Considerations

The line shifted again. And another guy popped up behind Noah. The guy switched on his vape and offered it to him. Noah waved it off. His mouth was already dry, and his throat raw. Like something inside him had been screaming for twenty minutes straight, just quiet enough for nobody else to hear.

Dante leaned against the wall, stretching his arms like a runner warming up. “This chick’s got stamina, man,” he said, so low, he may have been talking to himself. “Every guy that’s come out so far has looked like they just stepped off a fucking treadmill. Or, like, they got exorcised, or something.”

Noah didn’t answer.

He thought about the first time he saw Jillian. Black tank top. Smudged eyeliner. That walk, like her hips were set to their own tempo. It was a slow night at the bar. She laughed at his stupid jokes, served him his drinks, but she kept coming back to him after she served her customers. She lingered there, asking him what classes he was taking, and his plans after college.

And now she was in there getting railed, and he was here, waiting for his turn.

He wasn’t sure what hurt more, what she was doing now, or how easily she had slid into it. How natural it must’ve been. How willing.

He wanted to ask her why. He wanted to ask if she was okay. If this was some weird defense mechanism or trauma response or some kind of manic episode, but he wasn’t her therapist. He was just the guy she’d been fucking around with for two months. A couple of months of forehead kisses, half-dressed Netflix marathons, soft touches under bar tables, a few blowjobs, the half-dozen or so times he ate her pussy... and now… this.

Dante nudged him. “You alright, man?”

Noah blinked. “Yeah.”

“You’re looking kinda pale.”

“I’m always pale.”

That made Dante laugh. “Fair.”

The door opened again, drawing everyone’s attention.

This guy didn’t look drunk either—just spent. Hair matted to his forehead. Shirt inside out. He gave Dante a slap on the shoulder like they were old friends.

“Pace yourself,” the stranger said, grinning. “She fucks like it’s job, she’ll finish you off in seconds if you let her.”

Noah stiffened, but said nothing.

Dante gave him a two-finger salute and disappeared inside, the door swallowing him like the mouth of some great wooden whale.

Now it was just Noah, and the stranger behind him.

He leaned his head back against the wall, and closed his eyes.

The hallway lights flickered. Or maybe that was just in his head. Everything felt like it was underwater now—muted and echoing. The pulse of the music. The footsteps downstairs. The quiet moans he thought he might have heard earlier, but now wasn’t sure.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

His heart jumped—hope flickering to life.

Jillian.

But no. It wasn’t her.

A random Snapchat notification from someone he hadn’t talked to since sophomore year. Probably a mass story post.

He let out a soft breath and looked at the door in front of him.

This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. They were supposed to take a shot together. Sneak off. Maybe hook up in the back in the back of the Subaru. Whisper stupid things to each other about his friends. Laugh about it later. He hadn’t mentally prepared for her to fuck half the dudes at the house party.

His fingers traced the rim of the condom in his pocket. He was here. He had waited. He could walk away. He could turn around, right now, leave the whole twisted adventure behind him. Get in his car and go. Ghost her. One of the guys she fucked would probably give her ride back. He could just pretend this was some weird dream and never speak of it again.

But his feet didn’t move.

And he realized then, terribly, quietly, that he really just wanted to understand. Maybe ask her why she was doing it.

The hallway stretched behind him. Empty, despite the people littering the hall.

He was next.

But the door was still closed.