A Controlled Descent Ch. 07

We still hung out, but less and less often, and only in the daytime. If I suggested anything at night, Aliyah would invariably be busy. Nathan wasn't too crazy about my influence on his girlfriend and who could blame him? Between the two of us, I definitely had the reputation as the instigator, and the consensus on campus was that I dragged Aliyah down with me. That is still highly debatable, but I think she was more than happy to let me wear the scarlet letter for the both of us. Again, only a little bitter, but I also get why she did it. By the time graduation rolled around, we were, at best, close acquaintances. Then I moved to DC, and she took a job in Chicago where Nathan was in grad school. Honestly, if it wasn't for social media I'd have no idea what she'd been up to the last two years. I'm a little surprised when the invitation to their wedding arrives.

I fly to Boston (Nathan's parents are from Somerville) after work on Friday and don't get to the hotel until nine. Pushing through the revolving doors, I'm greeted by laughter and the thrum of conversation. The bar is packed to overflowing, and the lobby is a total scene because the wedding party has commandeered all the surrounding couches. I don't know Aliyah and Nathan's families well, but a throng of our college friends is throwing a spontaneous reunion over by the massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Boylston Street. So many people I haven't seen since graduation. Everyone looks exactly the same but different.

It's been a hectic week at work, and my plan had been to go straight to my room, take a shower and pass out. That's definitely not happening now. Upstairs, I splash water on my face, change out of my work clothes and into a comfortable slip dress, and head back down to the lobby. A cheer goes up at the sight of me, which is a hell of a nice way to be greeted. I spend the first ten minutes making the rounds just hugging everyone. I was pretty anxious about coming to the wedding but now I'm so glad I did. After the agony of the last few months, it's nice to be among old friends. There's an easy familiarity with these people, and it's uncanny how effortlessly we slip back into our old patterns - the shorthand and inside jokes. It's as if not a day has passed.

For an hour I ride a wave of nostalgia. I stick to beer although there are several rounds of shots and who says no to a shot? The lobby begins to empty out as the older, wiser members of the wedding party call it a night. Tomorrow will be a long day, and they know how to pace themselves. I look up from a conversation, and like magic Aliyah is sitting there beside me.

"Can you believe this shit?" she asks with a baffled, happy grin.

I throw my arms around her. "I'm so happy for you."

"A long way from C203," she says, meaning our freshman quad.

"They're actually going to let you wear white?" I tease.

Aliyah laughs uproariously at that. "Bitch, let them try and stop me."

"Amen," I say, and we clink our drinks together. "Thanks for inviting me."

Aliyah turns serious. "Of course. I'm sorry if you thought I wouldn't. That's my fault. I haven't been a good friend, but I miss you a lot."

"I miss you, too."

We hug fiercely and catch up with each other's lives. I've never been to Chicago, but it sounds cool from the way Aliyah describes it. She talks about making plans to visit DC in the fall. I know she's drunk and won't follow through, but in the moment it feels good, so I go along with the fantasy. One of her bridesmaids comes to whisk her away to bed. They walk away arm in arm leaving me to wonder what they're giggling about. A reminder that I'm not a bridesmaid and wasn't even invited to her bachelorette party. It makes me melancholy, and I feel like Ebenezer Scrooge out in the cold with his ghosts, being shown a glimpse of the happiness he denies himself.

The lights come up in the lobby, and the bartender announces last call. There's some idle talk about going out to a bar, but everyone is beat, and tomorrow really is going to be a long day. Instead, the four groomsmen who all got a suite together invite everyone up for a nightcap. We order a round for the road and follow them to their room. There are probably fourteen of us left in the lobby but through attrition only six guys and three girls make it to the suite. It's a huge room - two bedrooms with a common area in between. We all make ourselves comfortable and pick up where we left off in the lobby. I get into a conversation with Jake Taylor who moved out to LA after graduation. He just landed his first writing gig on a sci-fi show that's debutting on Netflix next year. I'm really happy for him and after two years in DC, it's just nice to talk about anything other than politics.

Across the way, Trey Ward keeps glancing over at me. There's always been a cruelty lurking behind those blue eyes of his that I remember all too well. He was a sophomore when I was a freshman and already had a reputation for being really rough with girls. Bad boys are always in demand, but Trey verged on dangerous. He was a cautionary tale told to the incoming freshman, and as good-looking as he is, girls were warned to steer clear. I'd done the opposite of course and hunted him down at the first party of the year. He'd taken me back to his room and fucked the life out of me. It was like going twelve rounds with an Escalade, and I learned firsthand that his reputation was well deserved.

I limped back to my dorm that night, and my body hurt for a week afterwards. My cervix was so sore that I went to the Health Center for a checkup. Even though everything turned out fine, I still swore he was a one-time thing. The problem with that though was Trey had a gift for sensing weakness. I wouldn't hear from him for weeks and then just when I was feeling especially low, he'd text out of the blue, and I would come running so he could wreck me all over again. It went on like that until he graduated, and I haven't talked to him since. I don't really have any desire to talk to him now. Conversation was never really our strong suit, and I don't want the other thing anymore.

My phone vibrates over and over. It's all texts from Trey, which I ignore. He doesn't look too happy about that, but I don't care. I shift around on the couch, so I don't have to see him glaring at me. Billy Yates proposes a game of Never Have I Ever, which I haven't played since freshman year for obvious reasons.

"No chance I'm playing with Mac," Aidan LeCompte says. "That's way too much pressure."

"It's not my fault you're all choirboys," I shoot back, and everyone laughs.

I go back to talking to Jake who is much more interesting than I remember. He's giving me a list of movies to catch up on, which I will definitely not remember. It seems to make him happy thought, and I'm more than happy to nod interestedly. People come and go. It's getting late.

"Question," Conor Davis says out of nowhere, sitting forward on the opposite couch. He's a groomsman and has always been one of those guys whose whole personality is based around being edgy. "Is there anyone here you haven't slept with, Mac?"

The question catches me off guard, and I'm too stupid to ask myself how he knows that. I look around the room and do the math. When did all the other girls leave? It's just me and five guys now. I've fucked all of them except one, Dan Harris, who I'm still kind of sad about.

"Dan. I haven't fucked Dan."

"Bullshit," more than one of them exclaim and look to Dan for confirmation.

"Never had the pleasure," Dan admits with a blasé shrug that I find delightful.

"It's true," I say and wink at him.

Conor, who I've definitely fucked more than once, bursts out laughing. "Fine, but Dan doesn't count. He was a fucking monk in college."

It's true, and a lot of girls were after Dan in school. He was a big-time swimmer, handsome, and an all-round sweetheart, but he had a long-distance girlfriend to whom he was utterly devoted. I don't get crushes often, but it's fair to say I carried a Dan torch all through college. Maybe only because I couldn't have him, but he was always really nice to me and once we got passed me trying to fuck him all the time, we became close. Of all the boys at the wedding, he's the only one I wish I'd kept in touch with. Why do I cut people off like that?

"And whatever happened to Jane?" Aidan asks innocently. The story of Dan and Jane's epic bust up after graduation is legend.

"Fuck you, man," Dan says with a laugh. "It didn't work out."

"So was it worth it?" Aidan presses. "Passing up on Mac?"

Dan shrugs a second time and after a long pause says, "It's possible I would do things differently now."

Everyone laughs uproariously at that, even me and Dan. I mean what else are we supposed to do?

A loud thumping at the door hushes us, but when Billy opens the door it's not hotel security but the groom himself.

"I'm going to bed," Nathan insists even as Billy drags him inside. "What are you fools still doing up? What're you all laughing about?"

The room falls silent, and everyone looks at me expectantly.

"What?" Nathan says.

I sigh and shrug. "Apparently, I've fucked everyone in the room."

"Except Dan," Conor amends.

"Right, except Dan," I agree. "Wishful thinking, I guess."

"Everyone?" Nathan says dubiously as if everything he's ever thought about me has just been confirmed. "Well she hasn't fucked me."

"That's right!" I say and point victoriously at him. "And I haven't fucked Nathan. That's two."

"You never fucked Mac? Really?" Aidan says.

"Hey," I say, mildly offended, but no one is paying attention to me now.

"No, I definitely did not," Nate replies as if the mere thought is repellent.

Aidan shrugs. "Sorry, just kind of assumed."

"And why would you assume that?" Nathan asks, voice calcifying.

"Hey, man," Aidan says putting both hands up. "No reason."

"No, seriously. Why? Tell me," Nathan demands, squaring up to Aidan.

The good vibes drain out of the room, and all around me, drinks are set down in case it escalates. Nathan wrestled and is a really big guy. He'd wipe the floor with Aidan. A familiar feeling builds in the pit of my stomach, the one that tells me I'm at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Aidan gestures helplessly. "Because of Aliyah. You know..."

I wince - bad idea, Aidan, really bad idea. Never ever mention my name in the same breath as Aliyah.

"Fuck you, man," Nathan snarls.

I'm not fluent in bro, but even I can tell Aidan is moments from getting his ass kicked. It'll cast a pall over the whole weekend, and I'll feel responsible. Even though it's not directly about me, it's definitely about me. I can't let that happen to Aliyah.

"I used to fuck Alan Brightman," I blurt out loudly.

It's like a needle scratch, and everyone turns to stare at me.

"You fucked Professor Brightman?" Conor asks incredulously.

"For two years," I admit and finish the rest of my drink. "Off and on."

"You're why his wife left him?" Aidan says.

Professor Brightman's wife had also been a professor at our college. Their divorce had been public and very ugly. Quite the scandal in our small, tightknit community.

"No, I was just a symptom," I say, paraphrasing a line from a movie.

"Jesus, you're such a fucking whore," Nathan says contemptuously, but at least his fury is directed at me and not Aidan. That was the goal after all, so mission accomplished I guess. Doesn't mean he's not an asshole though.

No one exactly leaps to my defense and looking around, I see the same disapproval in all their eyes - a toxic mix of resentment and scorn and something else harder to define. Something brutal and primitive. The need to see me put in my place. Suddenly, being the only girl in a hotel suite full of drunk guys doesn't feel like such a good idea. Hell is empty and all my demons are here. A switch flips inside me. My sex drive has been dormant in the months since I stopped seeing Jack, but now my body prickles like it's coming out of anesthesia. Idiot that I am, I actually thought this part of me had died, but it's only been in exile, plotting and gathering strength. I feel it return at the head of a rebel army to reclaim its tawdry kingdom as a roaring vengeance fills my ears and a thousand lurid images flash before my eyes.

I wish I could blame the alcohol for what happens next, but I know exactly what I'm doing and the consequences. The way I look at it, I'm only responsible for my bad decisions. Professor Brightman was responsible for his then, the same way they are responsible for theirs now. But men think they can do whatever they want, and that the woman is always the whore. Well fuck that and fuck them. I look around angrily at my "friends" who never turned down an opportunity to have me yet still think they're better somehow. So instead of deescalating the situation, I open my big mouth and say something I will regret for the rest of my life.

"Yeah well, Aliyah fucked him, too."

The room goes deathly silent as everyone turns to look at Nathan whose face has gone a bloodless white.

"Jesus Mac," Jake whispers under his breath. "Are you serious right now?"

I stand up, suddenly not wanting him that close to me. "What? It's true."

"That's not even the point," he retorts.

"Oh, I'm supposed to just keep all your secrets? That it? The way you keep mine?"

"What are you talking about?" Aidan asks.

"How'd Conor know everyone here has fucked me? I don't remember telling him." That momentarily knocks Aidan off his high horse. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"What's wrong with you?" Jake demands. "Seriously."

"Seriously, fuck you Jake," I clap back. "How many times did we do it when you were with Lilith? You talked all the time about how much you loved her. So what happened? Did I lure you into my bed with my 'feminine wiles'? Is that the story you tell yourself? Well go check our texts. See who begged who."

"You're so out of line, Mac," Billy says.

"I'm out of line, but Nathan can call me a whore?"

Conor speaks up, saying what they're all thinking. "Well, you are."

That stings and redlines my fury up to eleven. "Yeah? Well what does that make all of you?"

The question hangs on a bitter knife's edge, and you could hear a pin drop on this thick, hotel carpet. If ever there was a moment for cooler heads to prevail. All it would take is one solitary voice of reason, and we would all step back from the brink. We'd sleep it off and in the morning pretend none of this ever happened. Too bad there isn't one around.

"You want us to show you?" Trey asks quietly.

"Oh the walking consent violation has entered the chat," I sneer.

"Jesus, I almost forgot how stuck up you are," Trey replies, shaking his head as if I've let him down personally.

I feel my mouth literally and metaphorically fall open. I've been called a lot of things but stuck up isn't one. "You are fucking delusional."

"Maybe, but you still haven't answered my question."

"I already know what you are, Trey. Trust me, everyone does. No one needs a refresher," I say, glancing around in search of a friendly face - there are none. I'm all alone on a deserted island surrounded by sharks.

"Always such a little bitch, aren't you?" he says.

"Aw, poor baby. So desperate to show me who's boss. Is that why you've been texting me?"

Trey laughs to hide his embarrassment. "Someone needs to."

"Then fucking do it," I taunt. "Show me what a man you are, Trey."

"You wish."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

I think that's the end of it, but that would mean giving me the last word and this is Trey Ward we're talking about.

"Just get on your knees where you belong," he says, not moving from the chair.

I remember this move all too well. Trey was never rough, not at first. He always started with a little Simon Says - do this, do that. His fucked-up version of consent. That way if the girl complained later, he could remind her that he didn't actually force her to do anything. After the first time, I knew what I was signing up for and was never going to complain anyway, but I would go along with his little charade if it made him comfortable to let loose on me.

"Right here?" I say, looking around again at everyone. They're like the audience at a horror movie right before the killer strikes. All they need is popcorn and a large soda.

"Sure, right there," Trey confirms.

Aliyah's wedding is tomorrow and that's her fiancé standing at the door. Doing something this reckless will poison the weekend and possibly her entire marriage. I should know better. I do know better. But in that moment, I don't give a damn. I feel a burning need to show these hypocrites who they really are and give them something to be ashamed about. I see the way they're looking at me and how little it would take to incite them. I want that so badly. My body aches for violence. With a shrug, I get down on my knees.

"Alright, here I am," I say trying to sound nonchalant to hide how hard my heart is pounding. "Are you a man yet?"

"You never did know when to shut up," Trey says, getting up from his chair.

"Guys," Jake says trying to play peacemaker, but it's too little and far too late. No one pays him any mind, least of all Trey. I look up at him and realize he's nervous. He wasn't expecting me to call his bluff and doesn't know what to do in front of his boys. I've won if you can call it that. All I have to do is make a joke, something dumb to ease the tension and let him off the hook. Instead, I reach for his belt.

The room gets even quieter than before as if they're all holding their collective breath. I hear the air conditioning click on. Mesmerized, Trey watches me unzip his fly and tug his pants down to his thighs. From the outline in his boxer briefs, I see he's only partially hard. Maybe it's stage fright, I don't know. Me, I have no such problem. Without touching myself, I know exactly how ferally wet I am. That's why I stifle the urge to say something cutting about seeing up close what kind of a man he really is. I need him hard and confident not limp and deflated, so I ease down his boxers and wrap my hand around the base of his shaft, giving it an encouraging squeeze. It responds, and I lean forward and take the head in my mouth.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Jake's look of disbelief. He's still sitting on the couch only a few feet away and mouths the words, "what the fuck" then looks around the room to confirm this is actually happening. I would explain except Trey has overcome his initial jitters and is thrusting aggressively against the back of my throat causing it to flood with saliva. I pull back and spit down the length of his cock, spreading it around with my fingers. He takes a fistful of my hair and full on fucks my face while also kicking off his shoes. I've never done this with an audience before and squeeze my eyes shut trying to block out Jake and the others. Part of me expects them to get up and leave in disgust, but when I work up the nerve to peek everyone is still very much there.

"Come on. She wants it," Trey says. No one replies and no one moves, so he takes his cock out of my mouth and gives my head an encouraging shake. "Tell them."

I look around the room, drool hanging from my chin. "It's okay. I want it."

"And what are you?" he demands.

With a cathartic swell of emotion, I tell them exactly what I am. "A fucking whore."

Triumphant, Trey slams his cock back into my mouth and presses it against the back of my throat, so hard I can't breathe. I take it for as long as I can, looking up at him through watery eyes the way I remember he likes, until I have to tap his leg for him to let up. He waits another few seconds until I start to panic before being merciful. I fall forward on my hands, gasping for air.