Animals Eat Each Other

by Elle Nash

  I hoped that kissing Frankie or Matt would make me feel something. I liked the idea of new exceptions to mold myself into. I tensed my neck a bit and looked up in a very unnatural way, the way models pose, because I was worried my face might look strange at that angle. I looked at Matt’s third eye spot, and then Frankie’s, and moved back to Matt’s. He shifted from one foot to the other.

  “Oh my god you are,” he said. “You are totally her.”

  Me as Lilith. Me as a whole new thing.

  I never knew Adam had a wife before Eve, and never questioned why Frankie and Matt might know who Lilith was. Maybe it didn’t matter then; maybe I wasn’t supposed to know. Years later, my late-night social media stalking would transition to a drawn-out search for information about Lilith. I learned that Lilith was made from the same dust as Adam, and not from his rib. I learned that Lilith was either banished or left the Garden because she refused to obey, and it seemed likely to me that was why Eve was punished the way that she was, as if any form that was not Adam was set up from the beginning to fail.

  I wondered if knowing this would have changed the way I interacted with Matt and Frankie. When Frankie named me, I felt wild and free to her, like perhaps she respected me or saw something exciting in me that I could not see in myself.

  Frankie put her hand on my bare leg and left it there. I was on my fifth or sixth beer and it was easier for me to open into the warmth of her palm. I wanted more of her hand caressing my upper thigh. I wanted more beer, and to let go deeper into the warmth of her skin against mine.

  Frankie leaned in to kiss me. I closed my eyes. At first, I felt the same emptiness. There was a sense that I was kissing a person, and there was an excitement about our mouths touching, but my mind understood that the feeling was only physical. I reached out to touch her neck and leaned in to kiss her harder. I had seen this in movies, and while it looked very romantic and passionate, mostly I felt her teeth beneath her lips. She moved her hands around my body and then there was another pair of hands. These hands were larger, rougher, and there was a firmness in them like they were corded with muscle. It gave me the distinct feeling of being worshipped. It was more comforting than any I had felt before—sleeping in on Sunday morning in a mess of blankets, snorting Percocet and watching PBS, eating a whole bag of Doritos without having to share. More comforting than memories of my dad. Matt was behind me, and I felt encased, like the yolk of an egg.

  Frankie moved her hand to reach inside of me. The sharp point of her fingers was uncomfortable at first. After that first feeling, I seemed to pour into her hands. I attempted to move my hips in a circular motion, to find a pace where things felt good, but her hands were clumsy and it was like she didn’t understand what she was touching.

  I began to perform for them. I gave moans that seemed believable, and kept rocking my hips in a circular motion. The repetitive motion of sex that sounded like it felt good but felt only half decent reverberated through my mind. The sex became an absurd echo in which I was a caricature of myself.

  I focused on the parts that did feel good, like Frankie’s lips against mine at that same time as the warmth of Matt’s hands enveloped my body, or the feel of his lips and teeth against my neck while he heaved his clothed body against my skin..

  That they were both clothed and I was not seemed an obvious barrier, an indication of what my place would be in this relationship. But my performance worked. Frankie’s hands were inside me like she wanted to leave something there. I thought about the way Matt’s eyes looked up at me when he tattooed me, the needles going in and out of my skin. As he rubbed his hands down my body, I made a high-pitched noise like something in a piano snapping. I didn’t say anything. I thought about the tattoo, the needles, his hands stretching and unstretching my skin.

  I slowly sobered. I felt cold, and colder still looking at Matt and Frankie fully dressed. When it seemed that Matt and Frankie were not going to remove their own clothes, I eventually pulled away from kissing Frankie. I told them it was getting late.

  They seemed surprised that it ended so abruptly. The momentum decayed, and their lack of expectation left me wanting. I no longer knew if I should move the action forward or halt it, or what they had planned for the evening. It seemed ending it would be the right step so they could continue on their own without me.

  I stood up from the couch and grabbed my clothes. Frankie smiled at me. I mirrored her warmth because I didn’t know what else to do.

  “Are you okay?” Frankie asked.

  “Yeah—no, I’m good,” I said. “It’s just I’m tired, I have to work tomorrow, and my mom is probably wondering where I am.” The last sentence was a lie, but it sounded plausible.

  “Do you need a ride?” Matt asked.

  “No, I’ll be good,” I said.

  I pulled on my jeans and buttoned them, and then put on my bra. I lamented the awkward way I always fastened the back of the bra at the front of my chest, before twisting the bra around the right way and then putting on the straps. I wasn’t sure if it said anything about my lack of femininity or finesse.

  “I appreciate it so much,” I added. “I love how warm you guys are. I want to see you again soon.”

  I paused after putting on my bra, and moved my fingers through my hair, shaking it out.

  “God, you’re like a wild demon woman,” Frankie said.

  I did not feel like a wild demon woman at all, but I wanted to come back. I liked the comforting feeling of them on either side of me, but wondered how these two people could find me attractive when I felt such an intense dislike for myself. I questioned it, but I didn’t let it hold me back.

  When I left, Frankie kissed me on the mouth and Matt hugged me. I thought perhaps me leaving was a good thing, since in a way the evening felt incomplete and it would make them want to see me again.

  THE THING ABOUT BOUNDARY ISSUES IS THAT YOU END UP FUCKING YOUR FRIENDS OR MAYBE EVERYONE YOU KNOW

  ALTHOUGH I HAD ALREADY been sleeping with Sam for a few months, I still felt an intense need for his continuous approval. It got worse when I noticed he had also been flirting with Jenny, which I couldn’t get mad about since no one really knew about our arrangement. One night he invited both of us to a midnight pool party at his apartment complex. I showed up alone, in the hopes that everyone else might go home early so Sam and I could have sex.

  I recognized a couple of kids I worked with, along with some of Sam’s older friends. The summer night was hot and dry in a way that made the sky feel wide open. People splashed each other in the dark, drank PBR. Everyone wore underwear or nothing at all. I opted for a new blue bathing suit with gold trim and a ruched top that I bought from Wal-Mart, but I barely went in the water because my tattoo was still healing. I crossed the pool quickly toward a cooler to grab another beer and felt something brush against my ankle. A hand wrapped around it and tugged me back. When I turned to look behind me, Sam bobbed his head above the water, spitting air and smiling.

  “I thought you were a monster,” I said.

  He swam closer to me. Swirls of water moved across my legs.

  “Maybe I am.”

  Sam tugged at my swimsuit bottoms, his skin shining wet in the streetlights. Sam was twenty-six but already had a bit of a beer gut. His face was young-looking and cute, a little round, and it made him seem approachable. He grew his beard out sometimes in a scruffy way. I felt drugged by his charm, or I felt drugged by my desire for his attention. It was hard to tell which.

  He moved closer and I looked around for Jenny. I wondered if they had slept together at all, or if she sensed that there was something going on between me and Sam. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but it seemed important that Sam pay attention to me, not her, while we were both here and hardly clothed. Jenny was swimming away from us, toward a corner of the pool.

  What I did then is what I continued to do for years. I chose sex. I chose validation, attention, over any actual chance at love from friends or even boyfriends. Sam pushed hi
s body against mine. His hands kept tugging at my swimsuit, and he started kissing my neck. I kissed him at first, thinking that we would be shrouded by the darkness of the night, but I hesitated at the thought of Jenny or other coworkers seeing us. He didn’t seem to care.

  “Come on,” he said. I put my hand in his and tried to swim over to the edge of the pool, worried about the water affecting the scab of my tattoo.

  “We should go shower first,” I said. I picked at the soggy skin on my thumb and it bled a little.

  Some of the kids followed us back up to Sam’s apartment to get more beer, Jenny too. They sat around finishing off the beers and watched South Park on TV. Sam looked over at me and I looked him.

  I walked into his bathroom, waited for him to follow, and turned on the shower. It was clean, with minimal clutter on the countertops and a spotless shower. I saw a spritz of toothpaste spit on the mirror, but that was the only evidence the bathroom was even used. I felt dirty by comparison. I wondered if this was why I wanted him so badly.

  Sam walked in and closed the door behind him. He looked me up and down, my skin cold from the wet fabric, and I peeled off my bathing suit, throwing it onto his floor with a thick flop. Sam got naked, one leg out of his swimming trunks and then the other. He stood there, ready, hands at his sides. I stared at his body for a while, watched his beer gut breathe, moved my eyes down his legs and back up to his broad chest and shoulders. He was different from Matt, who seemed feminine, thin and pale in comparison. I didn’t make eye contact. Eye contact made things too real.

  Water dripped from his hair onto his skin. He got in the shower first. When I stepped in, his hand wrapped around the back of my neck and pulled me in.

  This time, the sex didn’t hurt. I wasn’t focused on moaning or making noises. Other people were in the apartment. He kissed me hard, and then I turned around. I felt him enter me, and I pushed my hands against the tile. My waterproof mascara ran, and my hair was stringy and tangled, astringent from the chlorine of the pool. I did not look my best but he wanted to have sex with me anyway. I felt close to him in that moment.

  I heard later that Jenny became very quiet and her face got red at the sound of our skin slapping together in the shower. I imagined her there, wet bleach-blond hair down to her shoulders, wrapped in a towel on the couch, wringing the plastic grocery bag with her clothes in it.

  I felt an unusual sense of pride at my ability to emotionally detach from all this. When I had sex with Sam, I didn’t feel bad about how Jenny felt. In my journal that night, I wrote:

  This time, I am not the dumb girl. I am the smart girl. Jenny is the dumb girl because she let or is letting her dumb feelings get the best of her. She told another coworker, and I quote, “I think I’m falling for him.” DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. Getting attached to someone is not good.

  I brought a half gallon of vodka to her house, where she lived in her parents’ basement. By the time a third of the bottle was gone, I grabbed her hand and put it to my mouth, sucked on the web of skin between her thumb and pointer finger. It had been three weeks since that night at Sam’s pool.

  I stopped in her basement bathroom and caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror. I had recently pierced my septum to match Matt’s. I liked the look, and he often hid his piercing, and it felt nice having this mark of pain on my body I could also hide. My eyeliner was thick and drunksmudged. I weighed ninety-three pounds, too skinny to be voluptuous. I smiled at myself, attracted to my image. When I left the bathroom, I wanted Jenny to feel the same way.

  I sat close to her on the bed and put my mouth to her neck. My mouth made the shape of a kiss at first and then I held her neck close, bit down. She moaned and I kept going. I pulled her shirt off. I sat on top of her and felt the round of her belly with my hands. She was soft. She laughed, and for the first time I felt unjudged. I grabbed my coffee mug of vodka and Cherry Coke from her nightstand and took a deep sip, the drink dripping from my mouth and falling onto her. I licked them off, and her hands, grasped tight onto my thighs, gripped harder as she arched her back.

  I don’t remember the rest. We woke up with matching bite-shaped bruises on our bodies: neck, thighs, one on my waist, on her lower back. Our arms were crisscrossed on top of each other, a tangled snake of blanket around us. I stared at the rafters and wondered whether last night was something I could achieve without being under the influence of alcohol. There was an inhibition in me, a fear of my own desires or perversions, that dissolved when I’d had enough to drink or when I mixed my drinks with my mother’s pills.

  The sunlight painted the white walls pink as it rose through her garden-height windows. We ate bagels with thick cream cheese and left crumbs in her bed sheets and I could hear the sounds of someone, her parents or sisters maybe, stirring milk and sugar into mugs, spoons clinking against ceramic. The smell of coffee wafted down from the kitchen. Jenny’s naked leg was slung over me, smooth. Her skin moved against the cactus pins of hair grown out on my own leg. I needed to shower.

  She lay on top of the blankets on her stomach, and I noticed a small black tattoo on her lower back—some Chinese symbol. I thought about Frankie saying she’d tattooed Jenny, but was too afraid to ask. Jenny normally wore glasses, but in this moment, she wasn’t wearing any. Her eyes were the disturbing color of an afternoon storm gathering in the sky.

  I ripped off a piece of bagel and tried to stuff it in her mouth. She jerked her head back, her nose and mouth scrunched up in a smile as she laughed. Her teeth were wide and white. I wondered if I could be closer to Jenny. The parts I did remember felt like safe and sure, even now that I’d sobered up. It took me a few moments to work up the courage to say something to her.

  “I was a bitch and I’m sorry,” I said. “About Sam, and stupid shit at work.”

  She stopped smiling. “I was so embarrassed about the pool thing,” she said.

  “Sam is just like that.”

  Jenny asked me if I’d spent time with Matt and Frankie yet and I told her I had. I told her about how they had undressed me, but not themselves.

  “Frankie seems really into you,” she said. “She texted me about how cute she thinks you are.”

  I had worried that leaving before the sex got more involved might have made me look like a prude. Jenny’s assertion made me think it had left them wanting more.

  “Oh my god,” she said. “I have an idea.” She spoke excitedly, grabbing my hands like we were old friends. “Dude,” she said. “We should fuck with Sam.”

  I still wanted Sam’s attention. I figured this could work in my favor. There were so many times Sam would invite me over, but when I showed up, the house was crowded with other people. Sex with Sam involved a lot of waiting. Sometimes he would say he was tired and go to bed, and I’d leave wondering if I’d done something wrong. Sometimes he would invite me or Jenny over on separate nights, and when we texted him for more details, he wouldn’t respond. The next day at work, he acted like nothing had happened.

  I crawled across Jenny and grabbed my phone from the floor, flipping it open.

  “Think about it,” she said. “Who is the real enemy here? We don’t need to play games with each other.”

  I pulled up Sam’s number on my phone.

  “We should get him to sleep with us,” I said. “Like, together.”

  Jenny threw her head back and laughed. “Holy shit, yes.”

  “What should I say?”

  “Tell him we fucked.”

  I wondered if Sam would tell the assistant manager, Daniel, about Jenny and I having sex, and about us proposing this threesome, to try and seem cool. I wondered if Jenny was using me to get Sam to like her.

  I texted Sam anyway.

  He responded back, almost immediately:

  —Nice.

  “That’s it?” Jenny bit her bottom lip, pulling the skin back. “Tell him we fucked last night and next time we want him to join.”

  I clasped my phone close to my chest and laughed, hard and nervously. Jen
ny’s attitude was audacious. I wanted to move in closer, to feel her hair against my skin or hands again.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” I said. “Hang on.” I clicked away at my phone, sent the message, and we waited.

  No answer.

  By the time I went home, he still hadn’t responded.

  Sam’s shift started the same time as mine. I was in the break room getting ready when he walked in, clean-shaven as normal, his shirt untucked. He let the door close behind him and started tucking the shirt into his pants. I instinctively turned away, as if this were a private act and I had never seen him dress or undress before.

  Sam scoffed. At work, our relationship was different. It was harder for me to be forward with him, but I hadn’t considered whether it was because I was usually sober at work or because there were more cameras and people around. When he was done tucking his shirt in, he moved toward me and I moved away, keeping space between us. It put me into the corner of the break room where the security camera couldn’t see. He closed that space and pushed up against me, pushed his body against my body and grabbed my ass. I thought about how, just a few weeks prior, he had led me to a part of the sales floor without cameras and coaxed me into giving him head. I wondered how far he would go this time. His breath smelled like toothpaste, like he’d just woken up, but it was two o’clock. He leaned into me and said, “I’m in.”

  “Me and Jenny?” I asked.

  The door opened. Sam jumped away with his hands behind his back. It was Daniel, the assistant manager. Daniel ran his fingers through his hair nervously. His eyes moved between Sam and me and stopped at the air between us.

  “Customers,” he said.

  I looked at the floor. In my periphery, I saw Sam do this thing with his head, a nod. Daniel closed the door and we were alone again.