Danas Story Ch 06 07

CHAPTER SIX

Dana jerked awake at the sound of her name. Only then did she realize she'd slept. She still clutched the sofa cushion. She felt exhausted, her eyes scratchy from insufficient sleep. Her hair was mussed, and she felt stiff from sleeping on the sofa, which wasn't as comfortable as she'd first thought.

She looked around. Early morning sunlight filled the foyer. The only other person in the room was Zoe, who stood outside the pit, towering over her from that position. It was Zoe who'd called her name. Dana turned away, slumping onto the sofa again and closing her eyes, wishing she could drift off to sleep again. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation with Zoe. "Go away, Zoe.

"Come back to the room, Dana," Zoe said. "Please."

Dana's shoulders rose as anxiety filled her, knotting her stomach. She

really

didn't want this confrontation right now. She kept her eyes closed though she knew she wasn't going to be able to sleep. "Go

away

, Zoe," she said again.

"I am," Zoe said. "You can have the room. I won't be back until—later."

Dana opened one eye. She had to twist her neck to see Zoe above her. She was dressed to go out, wearing a hoodie and carrying her backpack. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You don't have to stay out here."

Dana shifted awkwardly onto her back so she could see Zoe more easily. "Dan's gone?"

Zoe nodded. "He left right after you did."

Dana hadn't expected that. "He did?" She hadn't seen him, but he might have gone out another door or she might just have missed him in the dark—and in her funk.

Zoe nodded again.

"Gonna see him again?" The question answered itself, really. Of course she was.

Zoe shook her head, remaining silent.

"No?"

"No." Zoe's voice caught on the word. Dana looked closer. Zoe's eyes were red-rimmed and her nose was red as well. She'd been crying.

Probably 'cause she didn't get fucked all night like she'd planned

, Dana thought.

The cruelty in that thought shocked Dana. How could she think such a thing? What did it say about her that she could think something so uncharitable about her friend?

As if she could hear Dana's thoughts, Zoe's hand leaped up to cover her mouth, just too late to stifle a sob. She closed her eyes, but only succeeded in squeezing out tears. She turned away to walk toward the door. Dana gaped, shocked and ashamed. It took a moment to find her voice. "Zoe, wait!"

Zoe didn't hear or ignored her. She dropped the hand covering her mouth, sniffed once loudly, and squared her shoulders. She paused at the door to wipe her eyes.

Dana flung the cushion aside and scrambled to her feet. She stood on the sofa and jumped up to the floor. She lunged and caught Zoe's shoulder as she reached for the door. Her touch surprised Zoe. She flinched and her head whipped around to stare at Dana.

She looked miserable. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, and tear tracks were visible on her cheeks. Her nose was red, and she sniffled frequently. She looked alarmed, as if she expected Dana to lash out at her.

Dana felt the desire to do it. She wanted to yell at Zoe, and hurl accusations at her. But she couldn't. Everything that had happened last night was as much her fault as Zoe's. As much as she wanted to blame Zoe for it, she couldn't.

She wanted to say that. The words were on the tip of her tongue. But she couldn't. It was too raw, too close to truths she didn't want to acknowledge. She settled for tugging gently at Zoe's wrist and inclining her head toward the stairs. "C'mon," she whispered. "Let's go back."

* * *

Dana led Zoe back to their room. Zoe was strangely compliant, going where Dana led and doing what she was told without question. Without speaking at all. It was unsettling. Dana felt sorry for Zoe, for her obvious pain, but angry too. She found herself falling into the caretaker role when she felt just as hurt.

She settled Zoe on the edge of her bed after hastily straightening it up. She boiled water in a small electric kettle her parents had given her for a going-away present, then made tea. All the while neither of them spoke. Zoe just sat, motionless save for her hands, which couldn't remain still. Dana leaned against her desk, too wired and anxious to sit. When the tea was ready, she poured a cup and handed it to Zoe, then poured one for herself and sat down opposite her.

They sipped carefully at the hot liquid, still without speaking.

"Thank you." Zoe's voice was barely audible. She stared at her teacup.

"You're welcome," Dana said.

"I'm sorry," Zoe said, still focused on the teacup.

Dana nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Me too."

Zoe looked up from her tea in surprise. "You?"

Dana nodded. "

We

did this. Both of us." She let the words hang there between them, stifling the urge to say more. To pin the blame on Zoe, and absolve herself. It would be too easy to rewrite events in her mind to justify herself and demonize Zoe.

"No," Zoe said, shaking her head slowly, looking more distraught. "No, it was me."

"No," Dana snapped, her anger making the word sharper, louder than she'd intended. She closed her eyes and took a breath, fighting down the anger. She opened them again to find Zoe watching her curiously.

"No," Dana said again. "It wasn't just you. It was both of us. I knew—" Her throat tightened up, choking off the words. She forced them out. "I knew you were gonna bring a guy home. Probably bring a guy home. I knew you'd—you'd have sex with him."

She looked away, her face afire. It was probably bright red. Her stomach was in knots, doing slow rolls. Admitting to this, even when both of them knew the truth, was damnably hard. She forced herself to meet Zoe's eyes. "I knew you'd have sex with him and I wanted to watch."

"Dana—"

Dana shook her head, silencing Zoe. She had to get this out. "I knew, and I wanted to watch. If I hadn't been there watching, he never would have caught me. He wouldn't have been so angry and—and so embarrassed."

Now Zoe shook her head. "No, that wasn't your fault. It was me—I kept pushing. I

always

push. I do!"

You do

, Dana thought. But she didn't say it. It might be true, but it's not like she didn't have her own sins to contemplate. Plenty of them. She had no business pointing fingers at anyone.

* * *

"He called me a whore," Zoe said. She had settled back against the lounging pillow she kept on her bed, the big one with arms that Dana always called a husband. ("Why do you call it that?" Zoe had asked early on. Dana had shrugged. "It's just what I've always heard them called.") She was cradling the nearly empty tea cup in both hands, staring down at it.

"He didn't."

Zoe looked up. "He did." She shrugged it off. "I didn't care about that, much. But he also called me a slut." Her eyes filled and she drew a ragged breath. "Am I, Dana? Am I a slut?"

Dana stared at Zoe, unable to formulate a response. Her mind whirled with possible responses—and with arguments pro and con. Was Zoe a slut? Before she'd met Zoe and roomed with her for the last two months, she'd have said yes. Without a question. Everything she'd been taught told her that pre-marital sex was a sin, and casual sex with multiple partners was even worse. Proper young women remained chaste until their wedding night. Only bad girls—sluts—slept around.

If Zoe was a slut, then so was she. Zoe wasn't doing anything Dana wouldn't have liked to do. She would have been having sex years ago if she hadn't been so thoroughly cowed by her parents, by her church, by the whole culture of her small town. She'd long ago decided that the moral arguments against pre-marital sex made no sense to her. Had that been the only thing holding her back, she'd have been doing it since she was sixteen.

But it wasn't. Fear of eternal damnation hadn't restrained her. Fear of being caught at it had. Fear of being labeled as a "bad girl" or a "slut" by her parents, her peers, her church, and her community had. Fear of pregnancy had. Living in that small town had been like living in a fishbowl, and she'd never thought she could have sex without any or all of those awful consequences.

Zoe had been raised without, or had managed to escape, all those restraints. She wanted sex (and lots of it) and wasn't embarrassed in the least to say so, or to act on that desire. If that made her a slut, then yes. But it only meant that they both were.

"No," Dana said, realizing that she'd remained silent for too long. "You're not a slut. Dan was wrong to say that, or to say—the other thing. It's not true."

"Really?" Zoe's voice cracked and she looked on the verge of tears again.

"Really," Dana said. "He was just pissed off, but that doesn't excuse calling you names. Especially when those names aren't true."

Zoe wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm. "Sometimes I wonder," she said.

"You do?" Dana had no idea that Zoe harbored any doubts about her behavior. She always seemed so self-assured. She said as much to Zoe.

Zoe's smile was low-wattage, but it was a smile all the same. She nodded. "Sometimes. Not often, but sometimes. I try not to let all that patriarchal bullshit get inside my head but it's hard, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." In truth, the whole notion of the patriarchy and its oppressive effects was new to her. Not the sort of thing she'd heard much about back home. She'd been getting quite an education since starting college, though it was probably not the education her parents were hoping for. "I've been steeping in it since I was born. I never even thought about it. It's just how things were. Good girls didn't. Not until they were married."

"But you did," Zoe said, her tone making a question of it.

Dana nodded. "And I felt terribly guilty about it. And it was about as much fun as you might imagine. Quick, furtive, and painful."

"Painful?"

Dana shrugged. "A little. Mostly it was just...uncomfortable. Unpleasant."

Zoe smiled, a little brighter this time. "Let me guess, your first lover was just as inexperienced as you were."

Dana nodded. "Yeah. Mike. I was the first girl he slept with."

"Where did it happen?"

Dana couldn't believe she was sharing this with Dana. With anyone, really. "The backseat of his dad's car. After the senior prom." She shook off the memory of it. "I really hit all the cliches, huh?"

Zoe chuckled. "Yeah. But they're cliches for a reason." She sipped her tea. "Was that the only time?"

Dana felt her cheeks warm again. "No," she whispered. It was frightening to voice these things out loud. But exciting too. "We did it in his bed about a month later. His family was out for the evening. I was scared to death they would come home early and catch us."

"So it wasn't any better, I suspect," Zoe said.

"No. It made me wonder if it was overrated." Dana met Zoe's gaze. "Sex, you know?"

Zoe grinned. "I know. It's not, you know. You just had some bad experiences."

Now Dana had to look away, a blush heating her face. "Yeah," she said. Her throat tightened up, making it hard to speak. "I know. I've—I've seen it."

"That doesn't mean I haven't had some disappointing experiences myself," Zoe said.

That surprised Dana. She met Zoe's gaze again. "Really?"

Zoe nodded. "My first time wasn't much better than yours. The difference is, I didn't expect any different. I just wanted to get that first time over with."

Dana didn't know what to say. She'd never imagined Zoe being insecure or anxious or disappointed about sex. It made sense. There had to be a first time for everyone. But somehow she'd imagined Zoe's first time as some magical experience full of wonder and pleasure. Everything her own first experience had not been.

Zoe must have seen her thoughts in her face. "My second time was much better," she said. "Better than my first, better than yours. He was an older man of nearly eighteen. He did a

much

better job than the first guy."

She didn't elaborate. Dana still wasn't sure what to say. She finished her tea instead and got up. "More?"

Zoe stared at her own empty cup for a moment, then held it out. "Please. I don't think I'm going to sleep for a while yet."

Dana busied herself making two fresh cups of tea. She was aware of Zoe's eyes on her, watching her. She wondered what Zoe was thinking, but knew Zoe would speak when she was ready. She handed Zoe her tea and then settled carefully on her own bed again.

"Much as we've both enjoyed this," Zoe said, "I don't think you can keep getting your vicarious jollies through me. It's time you got your own jollies."

"I—what do you mean?" Zoe didn't want Dana watching her any longer? Dana was surprised and alarmed to realize that she didn't want to stop. She

liked

spying on Zoe as she had sex. She

liked

masturbating to orgasm while she did.

Zoe set her teacup aside carefully, then scooched to the edge of her bed, where she could reach out and clasp Dana's hands around her own teacup. "Don't panic," she said. "I'm not saying we can't keep playing our little game. I like it too, remember." Her eyes twinkled. "I like it a lot, actually. Knowing I'm being watched really turns me on."

She gave Dana a knowing look. "But you'd have a lot more fun if

you

were having sex instead of just watching. Don't you think?"

Dana cast her gaze around the room, excited and scared and aroused and unable to meet Zoe's gaze for a long moment. Did she want to have sex herself? Hell, yes. Could she? Well, yes, clearly—because she had before. Not

good

sex, but sex all the same. But could she do it here, at college, in a room she shared with Zoe, knowing that Zoe would know she was having sex? When Zoe would know she

wanted

sex?

It felt scarily intimate, this sharing such feelings with someone—anyone—else. But it was also liberating. She'd shared more with Zoe in the last two months than she'd ever shared with her sisters, or her parents. Or her friends at home. She'd spent eighteen years doing her best to remain unknown, keeping her crushes, her desires, all but the most innocuous of feelings, from everyone.

And she was tired of it. Tired of being so constrained by expectations. The expectations of her parents and teachers and neighbors. The expectations of her family and friends. They all expected her to be a good, Christian girl. Quiet, polite, obedient, modest. Religious. Chaste. She'd hated it. But she'd complied. In the fishbowl in which she'd lived, what choice had she had? Good girl or bad. Chaste and obedient, or a disowned slut. A fallen woman no decent man would ever marry.

But she'd escaped. She was living away from home, amongst people who'd never lived in that environment. Sharing a room with a girl—a

friend

—whose own life had been radically different, and who dared to think and act as she wished. Dana hadn't realized how much of that lifelong indoctrination she'd carried with her. Too much.

"Yes," Dana whispered. She wasn't sure Zoe heard her. "Yes," she repeated. "I want to have sex myself instead of just watching."

Zoe smiled slyly. "Or maybe in addition," she said. "And I might want to watch

you

sometimes, too. Would that be all right?"

Dana felt her shocked, aroused and embarrassed response throughout her body. Trust Zoe to push her a little farther still. "Yes," she said. "I think I'd like that too."

CHAPTER SEVEN

"I feel foolish," Dana said. She also felt daring for admitting as much. Sharing her feelings with Zoe—with anyone, really—was a new behavior, and not yet a habit. It was getting easier, but it was still uncomfortable sometimes.

"Don't," Zoe said. "You look good."

Dana looked in the mirror. "Really?" She and Zoe were standing in front of Zoe's open wardrobe, where a full length mirror hung facing them. An unrecognizable woman in make-up and wearing a scandalously thin dress stared back at her. And it wasn't just the dress. The underwear she'd bought with Zoe was even thinner and wispier than the dress. She felt practically naked.

She watched Zoe look her up and down in the mirror. "Yes, really. You look good. You're just used to only ever seeing yourself in jeans and a t-shirt. You'll get over it."

"I'm practically naked!"

"Yeah, that's kind of the idea. You've got a nice body. It's time you let the world see it," Zoe said. She met Dana's eyes in the mirror. "You

do

want to get laid, don't you?"

Dana wondered if the make-up on her face would conceal her blush. "Yes."

"Then listen to Auntie Zoe. You're cute even in jeans and a t-shirt, but you're sexy when you take the time to get dressed up. We're going to a party. You want to look good for Darren, right?"

"I guess."

Zoe gave her a sharp look. Dana closed her eyes, frustrated by her own reticence. "Yes," she corrected herself. Be honest. "I want to look good for Darren."

It was supposed to be a double date. Zoe would be dating Bobby and Dana would be dating his roommate Darren. So far, nothing to get too alarmed about. But after the party, Zoe would be going back to Bobby's room with him, and Darren...might possibly come back to Dana's room. If she liked him. And if he wanted. And if she didn't chicken out at the last minute.

"And you do," Zoe said. "Let's go knock his socks off."

* * *

Dana clutched a plastic cup of beer in one hand, trying not to spill it on herself or anyone else. That wasn't easy. The party was crowded. Far too many people crammed into too small a space. There was barely room enough to move. The house, a student rental she'd been told, was jammed with enough people to give the Fire Marshall a conniption if he'd known.

The room was dark too. Some things didn't change between high school and college, apparently. And the desire to stumble around in the dark while partying was apparently one of those things. She didn't understand, and never had. Supposedly Zoe and Bobby were here somewhere, but she'd lost track of them almost immediately.

Darren turned out to be a nice looking guy. A little taller than Dana, but solid. His dark hair was cut fairly short. His eyes were brown. He had a nice smile, too. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved pullover shirt. When they first met, Dana wondered briefly what he would look like out of his clothes. That she even entertained the question shocked her initially, but she reminded herself that that

was

why Zoe and Bobby had set them up.

Now Darren shouted something. The party was loud too. They stood practically nose to nose and she still couldn't make out half of what he said. Something about classes he was taking, she thought. She smiled and pretended she could hear him over the blare of dance music and all the other party-goers shouting to make themselves heard.

This

, she thought.

This is why I don't go out to parties

. All the excitement and terror she'd experienced anticipating her date had long since drained away. Now she was just overheated by the press of bodies, overstimulated by the blaring music and roar of conversations, and bored by it all. She didn't even

drink

for God's sake! Not that she had any objections to drinking—she had just never developed a taste for beer. She was only holding one because it was the only way to stop everyone around her trying to press one on her.

Darren touched her wrist. Dana realized she'd zoned out. Not very polite of her. She scraped up a weak smile and a nod in response to Darren's words. He chuckled, the sound lost in the noise that enveloped them. He leaned in so he could speak into her ear.

"You're hating this, aren't you?"

Her first instinct was to deny it. To put on a brave face and endure for the sake of being sociable and polite. It was how she'd been raised. One of the many rules she'd absorbed over the years. One of the rules she was determined to shed.