The world swims into focus. Slowly.
It feels like I'm surfacing from deep underwater, from the belly of some unfathomable ocean... and yet, my body feels the opposite: like it's sinking.
Sinking into Jenny's cozy couch, apparently. Familiar, and comforting, but... the last thing I remember is agreeing to come over, so what is this...
My thoughts feel foggy and disjointed, like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. I look around, struggling to remember how I got here. The room is familiar -- the plush couch, the soft glow of the lamp. Yet, everything feels alien, like I'm seeing it for the first time.
I glance at Jenny. She's calm, almost serene, her innocent eyes meeting mine. Her wavy chestnut hair frame her face like a painting, and she looks so... serene. Unbothered, calm, at ease. Whatever is weirding me out, it's clearly not perturbing her.
Weirdest of all, judging by the motion of her mouth, she seems to be talking.
Now that I notice that, I start hearing bits and pieces of what she's saying, but I struggle to grasp the thread of the conversation.
"...everything will be fine, Monica," she says. Her voice is soothing, unnaturally so, like she's talking down to a puppy. I have no context for the words, either. What will be fine?
Jenny's hand reaches out, brushing mine lightly. Her touch is warm, soft. I strain every muscle in my body to try and listen, to understand her.
"...just need some rest, dear," she continues. Sleep, yes that sounds like a good idea. If this is a dream or some sort of hallucination, rest could be my escape from it. But why is she so worried about my sleep?
Suddenly there's movement; the gentle bobbing of Jenny's head as she nods at something I've apparently spoken aloud. But I don't remember speaking. My mind is murky, stagnant, clouded.
The lamp.
Why is the lamp on? It was mid morning when I agreed to come over. I glance at Jenny again - she's still staring at me with compassion and something else - understanding maybe? Or perhaps patience?
No, that's not the right word...
I try to piece together the jigsaw of my mind once more but it's like trying to hold onto water. All I'm left with is frustration, as it slips effortlessly through my fingers.
"Jenny," I manage to croak out at last. "I like hanging out, and all, but, uhm..."
"Yes, dear?"
"... How did we end up here? Like, what were we doing before?" I gulp. "How, uh... how long have we been here?"
"What do you mean?" Jenny makes a show of looking behind her shoulders, as if checking that we're not being overheard... which is silly, because we're alone. She leans forward, speaking in an almost conspirational tone. "You're feeling like you're... losing time?"
"Why do you ask that?" I say, even though the real question is how do you know? Jenny just giggles. That doesn't seem like the socially correct response to my question, does it?
Exhaustion tugs at my eyelids. I suppose I could rest... just doze off for five minutes. But Jenny has started talking again, and I can't help but listen. There's a rhythm to her speech, a sing-song quality, which is bizarre, but also interesting. I try to follow, but my thoughts scatter.
A nagging sense of wrongness twists in my gut.
I try to open my eyes, to speak, to ask what's going on, but my throat feels dry, my muscles unresponsive. Jenny doesn't pause, she just talks and talks and talks. I'm adrift in a sea of confusion, drowning in the sound of her voice.
Why can't I remember? Why do her words wash over me like this? Why does everything feel so... disconnected?
I focus on Jenny again, trying to anchor myself in the moment. I don't know if it's my mind playing tricks, or if she's genuinely speaking in riddles. All I can make out is the soft lilting rhythm of her soothing voice. I narrow my eyes, and words start coming into focus, in bits and pieces, here and there. But even then, I'm never fully certain of what I've actually heard.
"...Trust me...", she says. Or was it "...Just me..."?
I look down at my hands. They seem oddly distant, foreign to me, even though they're resting on my lap. The fingers look too long, the skin too pale. I flex them experimentally, relieved that they respond to my command.
Well... whose other command would they possibly ever respond to?
Jenny's voice continues to wash over me, a steady undertow pulling me further into the foggy abyss of confusion.
"...Right thing...", or was it "...Light fling..."?
Suddenly Jenny's face looms into my vision as she leans forward on her chair. She's close, so close. Where I'm completely lost, though, she looks laser focused, her eyes wide and attentive.
"Take your time," she says, softly but distinctly this time. "Lose your time."
She gently touches my hand. Her warmth seeps into me, like a liquid sunset melting into the horizon.
And then, like a bird breaking out of a bank of clouds, her words suddenly reach me, loud and clear and comprehensible, where just a moment ago I could barely follow them.
"All relationships, my dear," she says, "they're all about one thing. We pretend it isn't so. We pretend we're more civilised than that. But no amount of performance is going to wish the truth away. The truth is that... all relationships, at their core, are about power."
Her fingers trace idle patterns on the back of my hand. I look into her eyes, blinking, trying to process what the hell she's talking about.
"...The flow and ebb," she says, her voice lilting. "The tug and pull. The giver...and the taker..."
I can hear the words loud and clear now, but the context still eludes me completely. What point is she trying to make? Were we talking about something related to this, before I dozed off? I just don't get it.
"...Ebb and flow...", she says, "...give and take...", "...power and surrender...".
"You're not making sense, Jenny." I rub my temples, frustration building.
"Oh, but I am," she says, leaning forward even closer to me, a weird intensity in her eyes. "In a world of scarcity, unequal power is the norm, Monica. All manner of power, too. I'm not just talking about the obvious things - money, or authority, or status, or even just sex."
"Sex?" I ask in a hoarse voice.
"Not right now, thanks," Jenny says with a giggle, amused at her own joke. Then, her face turns deadly serious again. "Even in the most nominally egalitarian of friendships, of romantic relationships, there is always someone who needs the other, more than viceversa. Someone always wields some form of power. And by exclusion, someone else always..."
She leans even closer to me. I can feel her warm breath on my earlobe. "... submits."
What?
No. That doesn't sound right. I want to object to that view of the world. I want to ask her if that's how she sees our friendship too. I want to object to that word she's used, especially. It looks so weird that she would choose that one, the connotation doesn't seem right, but I fixate on it... submit, submit...
Jenny continues, oblivious or indifferent to my confusion. "For one to hold the reins, another has to be steered by them."
"Jenny, I... I don't understand, why are we talking about this?" My voice is barely above a whisper.
She's leaning very close to me right now.
"Nothing is ever free, Monica. Especially energy. It all comes from somewhere. The world turns because there's always a push and a pull," she says. "Stars shine because they burn. Life endures by consuming other life. Relationships evolve because one rules, and others follow..."
"Stars shine because they burn..." I find myself saying, even though I'm not sure what that means. Or how it's relevant to our conversation. And this time, when I try to muster the strength to ask, I actually find it.
"But Jenny," I say, "what does it have to do with us? With me?"
She smiles at me like I'm some kind of clumsy puppy dog. "God, it's so endearing when you're dumb, Monica. It has everything to do with us."
The casual insult feels like a slap. It makes me draw in breath, it hurts, it confuses me, I want to ask her why she's being so mean to me, I want to defend myself, but...
But Jenny rises from her chair, and the motion feels so sudden, so swift, that it immediately silences me. I crane my neck to follow it, and that makes my head spin...
So I look down again. Yes, that is much easier. Looking down.
Jenny's hand tightens on mine ever so slightly, not enough to be painful, but firm, enough to keep me tethered. I wish I could see her eyes, though I'm not sure why that's important.
"That's always been your problem. You've always been a rather mellow girl, haven't you, Monica? So meek."
No, that's not true! Fuck, why is she saying stuff like this? I'm starting to feel fairly alarmed here, and when words of protest fail to come to my lips, that only makes my heart beat even faster.
"You were always weak," Jenny says, "and that's allowed me to keep secrets from you. Secrets anybody else would have noticed."
"Secrets?" I echo, my voice sounding hollow.
"Yes, secrets," she replies, her voice smooth as silk. "Ones I've been burying deep for so long. The things I'd never admit out loud. Secrets that could motivate one to do things... evil things..." She pauses, a knowing look in her eyes.
A shiver runs down my spine. "Jenny, you're scaring me."
"Am I?" She tilts her head, considering. "I was scared too, once. Of these desires, what they mean. What they would make me, if I ever acknowledged that they were true."
She sits back on the arm of the couch next to me, stretching out her legs, crossing her feet over the coffee table. Somehow, I find myself looking at them. The nails painted a deep red, the gentle arch, the skin that looks so soft.
"I just used to rub myself silly to these fantasies," she says, languidly. "And then the madness would pass. But the more I did that, the more I wanted it for real, and then I had a thought. If I really wanted it... why not just take it?"
My heart thunders in my chest. I should run away, very very far away. I should flee, because Jenny is not behaving like a friend now, she's behaving like a predator, and the shiver I feel is the primal response telling me I'm being hunted.
