Sugar Dust

by Raven ShadowHawk

  The cell phone, when she eventually unearthed it, displayed Master Calling to match the ring tone she used for Dan’s calls. Her thumb hovered over the connect button. The phone stopped ringing. She considered calling back but the memory of Cindy’s voice filled her head again. Accusing. Damning. Irritatingly correct.

  “I hate the Library,” she told the silent phone. “I hate that I have to share you all the time. With other girls, your mum—why can’t you just be mine?”

  It rang again. Karen hugged the ice cream tubs tighter to her body and dropped the little machine on the sofa. Not now. Backing away from the sofa and the cell phone, she returned to her bedroom and shut the door.

  Chapter Eight

  Dan raised the volume on the TV and spread his legs. His flaccid cock flopped against his thigh and on grasping it he felt no stirrings there. He grunted and began to rub it, gaze pinned to the naked, skinny, blonde woman on screen, kneeling before a man dressed head to toe in customary black.

  She licked her lips and thumbed her breasts in a provocative display of submission then opened her mouth. As soon as the Dom’s cock touched her tongue, she began an excessive sequence of grinding, writhing, and moaning, all while fingering herself with long, French manicured nails. He turned off the TV. Never before had he realized how ridiculous most porn was. His mind strayed to Karen and the soft smoothness of her skin beneath his fingers as they watched such movies together. He remembered her hands mimicking the actions on screen and the heat of her breath against his ear.

  In the space on the sofa usually reserved for her, lay a box of tissues, four empty lager bottles, a bag of crisps, and a tube of KY. Yet again he picked up his cell phone and picked Kaz Kitten from the top of the recently called list.

  The line rang and rang and rang. When her chirpy voice pitched in with its pre-recorded message, Dan wiped his eyes with the tips of his fingers. “Kaz,” he said after the beep, “it’s me. Dan. Daniel. Again. Please call me. I’m sorry. I’m watching the DVDs you got me for Christmas, but they’re really shit. Like really, really, really shit. Why did you buy me shit DVDs?” He burped. “I can’t even get it up without you here. You always make it fun when we watch these movies. Why won’t you answer your phone?”

  Eventually, even through the mind-fuzz of too much alcohol, he realized that there was nothing more to say. He hung up and placed the phone on the floor near his foot beside several wads of damp tissue. Snagging a fresh lager from the pack on the coffee table, he popped the lid and drank. When the landline rang he had to try twice to leave the sofa.

  The room lurched and the carpet wobbled beneath his feet, but he made it to the wall without falling and plucked the handset off the hook. “Karen, is that you?”

  “We made it home safely, darling. Just thought you’d like to know.”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “It’s me. Mummy, darling.”

  He burped and tasted old lager. “Oh, you...”

  “Yes, we’re back in Ely. We got a train straight back. It’s a good thing we had open tickets.”

  “Oh. Good. Okay.” He clutched the wall, the receiver rammed against his ear while his mind raced, trying to find excuses that might allow him to hang up.

  After long seconds of silence, Maxine spoke again. “You really surprised me today, Daniel. I thought I taught you better than that.”

  “Better than what?” he slurred, thinking back over his behavior that evening. Nothing in his memories deserved this scolding.

  “Better than to treat your father and I in such a way.”

  “I treat Dad just fine. You’re the one I booted from the house.”

  “Daniel!”

  “What?” Leaning against the wall, he hissed down the phone. “You did it to yourself. You come unannounced. You insult my girlfriend and my friend. And me. You insin—insinu—”

  “Insinuate?”

  “Insinuate that Karen and Pete are fucking about behind my back and try to shove a kindergarten bimbo into my life.” He heard her gasp and rode right over it. “You’re ruining my relationship. And that’s not fair.”

  “Darling, are you drunk?”

  “Yes,” he said with self-righteous enthusiasm. “I reckon so. And that’s your fault too.” That felt even better.

  “That’s not fair, darling.”

  “Life isn’t fair. You taught me that when you bought my cousin an electronic bike for Christmas and all I got was a jumper with cows on.”

  “You liked cows.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I want to talk about Karen.”

  He gripped the phone until the plastic creaked. “Oh, well done, Mum. Now you know her name? After you’ve messed everything up.”

  “Daniel, stop being so flighty.”

  “No, you stop interfering. I don’t want to talk about Karen. Not with you. I want you to be happy for us. If you can’t do that, leave us alone.”

  “Darling—”

  “No. That’s it. I said it.” Acknowledging the words brought a sense of calm to his mind. It steadied the writhing of his stomach and warmed his chest. He actually smiled. “It’s done. I mean it. Be happy or leave us alone.”

  A faint sniff issued from the handset. “Is that really what you want?”

  “Yes, damn it.”

  “I thought my only son would have more love for his mother, but—”

  He sighed. “I do love you, but enough is enough. I’m too drunk to handle your games tonight.”

  “What games?”

  “Your ‘Poor me, the whole world is out to get me’ game. Your ‘If I keep picking at his girlfriend maybe he’ll dump her’ game.”

  “Darling, you’re tired. You should go to bed—”

  “Stop it! Don’t mother-smother me now. I don’t need it, I have Karen.” Even through the booze-fog Dan realized he’d caught onto something. If his mother’s sharp intake of breath wasn’t clue enough, her next words cinched it.

  “That girl? She rents an apartment but stays in your house whenever she feels like it, eating your food without paying any bills. She’s no good for you. She can’t take care of you. You’ll always need your mother for that.”

  He laughed. “Jesus, I get it now. You can’t stand that I might need her more than you.”

  “You’re drunk.” Maxine’s voice no longer simpered. It snapped and cracked like ice cubes breaking. “I won’t talk to you when you’re drunk.”

  “You phoned me.”

  “For a sensible conversation—”

  “To squish me back under your thumb.” More laughter, and a small hiccup that turned into another burp part way through. “I should talk to you while drunk more often. You actually make more sense that way.”

  “Daniel, please—”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Wait a moment, darling, I don’t think—”

  Dan pressed his forehead against phone, depressing the button at the top.

  In the silence that followed Dan waited for the sense of liberation and pleasure to take over. It didn’t. Instead he felt a rush of nausea that sent him racing for the stairs. Half way there he realized, with his last shred of sense, that he would never make it to the bathroom.

  Heaving, he dashed for the kitchen, hung his head over the sink, and let his stomach go, eyes closed to avoid splatter. Four bottles of lager and most of the crisps hit the bottom of the sink. He waited until the last tremors past then turned on the tap, swirling the chunks down the plug hole. Stubborn lumps clung to the sides. Rather than fighting with it, Dan trudged back to the living room and to his cell phone. He pressed redial. “Karen?” he whispered. “Please call me. Please.”

  That done, he called Pete. His friend answered on the third ring. “I’m not coming back over there.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  “You sure? You’ve not handcuffed her to the radiator or swung her from the light fixture?”

  Despite himself, Dan laughed. “I use rope for that. No need
for keys.”

  Pete grunted. “You’re not kidding are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “What do you want, mate?”

  “I need help—”

  “Yeah?”

  “With Karen. I’m sitting here watching Paid in Manhattan and I can’t even—”

  “Wait, just stop. Please tell me you haven’t called me in the middle of a wank. I’m not part of your weird, kinky shit.”

  Dan looked away from the pile of dirty tissues. “No. I mean I was, but I’m finished now.”

  “Jesus...”

  “Will you listen to me, for a second, please? I need your help.”

  “Wanking?”

  “No. Drag your head out of the gutter. It’s not all about sex.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “This was stupid. I shouldn’t have called you.” He took the phone away from his ear.

  “No, wait, wait. I’m sorry. You surprised me, that’s all. Hello? Dan?”

  “What?”

  “I’m here. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Dan sighed. “My girlfriend hates me. My mum hates my girlfriend.”

  “I’m up to speed on all that.”

  “I can’t get through to Karen.”

  “She’s not with you?”

  He glanced again at the empty space on the sofa. “She went home.”

  “That’s rough. Sorry.”

  “No, hang on, we’ve not split up.” Even as he spoke the words, a knot formed in his stomach. His knees quivered.

  Had they? Until that moment he hadn’t considered the possibility.

  “Why would you assume that?” he whispered.

  “You said she went home.”

  “She doesn’t live here.”

  Pete gave a non-committal grunt. “She may as well. She’s always there from what I can tell.”

  “We haven’t split up.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Dan bit his lip. “I’ve left her about six messages. And texts. She won’t answer the phone. What does that mean?”

  “The hell if I know.”

  “Help me out here.” Desperation gave his voice a trembling quality. “I have to do something.”

  “Like what? As you kindly reminded me earlier, I’ve not got my rocks off for months. I’m the wrong person to hit for advice.”

  “You must have some ideas.”

  “Take her somewhere nice and show her you care.” He put sarcastic emphasis on the words. “All that romantic crap.”

  “Like flowers? Chocolates?”

  Pete snickered. “Buy her chocolate and she’ll eat you alive. Come on, think about it. You and Karen have something. Make it personal.”

  “Personal?” He frowned at the empty room.

  “Something important to the two of you, not some generic store-bought shit.”

  Dan slumped onto the sofa and stared at the ceiling. He saw the small holes in the plaster from failed attempts to install suspension hooks. “Well...”

  “What does she like?”

  “I don’t know. Test tubes?”

  “What the hell?”

  “She did a chemistry degree.”

  “Fuck me, you suck. Okay, what about those books she was reading last year? The fantasy ones on TV now? Or that comedian she likes? Try something to do with them.”

  “Comedian?”

  “The tall one with the long hair.”

  He shrugged. Seconds later, when he realized the gesture was pointless, Dan spoke aloud. “No idea.” He sat up. Though the strain of recently vomiting left an ache in his throat, his thoughts were the clearest they’d been in hours. “But how do you know all this stuff about Karen?”

  “I dunno,” Pete cleared his throat.

  “Even her folks don’t know her that well. She told me her dad bought her a gold watch for Christmas last year.”

  “She hasn’t worn gold since she was a teenager.”

  “Exactly.” Dan sat very still. He listened to the low breathing on the other end of the phone and the low murmurs from Paid in Manhattan still playing in the background. He turned it off. “So, what else you got?”

  “She’s your girlfriend, mate.” Pete’s tone flattened. “Your slave or whatever it is.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then you do the fucking legwork.”

  “Wow, Pete.” Stunned, he raised his hand as if to ward off the fire he heard raging in his friend’s voice. “Okay. Fine. I’ll sort it. Thanks, I guess.”

  “Whatever.” He hung up.

  Dan stared at the phone. What the fuck was that about?

  Undeniably sober now, he set the phone on the coffee table well out of reach. Though part of him longed to analyze Pete’s peculiar mood swing, the rest of him yearned to deal with the more pressing problem of his love life. His grumpy, sex-starved friend would have to wait.

  He retrieved his laptop from beneath the sofa. Just touching it reminded him of the last time he used it, and the creamy trails of Karen’s hard work sinking into the gaps beneath the casing. Several of the keys stuck as he logged on. Personal, he thought, signing into his usual forum, I can do personal.

  Chapter Nine

  Karen lifted her head. Her pillow peeled away from her cheek with a dull, tearing sound and stood up in a stiff peak. Drool and sticky patches of another body fluid matted the white cotton. She groaned and clamped her hands over her ears to cut out the dawn chorus.

  Two ice cream tubs lay beside the empty bottle of rum. A small pool of melted mint-chocolate chip and an open pack of AA batteries reminded Karen of the previous night.

  Rolling out of bed, she pushed the door open and peered into the dark hallway. If Cindy’s closed door told an obvious story, then the two sets of snores pouring through it gave the epilogue.

  She shook her head. The hallway faded in and out of focus, and her stomach gave a lurch strong enough to assure her that sudden movements were a bad idea. In the kitchen she slammed bread into the toaster and filled the kettle while trying not to think. Her pounding head made that easier than she might have liked. Coffee didn’t help. Toast did, thickly smeared with honey to hide the smell and taste of carbon. Chewing slowly, Karen retrieved her phone from the sofa where she’d thrown it hours earlier.

  Twenty-six missed calls. Twelve voice mails. Six text messages. Karen read them one by one and, with each message, felt her stomach clench. “Oh, Dan.” Her lower lip wobbled. She listened to the voice mail messages and laughed while tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “You’re such a stupid drunk,” she whispered. Her thumb hovered over Compose Message, but before she could begin, she heard footsteps approach from the hallway. She spun around, prepared to give Cindy a piece of her mind. She stopped dead. “Sam?”

  “Yeah.” Short, with miraculously neat hair, Sam sidled into the kitchen. She wore a pair of Cindy’s pajamas, stretched taunt over her curvy hips and chest. She kicked a chubby leg over one of the stools at the breakfast bar and sat down. “What?”

  “You spent the night here?”

  “Yep.”

  “With Cindy?”

  “I hope so.”

  Karen widened her eyes. “I thought you dumped her?”

  Sam shrugged and pointed to the toast. Karen pushed the plate over and watched the other woman crunch through several mouthfuls.

  “Ugh, what’s wrong with you two? Cindy has her toast burnt to all hell too.”

  “It’s a shitty toaster. Talk to me, Sam. I thought you two were done.”

  “We were. Then I realized I really do love her.”

  She nodded, sharply. “But when did you get here?”

  “I brought her home at about 4 a.m.”

  “Don’t you work Thursdays?”

  “Yep.”

  When the implications of that monosyllabic answer sank in, Karen swore and put her head in her hands.

  “Good. I’m glad you get it.” Sam stopped munching the toast long enough to glare. “Why the he
ll didn’t you go with her? She was higher than a kite.”

  “What did she do?”

  “Kicked some guy in the nads for hitting on her. Then robbed another guy when he tried to buy her a drink.”

  She winced. “Is she in trouble?”

  “No, but only because I stepped in. Then again, that first guy was a prick. Not that I condone assault—of course—but good for her.”

  They shared a smile.

  “Anyway, some woman found her trying to flag down a cab by waving her bra at passing cars. I took over and brought her back here. It was the end of my shift anyway. Thankfully.”

  “I’m so sorry. I should have gone with her. I know that. I just couldn’t face it.”

  “It’s that bad with Dan?”

  Karen looked up from her toast. Heat flooded her cheeks. “I—”

  “She told me.” Sam’s expression softened. She gave a tiny smile full of pity.

  “Right.” Karen cleared her throat. “Dan and I need to talk, yes, but it’s no excuse. I should have been there for Cindy.”

  “Don’t worry about it. She’s fine. Woke right up when I tried to strip her down for bed. She’s a biter now. Apparently.” Sam lifted her pajama top, showing off a large bruise forming on the side of her left breast.

  Thinking of her own bruised neck, Karen hid a smile behind her hand. “So you’re okay now? You and Cindy?”

  Sam nodded.

  “What about her parents?”

  “Fuck them.” The answer came not from Sam, but Cindy herself who appeared in the doorway wearing nothing but faint smears of body glitter and a wide smile. “I’m happy. So is Sam. Everyone else can fuck right off.”

  Karen beamed.

  “You coming back to bed, or what?”

  For several confusing seconds, Karen thought the question was directed at her. Then she saw Sam stand, stretch and amble back toward the bedroom, dodging a poorly aimed slap at her backside as she went. “Don’t keep me waiting,” she said.

  Alone with her friend, Karen chuckled. “You’re something else.”

  Cindy gave an exaggerated flick of her ice-white hair. “I do my best.”