You Can Touch Me
By Kat Waters
“This doesn’t really look like our type of crowd,” Tommy commented offhandedly, keeping his voice low enough that only Nikki could hear him. Nikki made a noise in his throat and leaned his entire weight against Tommy’s right side, and Tommy had to steady himself on the arm of the couch. He looked around the room, not recognizing a single face. Everyone seemed to have already chosen their friends for the evening; the vibe was more clique-y than welcoming, Tommy thought. And Nikki wasn’t going to be any help.
The real problem was that he wasn’t high. There would be no problem here if he was. When he was high, Tommy could talk to anyone, slide his way into any conversation already in progress easily and feel completely at ease. Sobriety was difficult. Sober meant you knew where you were going and where you were coming from; sober meant you knew that you were sober, and that meant you needed to exert the effort to change that. It was sobriety that had led Tommy to this small, uncomfortable party in suburbia, and it was sobriety that was forcing him to pay attention.
Nikki wasn’t sober. Right after they’d gone offstage, he’d pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels and a needle out of what appeared to be thin air, and by the time they’d realized that there were somehow no more drugs to be acquired at either the hotel or the venue, he was hammered. Vince and Mick had disappeared, leaving Tommy quite literally carrying Nikki’s weight around for the remainder of the evening. They played some small club in southeastern Pennsylvania. It was a joke. Maybe a hundred people in a smoky room in a pathetic excuse for a city with an even more pathetic excuse for a night life.
They had a room in the second-rate hotel across the street from the club. The place was practically deserted. Most of the groupies were either too old, too young, or too scary, and the few that weren’t had already been snatched up by Vince. The bar was closed for renovations, and there were no drugs to be found anywhere. Tommy hadn’t lasted an hour before he snapped.
Tommy had propped Nikki against a door and grabbed some kid by the arm. Asked if there was anything to fucking do in this place. The kid had shrugged and mumbled something about a house party. No promise of anything except a place to sit down and a couple of cases of beer, but the kid had said he didn’t know. Maybe there would be other party favors. He scribbled directions on a napkin and wandered off.
Tommy resigned himself to the fate of a terrible evening as he dragged an incoherent Nikki to the car and somehow followed the kid’s shitty directions to a house dead in the center of Donna-Reed land. Wreath on the door, wicker set on the porch. They’d be kicked out in ten minutes.
Holding Nikki up under one arm, Tommy wondered if he was supposed to knock. He figured they wouldn’t be let in if he did, and instead opened the door and dragged the bassist inside. It definitely wasn’t what he’d hoped.
“Do you want to go?” Tommy said then, looking over at Nikki.
Nikki gurgled and laughed, slowly sliding down the wall and onto the floor. Tommy sighed and turned away from his friend, sweeping the party once again for a sign of… well, what was he expecting?, he realized suddenly. A brick of coke on a coffee table? Someone walking around with a cooler full of needles?
It was the light reflecting off of her hair that caught Tommy’s attention. She had tossed her hair while laughing, and he wondered if it was even possible to have hair that shade of red. He stared for a minute and then turned his eyes to see what was amusing her. An obviously drunk guy was making hand gestures, apparently telling a story that Tommy couldn’t hear. He looked like an overgrown high school kid, although Tommy could tell he was at least in his twenties. Her smile was radiant. It was clear that she was having a good time, and Tommy figured she was the kind of girl who would look at him like he was some kind of insidious disease.
She caught sight of him then, her green eyes still smiling. He looked at the floor then quickly back up again, certain her expression would change, uncertain when he saw that it did not. She reached up, put her hand on her companion’s shoulder. Tommy watched her mouth move as she spoke, and felt himself growing oddly nervous as she began walking toward him.
She was even more beautiful up close. Her skin was pale and flawless, her green eyes bright and decorated with impossibly long eyelashes. Her lips were nearly red, although he could tell she was wearing no lipstick, and they pouted perfectly. In one maroon-nailed hand she held a plastic cup filled with something pink. She greeted him.
It took Tommy a moment to realize that he was meant to say something. “This your place?” he managed lamely.
She nodded. “My parents are in California.”
“Nice.” He wondered how old she was. Her face could have been a lovely sixteen, but her body clearly put her at old enough to drink.
“I’m Laine,” she said then. Her voice rolled out of her mouth like satin. “Can I get you a drink?”
Tommy felt himself nodding. “Sure. Whatever you’ve got.”
Laine motioned to Nikki. “Is he okay?”
Tommy felt a sudden pang of embarrassment. He rubbed at the back of his neck, not looking at her. “Sure. He’s fine.”
She smiled and he realized just how much he needed chemicals. She extended a hand and he cautiously took it, allowing himself to be led to the kitchen. There were more people scattered about in groups of twos or threes. No one seemed to pay any attention to him.
Laine gestured at a scattering of bottles on the counter. “We’ve got rum, whiskey, vodka… there’s beer and wine in the fridge.”
Tommy cleared his throat. “Whiskey’s fine.”
“Jack and coke?”
“Sure. That’d be great.” It was really the word ‘coke’ that had gotten his attention, although he knew she’d been referring to the soda. He highly doubted there would be anything stronger than alcohol at this place.
Laine opened the bottle of whiskey and positioned it over a plastic cup, then glanced at Tommy. “I guess you want this strong,” she said, her smile mischievous.
He found himself smiling back. “Naturally.” He watched as she created a drink for him that was almost entirely liquor and his smile widened while her back was turned. She was gorgeous, and she didn’t make weak drinks. Maybe this party wasn’t so bad, after all.
The guy that Laine had been talking to a few minutes earlier came charging over to them, pushing against her and causing the drink to slosh over the side of the cup and onto the counter. Tommy could see her close her eyes for a moment in exasperation, but when she turned, she was smiling. She took the guy by the arm. “What’s the matter, Brendan?” she said in a voice that told Tommy she was used to dealing with hammered people.
“Is that little bitch bothering you?” Brendan demanded. He was clearly smashed. “Because if he is, I can kill him.”
Tommy stiffened. “I could go,” he said, taking a step backwards.
Laine laughed. “He’s not talking about you, don’t worry,” she assured him before turning back to Brendan. “You don’t have to kill him, honey. Not right now.”
Seeming satisfied with this answer, Brendan nodded. “Okay. I won’t kill him. But only because you told me not to.” He planted a drunken kiss on Laine’s forehead and stumbled off.
Laine sighed and wiped the side of Tommy’s cup with a paper towel. “Sorry about that,” she said, handing him the drink. “It’s been a little out of hand around here.”
Tommy resisted the urge to tell her she had no idea, and smiled instead, taking a gulp of his drink. “Thanks,” he said, almost as an afterthought.
Laine wiped her hands on the paper towel she was holding and then threw it away. “Well,” she said then, “make yourself at home. I’ll be around if you need anything.”
Tommy watched as she walked away, then turned his attention back to his drink, which he finished in three quick gulps. He eyed the uncapped bottle of whiskey for a moment before shrugging and pouring himself another cup, this time skipping the soda altogether. Who needed it? He finished his second drink quickly and put the cup down. What was that? Ten, maybe twelve shots in five minutes? It wasn’t enough, for sure, but it would do.
The screen door swung open and a short kid staggered inside. He was clad head to toe in black and had hair that was obviously meant to be in a mohawk, but instead hung messily over one side of his face. He stumbled over to where Tommy was standing. “Do I know you?” he demanded drunkenly.
Tommy looked down at him. The kid was obviously tanked. “No,” he said after a minute.
“Do you know Laine?”
Tommy shrugged. “Sort of.”
“I had my chance with that girl, you know,” the kid said, wavering slightly. “But I blew it.”
Tommy nodded, not exactly sure what to say. The girl was hot, at any rate. “Sucks,” he said finally.
“She’s a good girl,” the drunk kid said insistently, and then wandered away.
Tommy took the opportunity to make his way back across the house to check on Nikki. Nikki didn’t need to be checked on, of course. He hadn’t done nearly enough of anything to be dangerous. Well, dangerous to him, anyway. He’d just done enough to still be slumped against the wall by the front door, not exactly unconscious, but probably quite content to not realize he was existing. Tommy kicked him in the shin lightly.
Nikki rolled his head back and Tommy could tell that he was trying to focus, but it wasn’t working. Nikki made some sort of strange noise before his head once again pitched forward. Tommy wondered what he should do next. He assumed that the bassist would be just fine and likely wouldn’t move more than a few inches for at least a couple of hours. Sighing a bit more dramatically than necessary, the drummer made his way back into the kitchen, careful not to catch anyone’s eye. He leaned against the counter, staring down into his empty cup.
“You want another drink?”
Tommy looked at the hand on his arm for a minute. It was small, the nails painted a shimmery maroon. She wore rings on her index and middle fingers. He managed to look at her expectant face. “Sure,” he said dumbly, and let her take the cup from his hand.
“You don’t look like you’re having much fun,” Laine commented as she poured.
“This is a little more tame than I’m used to,” he admitted.
Laine laughed and added a bit of soda to the half-full cup of rum. “I know what you mean.” She handed him the cup and then grabbed his other hand. “Come on,” she urged.
Tommy pulled away from the counter, allowing her to drag him toward the hallway. “Where are we going?”
She didn’t speak, just led him down the hallway to a pair of doors. She opened the one on the left and tugged him inside. Tommy let go of her hand and surveyed his surroundings. They were clearly in Laine’s bedroom; it was lit by a string of multi-colored Christmas lights, and Tommy was glad for the decrease in brightness. There were empty liquor bottles on the floor and a large bed with black satin sheets. On the bed sat a thin guy with glasses and a short girl with an innocent face, obviously engrossed in conversation.
“I need the room,” Laine announced with authority.
The pair rose from the bed. “Sure,” the guy said to Laine, winking.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Dave,” Laine admonished lightly, closing the door after her friends walked out. Still without speaking, she reached up onto the shelf in the closet and pulled something down.
When she reached the bed, Tommy saw that what she was holding was a plain square mirror. He felt his stomach twist when he saw the large pile of white powder at its center.
Laine sat on the bed. “Thought maybe you could use something to go with that drink,” she offered.
Tommy set his drink on the nightstand and sat across from Laine, the mirror between them. He smiled. “You thought right.” He took a fifty from his pocket and rolled it into a tight cylinder as Laine wordlessly cut a few lines. Snorting wasn’t exactly his thing, but it was better than being sober, and it was better than whipping out a needle in mixed company. Idly, he wondered if Laine recognized him. She was doing a good job of playing stupid if she did.
Tommy handed her the rolled-up fifty and watched as she effortlessly devoured two lines, one in each nostril. He bit his lip. He had always found the sight of a beautiful girl railing coke to be quite arousing. He guessed it wasn’t a normal turn-on.
Feeling self-conscious, he took the bill from her hand and did two lines himself. He was drunk, but it had been months since he’d snorted cocaine, and the alcohol did little to dull the first sharp burn of doing coke. He sniffed hard, blinked as his eyes watered, and quickly did two more lines. Then he dropped the fifty onto the mirror and sat up straighter, waiting.
“How’d you end up here?” Laine asked.
Tommy looked at her for a minute, trying to decide how best to answer the question. It was clear that she had no idea who he was, and maybe that was a good thing. “Ran into some kid after a show,” he answered finally. “He gave me directions.” Laine just nodded.
Tommy felt the first harsh cocaine drip down the back of his throat, and a moment later the numbness came, spreading from his nose down the back of his throat. It was good coke. He could feel the beginning pinpricks of cocaine’s electricity throughout his body. Much better. “Thanks,” he said then, nodding towards the mirror.
Laine picked up the mirror and put it on the floor. “Sure,” she said, smiling. “Help yourself if you want more.”
“Great,” Tommy replied. He felt connected and alive. It was a foreign sensation. He watched as Laine leaned her head back and closed her eyes, giving him a chance to really look her over. She was wearing a dark red tanktop that was cut above her navel, and barely-there denim shorts that showed off her impossibly long legs. She was pretty in a totally natural way that Tommy wasn’t used to. The lighting and the cocaine were mixing in his blood, heightening his senses. He realized that he was visibly aroused.
Laine apparently noticed, too. She was looking over at him now, a small smile playing on her lips. “It’s okay, you know,” she said after a minute.
Tommy shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”
“You can touch me,” she answered quietly.
Tommy didn’t need a second invitation. He swiftly leaned down, moving his face closer to hers. She smelled impossibly good, like honeysuckle and girlish innocence, and at once their lips met and their tongues twisted around each other, kissing hungrily. He was content to stay like that for several long minutes, only their mouths touching. He wasn’t sure what to do next.
He didn’t have to think about it for long before Laine pushed him down onto his back and rose to her feet. She peeled her shirt off slowly, revealing black suns tattooed around her nipples. Tommy felt himself straining against the confine of his pants.
“Move back,” she instructed softly, and Tommy pulled himself further onto the bed, stopping when his head rested against the back wall. He felt as though his skin was on fire. Who was this girl?
She climbed on top of him, pulling his shirt up and trailing a path of wet kisses down his chest and stomach. Tommy arched his back to meet her lips. He closed his eyes. He wondered if he’d ever felt anything like this in the past, and guessed that if he did, he hadn’t been paying enough attention.
Laine moved like an animal, undoing Tommy’s jeans fiercely and freeing him from his jeans. He moaned, finding it hard to stay relatively quiet, and he had to bite into the flesh of his cheek hard when he felt her take him into her mouth. The inside of her mouth felt like wet velvet to his cocaine-charged senses. It seemed like she would suck him right out of himself, and that seemed like a good idea.
The girl was incredibly skilled, and the drummer knew he didn’t stand a change of holding out for long. His hands twisted around the sheets, pulling on them in an effort to keep from groaning. He could feel one of her hands digging into the flesh of his chest, scraping almost hard enough to draw blood. He gasped; let go of a fistful of sheet and entwined his hand in her thick red hair, pulling gently. She moaned around him, sending a jolt of electricity out from his cock to his entire body.
Tommy felt himself building to a breaking point quickly and fiercely, a pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain. “I’m going to…” he managed to get out before his orgasm started.
Laine only worked harder, faster; squeezed him more tightly. He felt her scrape her teeth against him, and that was all it took. He came with a frightening intensity, squeezing his eyes shut tightly enough to see little bursts of color. He made a noise deep in his throat, felt his hips thrusting off of the bed.
By the time he came down enough to open his eyes, she had already pulled away and was putting her shirt back on. She still had that strange halfsmile on her face as she pulled a cigarette from a pack on the nightstand and lit it.
Suddenly self-conscious, Tommy sat up and quickly resituated himself, still tooted up and drunk, still not down from the high she’d just given him. “That was…” he began.
She silenced him by placing her cigarette in his mouth. He took it from her and laid back, puffing on it occasionally, wondering if he should say something. Rarely did events take place that left him feeling awkward or without something to say. He was half-waiting for her to start gushing about his fame, but really, he knew that she wouldn’t. She wasn’t the type, not the type to gush nor the type who had posters of trashy rockstars on the walls. She was just on coke and being wild.
There was a knock on the door. Laine rose quickly and pulled the door open a crack, but Tommy couldn’t see out. He closed his eyes again, deciding he didn’t care at all who was on the other side of the door.
“Sure, he’s right here,” he heard Laine say, and realized that Nikki must have somehow found his way down the hall. She pulled the door open wider and the bassist staggered in, sitting heavily on the bed next to Tommy.
“Coke,” Nikki noted.
“Help yourself, Nikki,” Laine said. “I have to get back to the party.”
Tommy opened his eyes long enough to see her smile at him before closing the door. He took another long drag on his cigarette. “Did she just call you Nikki?” he asked.
Nikki already had the mirror on his lap and the bill in his hand. “Why shouldn’t she call me Nikki?” he asked before bending over and railing a long line of white powder.
Tommy sighed and sat up, trying to shake off whatever he was feeling. “Nevermind,” he said, stubbing the cigarette out on the corner of the mirror. “Cut me a line.”