The weed edibles were still going strong in her system when she made it home. She'd endured sneers, snide jokes, even gropings as she'd bussed back from her hate-fuck with Warren Hayes.
She replayed it over and over in her mind; being pressed up against the cold glass of a motel window, displaying her naked body with only a Batwoman mask to save her from total exposure. She felt equal parts furious and ashamed of her intense orgasm whilst she'd been ravished by a man old enough to be her father, who despised everything about her politics and considered her an inferior species because of them.
The worst part was that she was aroused thinking of it. She wished he'd gone further, that he'd made her feel utterly bereft of self-respect and pride. The feeling did not leave her when she sat disheveled and demoralized on the bus. She was too subdued to fight back when strange men groped her body as she made her way home. Each one of them had Warren's smirk, whispered with his voice, pinched her with his strong fingers.
She managed to keep her dignity for about ten minutes when she re-entered her home. Then she promptly stripped naked, lay on her bed, and took out her strongest vibrator. She had writhed on the bed in the grips of a hazy lust that always accompanied her when she was high. She cursed Warren Hayes, the random men who objectified her on a daily basis, and herself most of all for this paradoxical and hypocritical desire for such negative treatment.
It always happens this way, Brynn thought after her third orgasm. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her body was slick with sweat, and she felt more spent than she'd felt in a long time.
Slowly, she sat up to look at herself in the mirror. She looked as dirty and disheveled as she felt. She couldn't tell if there was more anger or disgust in the look on her face. A fire smouldered in her eyes, and she forgot how long she stared before the phone rang.
She was still high, and instantly frantic at the notion of someone finding out what she'd done. She quickly picked up the phone and tried to sound as normal as possible. "Yeah?"
There was a low voice on the other end. It had always irked her to hear it, but now she shuddered, unable to comprehend the mess of emotions running through her.
"Still thinking about it?"
"Fuck you," she whispered. "How did you get my number?"
Warren laughed. "You don't remember giving it to me? How fucking high are you?"
Brynn tried to recall when that had been during their tryst, but her recollection was already hazy.
"By the way," he added smugly, "you forgot your panties in the motel room. Or didn't you notice that either?"
Brynn blushed deeply, wondering where her panties were now. She wondered what he was going to do with them. The thought that he might show them to her mother filled her with sudden panic.
"You must be used to leaving panties behind if you don't notice. Or is just 'cause you're a stoned bimbo?"
Brynn made a choked noise, caught between an indignant exclamation and a cry of stupefaction. Forcing herself to calm down, she spoke in a whisper, as if she might be overheard. "What do you want?"
For a moment, she heard nothing. Then, his bemused answer came back in a regular, measured tone. "There's a lot of ways to answer that, Brynn."
"Don't call me by my name!"
His amusement returned. "No? You don't like that? Too personal, is it? Just admit that you want to be talked down to."
"Fuck you!"
"Tell me, is it something in your ideology that leaves you unsatisfied? Or is it some instinct deep in your bones? I guess that would explain how South Africa came to be, right?"
She knew what he was saying, and she hated it. But beneath her rage, there was awe at his audacity, and - much to her renewed fury - a stirring within her at such taboo topics.
"You want to punish me, then? You want to blackmail me?"
A short guffaw sounded out. "Jesus Christ, you're paranoid. You think I'm some kind of degenerate like Bill Clinton? I don't need to get my kicks on a tropical island."
Brynn rolled her eyes. "So what do you want, then?"
"As if I'd bother telling you that," Warren gloated. "You can stew over that one for a while. See you at the debate."
Oh fuck, Brynn thought to herself. She had forgotten about the first debate.
"My best to your mother, by the way," Warren added mockingly. "Tell Anne-least that she raised a great slut."
Brynn nearly threw her own phone across the room for that comment. Instead, she resigned herself to hanging up abruptly and brooding in bed until she fell asleep.
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Annelies was not happy when Brynn finally phoned her back the next morning. She only said that she'd gone out to the Comic Con event with her friends.
Annelies was not content with that explanation. "Did you get high again?"
Brynn rolled her eyes. "So what if I did? It's legal, isn't it?"
"Don't talk to me about legal. I am in the middle of the campaign! You can't be so irresponsible! I don't care if you were out with friends. I need your help!"
Brynn resented this lecture, but she bore it silently. She was too ashamed of herself to admit the truth. As angry as Annelies was now, Brynn didn't want to imagine her reaction to the news that Brynn had allowed herself to get fucked by the man who threatened everything she'd spent decades working for.
In another political race, the incumbent party might have enjoyed an advantage or two. But the NDP were still reeling from the scandals they'd gone through with Claude Waggoner. Brynn wasted little time getting to her mother's office.
"Hey, Brynn." It was Azam Hafiz, volunteering for another day on Annelies' campaign.
"Morning," Brynn said quietly. They'd become friends in university, until he admitted that he had strong feelings for her. They'd been able to grow past the awkwardness and rekindle their friendship, but now he was the last person she wanted to see.
Azam handed her a cup of coffee, just as she always took it. "Are you okay?"
"No," Brynn admitted. "I didn't sleep well last night."
