“Tom—”
He wasn’t thinking, then. Lower brain took over. His hand moved, found a hip, whatever, among the sheets—mouth found mouth, hands moved at liberty, knees looked for places to be, amid a tangle of covers, and covers grew more tangled, bodies more urgent, brain going lower by the second. Knew he was in trouble. He’d never wanted sex as much as now and he hadn’t even solved the damn sheet-tangle. She was doing better with his shirt. He started on hers. Yes-no was out the airlock. Decompression. He was breathing, that was all he could swear to. They were one creature, with the damn sheets somewhere involved, but clothes went, buttons, zips, whatever was in the way—went, until breathing itself was in jeopardy.
Nothing logical, no cautions, no stop-waits, Saby made him crazy and he didn’t know why it was different.
He arrived, blind-deaf-red flashes in deep dark, no breath at all until he sank into a sweating, gasping tangle of sheets and skin, Saby’s fingers wandered up and down his neck—she didn’t say anything, wanted more, maybe, than he could do, and it was going to be awhile, for him, but not for her, so he made love to her, careful, oh, so careful, afraid he’d been too rough—didn’t want to hurt anybody, never had, just everybody trapped him, everybody had their own agenda, and Saby, latest and least involved jailer he had, just wanted more—was that news?
She didn’t say anything, the dark told him nothing his hands didn’t find out, but she had a second and, quickly after, a third trip, holding to him, saying finally, oh, God, oh, God, over and over, didn’t know if it was all right, but Saby was having a good trip out of it, that was all he picked up, and he knew Austin had hurt Marie, but he wasn’t hurting Saby, she just held tighter to him and wanted until he wondered how long she could go on and whether he could do damage—but: The last night, kept racketing through his skull, and: Last chance. ‘Nuf, she said once, and, oh, God, but her hands and her body were still saying something else, after which… after which he hit that quick, mind-numbing flashpoint. Lower brain took control again, and the night warped around him, long, long, release—
Then nowhere for a while, floating in that chaos-place where time didn’t run the same, or directionally, or anything, hadn’t the Voice said it to him? He went there, every which direction, he didn’t think what he was doing, sensation just Was, and still echoed.
Came to with a body draped over him, that waked and stirred when he moved a leg that had fallen asleep. Body burrowed against him and held on, keeping him warm against the air… didn’t know who it was for a moment, didn’t know where he was, but he remembered, then, it was Saby, and he couldn’t see the rest of his life in front of him. It was all dark, all blank, after where he was.
“You awake?” Saby asked him.
“Yeah,” he said, and she moved over him, payback, he thought, sure he’d been too rough, but she wasn’t—he kept expecting it and not admitting it, and she grew scary and strange to him as the night-walker—or the walker wasn’t ever who he thought. Maybe nothing on the ship was what it seemed, nothing safe, not his life, not his freedom from kinship to them, not his sanity, not since he’d gone out in that warehouse and made jump with Corinthian. His anger wasn’t there anymore, his fear wasn’t, Saby’d taken it all inside, left just the no-place in front of him, the dark that wrapped him around and invited him, dared him, wanted him…
Saby pulled him in, Saby held on to him, Saby said she’d make everything all right: she was down to promises, like his Polly crewwoman, who always said she liked him, never that she loved, and he wouldn’t have believed that, anyway—it wasn’t in his universe, wasn’t here, just… Saby, Saby, in the corridor, on Sprite… Saby, pushing him away…
“What’s the matter?” Saby asked, and passed a hand over his shoulder, but he’d gone shivery and a little spaced, and asking himself where his mind was, that he made that jump, Saby to Marie. Bad navigation, crazy stuff she’d called up in him. It made him ashamed, and scared again, as if he’d crossed some strange space where identities and faces changed, floating lights, like the chaos around the night-walker.
He twitched, bad jump, quick intake of breath, couldn’t help it, he was falling for a second.
But Saby had him, Saby brought him back with a pass of her hand across his forehead, down his face.
“You all right?” Saby asked. That was a trap. Serious trap. If you believed she gave a damn…
If you thought Marie cared… if you ever thought that…
“Tom? Hey. Hey. Bad dream?”
He drew a breath, let it go, relieved Marie had retreated from conscious level. Didn’t want to think about Marie, she got into dreams and they turned in strange directions… Marie held him close in the dark. He was eight, maybe nine, too old to sit on anybody’s lap, the lights had cycled off, but Marie was in a mood to talk, and she held him and rocked him and told him about rape, and murder.
Other kids had fairytales for bedtime, but he got this story. He felt mama’s arms hard and angry… and heard about sex and pain…
“Tom? For God’s sake,—”
Air was cold. He felt chilled.
Sheets whispered and slid. The lights went on, dim though they were. She just looked, that was all. He didn’t have anything to say. He didn’t want to work himself in deeper than he was.
She reported to his father, no question.
She knew he was a hazard to the ship. He could do anything he wanted in bed, she didn’t mind, but it didn’t change him being Hawkins.
“Station’s no good place,” she said. “You don’t want to be here.”
Jerked him back to the real choices, she did. He was that transparent. If she saw more than that, she might be scared, herself.
He brushed her arm. “I’m not crazy. “ And then—being the sumbitch Marie said he was, he couldn’t help it: “What’s the report you give my father?”
Dark eyes—pretty eyes—didn’t even flinch. “Space Christian. Keep you.”
“Yeah?”
She didn’t amplify. Her eyes shadowed. He’d brought the lie into the light. He moved his hand on her arm, deliberate distraction. Went further down, onto her bare leg, warm skin, warm color… there were no secrets he hadn’t explored, no promises left, no lies.
Her hand settled on his. “Tink said you were all right.”
He’d forgotten the garden. The garden and Tink and Saby on the path. It came back, with its own logic, that didn’t make damn sense, that never had. Tink liked him. Tink said… be good to Saby. Or Tink would break his neck.
Tink knew. Tink understood he was a danger, the same as Saby did. He liked Tink. It wasn’t damned fair, the two of them, against one guy, walking him down that green path, making him feel… welcome. Part of. With. Included.
Hurt, now. Hurt was when you got your feelings involved. Hurt was what inevitably happened, when you let yourself believe somebody wanted anything but their own agenda. Christian had conned him. Now Saby had conned him, damn her, leave Tink out of it—Tink probably trusted her, too.
She lay down with him again, leaving the lights on. She promised him it was all right, she rested her head on his shoulder. And maybe there was a guard outside. Maybe they’d bugged the room. Maybe they’d done that days ago, and he wouldn’t get the chance to walk to the ship. Maybe they’d just come in after him and beat hell out of him first,—but what could he do?