Daisy could barely get out of bed after the concert.
No more driving force toward a goal, nothing to work for or look forward to. She had relentlessly pursued recovery, then rehearsal and finally performance. The curtain was down and the theater of her heart sat empty. She went around empty-eyed and depressed, wandering lost in the vast, dark cavern of her dreams. The light came back into her face when she was on cocaine, but only for interludes growing more and more fleeting and requiring more and more juice.
David brought new offerings for the coffee table altar at Jay Street. As if bestowing communion, he laid ecstasy pills in each of their palms. They locked eyes and swallowed. In a few minutes, Erik felt as though he were swimming in caramel. Everything was wonderful. He and Daisy practically floated upstairs. Her eyes filled with green swirls, her smile wide open, giggling and carefree. They kissed with laughing tongues and lips, deep in one another’s mouths. He dug his fingers into her hair, clenching his fingers through it, pulling tight then releasing.
“Do that again,” she murmured in his kiss.
He pulled on her hair, sucking gently on her tongue. She moaned in her chest. “Harder.”
All he did was kiss her and clasp the lengths of her hair hard in his fists and pull. She straddled his thigh, grinding down. He dragged her until the pain revealed itself in her liquid eyes and she came against his leg. It was gorgeous. She came like a goddess. Wild and terrible. He let go and was mesmerized by the strands wafting free. Later he was slightly disturbed. But only slightly. The intensity of Daisy’s orgasm overcame revulsion, filled his veins with a sick need to do it again.
And do it harder.
From there it spiraled out of control. With no more sweetness to be found in their sex, they delved instead into a vein of bitter gratification. They unplugged the Christmas lights and drew the curtains, pinning the edges so not a chink of light penetrated. A rolled up towel along the bottom of the door and the room went pitch black. The infinite cavern of Daisy’s nightmares. A thick, tangible darkness where they went at each other, scratching and clawing, balanced on the edge between enjoyable discomfort and outright violence. Distilling the pleasure out of pain. It felt good to hurt. It was normal to hurt. Joy was fleeting and treacherous but pain was dependable. It sucked, but you could trust it to suck.
In the dark Daisy yanked Erik’s head back and kissed him hard enough to draw blood. It should have repelled him. Instead, as soon as he tasted it, he was like a shark tracking wounded prey. He took her down to the floor and he was on her, high and crazed, torqued and shadowy. He pinned her fast and took her hard. His teeth on her bones, blood in his mouth, his weight holding her down in the endless dark.
But hurt required feeding. Like a drug habit. It slid around corners of the bedroom and demanded more. Hurt was the lord God and they would have no other verbs before it. Hurt stood over their beds, exacting devotion and sacrifice.
“Tie my hands,” she said one night. And he did.
“Pretend you’re raping me,” she said another night. And he did.
Then there came a night when Erik, higher than he’d ever been in his life, heard his own harsh whisper in the sludgy dark. “I want to fuck your ass.”
She didn’t say a word. He only heard the scrape of a drawer, some rifling around and then a condom was in his hand. His drugged brain could barely keep up with his body, registering what was happening five beats after it had happened. In this surreal fugue state, he was stretched out on her back, pushing into her unyielding body.