THEY LIE THERE IN SILENCE.
Dawn and Warden.
Warden and Dawn.
At some point, Warden turns off his flashlight, and the tent is pitch dark, and all of a sudden Dawn is hyperaware of the sound of the wind gusting against the tent, and the sound of the rain falling against the tent.
And the sound of Warden’s breathing.
And the sound of her own.
She can’t see Warden, and she doesn’t know what he’s doing; she can feel him next to her, some warm amorphous blob, but she doesn’t know where he’s facing or whether his eyes are open, and she sure as hell doesn’t know what he’s thinking.
But then he shifts in his sleeping bag and she can feel his breath, warm, and she knows he’s sitting up, slightly, and looking her way.
“So,” he says, and she can hear the mischief, hear the smile in his voice. “Are you sure you want to be good?”
She’s felt this way before.
That hollow oh shit feeling, like you’re suddenly falling.
Like the ground you’ve been standing on has suddenly dropped away.
Like you’ve been ambushed, straight out of the blue, and now you have a decision to make, and neither answer is easy.
Do you:
-
Play along and be fun even though you’re not sure, or
-
Resist and be awkward and probably blow your shot?
Dawn has been here before.
It was Julian last time.
It was Julian and they were standing in the parking lot outside some club, and Dawn didn’t know him yet but he said he had pills to share, so she’d gotten her hand stamped and followed him out, and he’d led her through the lot and around back of the club and into an alcove, an emergency exit near, like, a dumpster and probably hundreds of rats.
And he did have a stash—he showed her, he had plenty—and he swore it was good shit, but the way he looked at her, Dawn could tell he wanted something and it wasn’t money, even though she kept offering to pay him for it.
But it wasn’t just that—like, it wasn’t just transactional.
Julian was cute, in the lights of the club, in a Sons of Anarchy dirtbag kind of way. And Dawn was in one of those moods where no matter how many vodka sodas you drink it’s still not chasing the demons from inside your head and you just really need something stronger.
But it was cold in the parking lot, and the alley was deserted. And in the harsh light from the streetlights and security lights, Dawn could see that Julian wasn’t just old, he was, you know, old. Like, way too old to be even talking to Dawn, let alone plying her with illicit substances.
And she could see how the Sons of Anarchy dirtbag look wasn’t just some hipster disguise.
But somehow, Dawn still wanted to impress him. She didn’t want to be the lame chick who didn’t play along, who chickened out at the last second.
She stared at Julian, suddenly far too uncomfortably sober, and she studied the gleam in his eyes and tried to imagine just how far he would want to go, and how she could mitigate this suddenly far too uncomfortable situation.
And Julian grinned back, like he had all day, like it didn’t matter to him either way, but she sure as hell wasn’t getting high on his shit without paying a price for it.
You know what happened.