Paresthesia Pt. 10

"I think we both have bullet proof threads in there," I say, "And her little friend seems tough."

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow. I don't get hit though. That's the whole gimmick. It would only slow me down."

"Well, you got hit. Ounce of prevention, pound of cure. And an ounce of armor, a pound of glass. Evan, get me another bowl please. This one's full."

It is full and I take it away. I feel a moment coming down the line where I have to hand her a scalpel and wipe her forehead. I should get a nurse costume. One that might work for both of us. Could be a fun night. Less nurse and patient, more two nurses on break exploring and expanding their knowledge of anatomy. A real educational experience. And Dr. Ken and Dr. Kieran and Alessandra the med student show up and help us all contribute to the greater body of medical science. I slide the empty bowl over and take the tweezers offered. They need resterilized and I already have a fresh one ready.

Sylvia whimpers quietly as more and more of the modern art comes from her back. Pound for pound, might actually be worth more than the stone once it's all cleaned up. Probably up the weird Avant Garde nature of the piece if it was extracted from someone's back, soaked in blood. Maybe not to me, but a weird art type might find some value.

"Are you two done yet?" Sylvia whines. She does that a lot. Like a surprising amount. Like more than I've ever seen her. And I've patched her up a handful of times over our shared career. And Hannah's not that bad at it. She just had more of her to deal with.

"We're working on it," I say, "Just one shoulder left and we'll get you bandaged and trussed up."

"Probably should lay off the high wire stuff for a few days," Hannah says, "Do you sleep on your stomach? That might help too. I don't know. I'm not a doctor."

Sylvia yelps a bit more as the needles drip rubbing alcohol right on to the tender flesh. I wince again and Hannah glares. It hurts her and it hurts me. I am a sensitive man with a delicate constitution. Someone out there probably appreciates that. Not anyone here though. Shame.

"And done. That's all of them that I could get. And that's probably all of them. Let it heal up and settle down a bit. If you still feel something, then have someone check it out. If you want, we can come back and keep picking you."

"I'll keep that in mind if I want to feel like a plucked chicken," she says. Hannah bristles and my apologetic look does nothing for her.

"Not even a thank you," she mutters.

"Did you say something?"

Hannah takes a deep breath and interjects before I can say anything.

"Yes. You don't even have a 'thank you' for us. We didn't have to do this. Could have just dropped you off at your place and walked away. But no. We came up here, laid you out and treated you. If you hate me, fine. But that still deserves a thank you."

Sylvia does not but lie there and turn her head. To me.

"Thank you, Beat," she mutters.

"And her," I say, "She did more of that than I did. Sylvia, don't be a dick for once in your life."

"You didn't used to be like this, Beat."

"My name's Evan. Just say thank you to Hannah. It's not that hard."

She sighs and we are both glaring at her as she slowly turns her head back. Part of it is the pain, and she gets that, but part of that is just stupid arrogance for a reason I cannot fathom. No matter the venom, it's just a simple thank you and nothing would change. Nothing would have to change.

"Thank you," she mutters.

"Was that so goddamn hard?" Hannah sighs.

"You have no idea."

"Seriously, what is your problem? I've given you the benefit of the doubt- "

"Oh gee, thanks."

"Because you worked with Evan for a long time. But stop it. It's fucking stupid."

"What? Are you saying that you can't deal? Jesus Beat- "

"My name is Evan. Fine. Whatever. Hannah, you got everything? We can leave whenever you're ready. Just want to get this final bandage on and we're good."

Hannah's pissed and that's fair. More than fair. I wipe off my hands and tie everything in a neat little bow. It's already starting to bleed through, but it will be fine. A new shirt over and a day or some spent on a couch, and she'll be right as rain.

Sylvia lets her walk over to me with a pitiful glare. I try, I try to must some amount of sympathy for her and it comes. It comes through broken glass and forced smiles, but it is there. And then I turn away as Hannah places a hand on my shoulder.

"Because you have him," Sylvia says in a hushed whisper.

"Because you have him and I wanted him and I don't have him."

Hannah sighs and something gives in her.

"You know we sleep around together, right? Just could have come up to us at any point and been like 'hey, wanna have some fun tonight?' Could have been fun. But no. You had to be a jealous bitch."

"I don't want to share him though."

"But I want to be shared," I say. "Sylvia, that night was a one-time thing between us. And it was a long, long time ago. I don't know what to say. I've made it pretty clear that I wasn't interested in you in the same way."

"And it's kind of weird to frame it as like he's a thing to be owned," Hannah says, "Like its hot in the moment, but he's a person. He can kind of do whatever he wants, whenever he wants."

Sylvia goes quiet for a long, long moment. Neither of us move to leave anymore. She just sits there on her stomach with her chin on her hands, looking in a vague direction of down. I have thought about it. I have thought about it after it happened. And I have thought about approaching her and saying that we should do it some more. But then Hannah and I would always meet on a rooftop soon after and continue our own stupid game of wasting time when there are better things that we could have been doing together.

But we never did and Hannah finally took the move that either one of us should have done a long time ago.

"I'm sorry," Sylvia says and that honestly surprises me. The little wavers in the voice, the wetness at the corner of her eyes, the genuine sincerity in those two words. She's surprised too, it seems. That level of authenticity doesn't come easy. I don't know if Hannah is having any of it. I've just never seen anything even close to this come from her.

"I'm sorry," she says again. No sarcasm. No bitterness. No little lilting bite in the words. Just genuine regret from someone in pain.

Hannah sighs and moves back to her,

"Evan," she sighs, "You did this part wrong. It'll come off if she moves to much."

"How is that wrong? We had the same first aid course back in the day."

"Yeah, but there's a new one we had to take. The Heimlich changed too. And CPR."

"Is kissing booboos still in?"

"That's still standard procedure."

"I'm sorry," Sylvia says again.

"Sylvia," I say, "That's good. I figured most of you was the act, but I didn't really realize how deep it went."

"What he said. Apologizing really only works twice. After that, you kind of have to do stuff differently," says Hannah, "So here we are. Fresh start. Second chance. Anything you want to say before that."

"I'm sorry. I really am. I know. I've been trying," she whispers, "Just kind of happened. Did well in school so I had to keep doing well and then I couldn't do bad. Did well at gymnastics, so I had to keep doing well and then I couldn't do bad. Then I stole something and didn't get caught so I had to keep stealing things and I couldn't get caught. And then one thing didn't go my way and here we are."

Hannah sighs and stretches a bit. To my surprise, she leans down between her shoulder blades and touches her lips to the raw wounds. Sylvia stiffens a bit. I shrug at the look Hannah gives me. I don't have any other plans for the night. And as far as I know, nothing's going on tomorrow. We got time.

"I'm raiding your pantry," I say, "You two get a movie or something going."

That does seem to brighten Sylvia up a little.

---

I regret everything. Not the brownies, those turned out fantastic. Straight from the boxed powder and those are almost impossible to mess up. There was even a smuggled away carton of ice cream in the back of the freezer. I regret sharing that information because the two harpies I have decided to spend my time with devoured the damn thing before the brownies came out of the oven. Little bit of patience and we all could have shared in the height of dessert confections, but no. No, they had to have the sweet freezy treat now.

I regret letting Sylvia pick the movie. It's too damn art house for anything comfy. And it's in French, when there is talking at all. There's a horse guy on a bike and old women with vacuum cleaners, and I have no clue what's going on. Sylvia likes it. Hannah likes the brownies. And I like the blanket that houses Hannah and me secretly playing footsies together in secret. So, in retrospect, I don't regret everything. Just most of my life that led to this moment. An old woman comes out and plays a fridge like a harp and I am lost. So, that's really the only thing I regret.

Still, there is a cuddly Hannah that does not really care about the movie either. There is a light quiet hum to her, almost down below the range of my hearing. It's just in the slight tremor of bone and subwoofer. It means she's happy. It means there is something in the world that aligns with how it should, and she aligns with me. Sylvia doesn't notice. She has her film.

In its own way, there is something there. Something that can get that focused, that down into anything in the world, is alluring. Hannah doesn't really have that right now. She had her work, and now she is adrift and aimless. I don't blame her. She has time to find something new.

Sylvia is utterly transfixed by the screen, focus unbroken, just enough energy put down to see the gears turning. Every mote of light finds its way into her mind and shuttles down the infinite algorithm of analysis. Essays, books, scrolls of sage like knowledge, every frame could fill a library from her words. And she's more interesting to watch than her film selection, honestly.

Hannah wiggles her hips into me and I can't help but start the response begin. Every time, every single time, she just has to have the thought and I will respond. I just have to have the thought and she will respond. Even the merest suggestion across the universe will still stir something in the opposite partner.

She doesn't even have to look at me, and I know the slight smile that comes from her. It's satisfied and smug and good at teasing. I don't have to look at it to feel it filter through her. Whenever she starts getting smug, she lingers at the gaps in her motions a fraction longer. It's so I can impart my own stroke and pull into her. But I don't. I have a film to watch and that requires more of my attention. There is a rather dense film to watch. I will be quizzed later and I need to have something to say.

But no, there is just the rock of her hips pressing into me under our shared blanket. I will get an 'F' from the teacher and have to come in on a Saturday for a double feature. She sends a quake and the couch protests in that terrible squeak. Sylvia doesn't notice. Or she pretends not to notice. The movie is more important. I'm pretty sure she's seen this one a dozen times already, though. Not sure how much more can be gleaned from another viewing. But I am the distracted one with the notes being passed. I hope I just don't have to go to the front of the room and read it all aloud.

There is a hand snaking down my legend it finds the protrusion of basest intent. I shift and the couch protests again. It needs to shut up. We are having a secret little meeting here with the movie as cover and if the couch keeps being a little bitch about us then we'll be caught. Hannah hums again and the couch makes more noise. Bad couch. I will dash it to splinters and everyone will be happy.

"Bathroom's down the hall on your left," Sylvia says, finally breaking the focus.

"I'm good," I say.

"Don't believe you. You've been wiggly."

"He just gets wiggly sometimes," Hannah says, "We all get wiggly. My leg's falling asleep and I've been trying to get it to wake up. The left right?"

Sylvia nods and Hannah slips from the blanket. I am cold, terribly cold for a brief moment. Like a gracious host, she pauses the movie and that's terrible. Should have just kept it going. Kind of want to get out of here and have my bed. It's dark out and the sugar is wearing off. Once we are alone, I find out that I have a bit of a conundrum. There is still a hand on my legs, and it is not one of mine. Odd. I might have a third hand that I don't know about, but I somehow doubt it.

"Sylvia," I sigh, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing that I haven't been told to do. Hannah moved my hand there when she left. And I'll move it when she tells me too. And besides, neither one of you are really the subtle type. Couches only make that type of noise when something naughty is going on."

"Nothing naughty was happening. And I don't like that word. Makes me feel like a kid."

"Naughty, naughty, naughty. There. And she was grinding on you. Even if she didn't have the vibration feature, I could feel the whole damn thing. So, we keep my hand here, just to make sure you're hard for her."

"Really, what changed? Thought you weren't about sharing things."

"Eh. Calmed down a bit. Had a rough day. Just kind of feel tired with keeping the mask up for a while. So, let's see what playing nice gets me. At the very least, I tease you a bit. That's always fun. You like it, don't pretend you don't."

I shift and shimmy again and the hand stays where it is without any attempt to be anywhere else. And I do like it. I should not like it, but I do. So, we just wait until Hannah comes back and see what happens. Really, that's all I can do.

And she does. She comes back like nothing has happened. The hand stays and she doesn't comment on it, even as there is no possible way she does not know of its presence. It stays and the movie starts again. Lord knows why. It actually makes more sense when it's still. The old woman with a club foot is now walking with the fattest dog every committed to the silver screen. I clear my throat and nobody really tries to do anything about it. Well, I get another hand, a Hannah hand, on my thigh. I twitch and shiver and I feel the pride emanate from her in shallow waves. The movie keeps playing and my own little nugget of pride comes from breaking Sylvia's concentration. I am worthy of a sideways glance every so often.

The game has begun and I am given full leash. Hannah always seems so willfully ignorant of what I can do to her. Or she purposefully blocks out all the memories so each time is a fresh experience. And it is always her stomach. Relaxed and comfy, it is still hard and strong, carrying her heartbeat down to my fingertips. And from there, it comes up my arms, rattling the joints and hitting the syncopation of my own. It grows faster once the sensation reaches her mind, hitting more and more and more of the notes that we both set. It is her turn to shift and wiggle a bit, grinding into me and my erection.

She hums and makes the little noise that means something has gone wrong.

"Hannah," Sylvia sighs, "You did something, didn't you?"

"Secret. I did something secret," hums Hannah, "First one to find it gets a prize."

And this is now something fun. There's car chase in the movie, I think. I have a body to explore, hard and supple and moving into me like rolling waves. Shame that Sylvia can't feel this firsthand. She has to rely on the translation from the pour couch. I swear, we better break this one by the time the night is over. We've earned the right, I think. We can pay for it.

I have fun with the scavenger hunt, trailing up to her chest. No bra, but I doubt that is the secret. She never wears one. Her breasts always just stay out of sight by a thin layer of fabric. She shatters the world and she is free and open. The fabric swirls around her and the entirety of her being is laid bare. A small noise creeps up from the through and she makes no attempt to quash it down.

"No bra," Sylvia guesses.

"Correct, but not what I did," says Hannah.

"She never wears one," I shrug, "One of the perks, I guess. In all fairness, neither do I."

"That's a shame. I always have to. They're just so heavy all the time. Took me forever to learn how to counterbalance them. Evan, you like them, right?"

"What happened to playing nice?"

"I am playing nice. I'm just also playing dirty. You understand, right, Hannah?"

"They don't look so big," huffs Hannah.

"Oh really?"

Bad move on her part. Sylvia has left the field and I have an open goal. Granted, I am feeling her chest too much to care. It is hard and her heartbeat gets even louder, even stronger, fluttering down to her stomach. Hannah likes it. It's all of her, the hands and the fingers and the touch, the slow excitement dripping from her heartbeat. I don't care about the movie. Never did, but even more so now. Unless everyone gets naked on screen, then I am preoccupied.

Sylvia slowly lifts her shirt, revealing more and more of her bandages. Her definition doesn't go quite as hard as my preferred, but it is still there under the gauze. She has more weight than the one I am currently feeling, and it is taking off with the shirt. Her breasts hand for a long moment, trapped by the fabric, before gravity takes over and brings them down like meteorites.

Hannah groans and I don't know why. I stopped touching her to watch the comet drop. That must be it. Both enraptured, both transfixed at all the motion still carried out. And she loves it. She has her stage, her captive audience hanging on her twitch. We notice a wince, though. The motion pulled something in her back and that can't have been good. Something opened, or something went deeper, or something came to the surface. I am not sure. Part of me doesn't really care, because there was enough of her to shift and move and drop in glorious motion forever and ever.

"Ok," Hannah sighs, "Those are nice. Damn."

Sylvia has the smuggest look I have ever seen on a person and top 10 at least when I include cats. A single hand runs up and down, repeating the drop and I can't help but stare. I mimic the motion on Hannah to little effect. She reaches a hand out and Sylvia pulls away, still finding some level of grace to slide through the world through cotton gauze.

"We're not doing me right now," she says, "We're doing you. You can touch later when it's my turn to play."

"We can skip my turn. I don't mind. It's okay."

"I think in the interest of fairness, we keep going with you. I don't think either one of us have found your little secret."

"I can just tell you. I- "

"No, you can't. You wanted to play this game, so we're going to play."

Hannah whines and I whine with her. I was fine with skipping turns. Not really any point to fairness until we tally at the end. If there's a discrepancy, then we just go back and do another play until all the numbers are nice and even and round.

I have my chest to play with, the tweak and turn and pinch and stroke. And it is so familiar to me now. I don't need my game to excuse the acts I want, the ones she wants, the ones we both need. It just all is in the moment, taken away in the ticking of the clock. I don't need my world to have her. I have Hannah in all of them.

"Piercings," I say, "You don't have your piercings."

"Not wrong, but not right. Took them out before I came over and saved your collective ass. They tend to get caught when I start getting rowdy. Right there, please stay right there. Both of you."

I do as she says, and Sylvia takes the moment to be a bitch by not obeying. She goes lower to the point where I lose track of where she should be. She is going lower and lower until Hannah jumps and shudders and does all the fun little motions that I know I can make.