone, and I fall against the wall.
The video cuts out. My lips tingle. For a second, the room is pitch black, then suddenly I’m in a dimly lit restaurant with classical music playing faintly in the background. Couples I don’t know populate most of the tables. Up ahead, Wish stands and beckons to me.
I put a hand in front of my hard cock and make my way to Wish’s table. In the middle of the dark wood sits a silver candelabra with rubies dangling from each holder.
“Have a seat,” he says.
I don’t, even if I’d better be able to hide my erection. Are these people even real?
“What is this?” I ask. I might be dressed okay for a nice dinner, but Wish isn’t with his skin on display.
Wish comes around to my side and pulls my chair out. “If you need romance, I can do that. If you need to take things slow…” Wish wraps his arms around me from behind, and I don’t know why I don’t fling him away. Shock, maybe?
“He’s scared.” Wish’s voice is a hiss at my ear. “He’s used to everyone fawning over him—it’s disgusting.” Between the flaps of my coat, Wish traces my shirt buttons. “Why couldn’t he make you come? Do we need to get to know each other first, or did he fail to push your buttons? He’s a selfish lover, but I’m—”
I grip Wish’s slender wrist. “Was that video real?”
Wish chuckles. “‘Real’ is subjective.”
“So, it wasn’t.”
“I made it for you.”
“I’m not into rape. Or—or play rape. Whatever it was.”
“But you got hard.” Wish strokes my nape.
“Getting hard is easy. And it’s—it’s involuntary. It doesn’t matter as much as—”
“Coming?”
“No!”
Wish kisses the back of my ear. “
Then what? What do you need?”
I need an emotional masochist—someone whose needs balance mine. I need someone who doesn’t want to rough-fuck me after I use my power on them. Someone who gets soft and submissive and overwhelmed with need when I do it. Someone I can take care of after I hurt them. Not Wish.
“Why do you want me so badly?” I ask.
Wish nuzzles my neck. “Because everybody else just loses it for us, and you didn’t. We pulled out all the stops, but they didn’t work on you. You jerked off in front of us like we weren’t good enough to make you come.”
I scoff. Wish didn’t seem that concerned about it to me. “This isn’t even about me. It’s about your ego.”
“But it is about you! You’re so cute.” Wish pulls away and takes his seat at the table across from me. “Please have dinner with me, Lake.” He rests his chin in his palm and bats his lashes. “That’s all I ask.”
I sigh. I haven’t eaten since I got to Wish City, so I might as well. But as I take my seat, I say, “I thought you were going to show me around. That’s what you said in the note.” After all, I need to get something useful out of this nonsense.
Wish smiles. “We can do that afterward. Like a two-part date.”
Wish
Another Love house has popped up at 25th and Howl.
I close the text from Mercer, my head of security, and drop my skull against the backseat of the Range Rover. It’s not technically Mercer’s job to scout for Love houses, but he’s always on the lookout. And I’m always going to the cesspools in person to close them up.
“Change of course, Char,” I tell my driver. “25th and Howl.” Dammit.
I know I don’t have to go there to get rid of the Love house. I could think it and all the people inside it into dust. But it’s punishment, and it’s need. The way they touch me...
Will it ever end? I doubt it more and more. Doesn’t matter how I direct my power or what I do, the Love houses keep coming back. I feel like I need to make myself a therapist. Maybe they could tell me why this keeps happening. But I’m pretty sure I know. Love represents what the darkest, saddest parts of me yearn for. I want the drug’s high: messy feelings, lust, a love that sweeps you up and makes you crazy. It wasn’t realistic on Earth, and it isn’t realistic here. If I’m going to have anyone, they need to be a partner, an ally. But who knows if that would even solve anything. Or if I could be faithful. I’ve never tried to only put my dick in one person before.
