Writing Incurable Marks - Short Story

[Raiha]

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James Burnet liked Joyce Meyung. Witty, remarked upon as a firebrand by more than a few, and easily capable of keeping up with him in conversation, she intrigued James. They spoke for the first time in English 101A: East Asian Poetry, a rather uninspiring elective that gave them plenty of time to talk. Granted he would always reference the classic romantic poets like Keats and Wordsworth partially to impress her, partially because they were romantic. She?d always fire back with a quote from some more obscure poet like Plutzik or even something appropriately cynical and completely depressing from Dostoevsky.

When James finally realized he wanted to do more than just exchange verbal fire with Joyce, he found himself completely deprived of his usual sanguine charm. Asking her on a date seemed the next logical step, since the college?s rather controversial bar had just been shut down. Then the question of how to go about asking her floated through his mind and he entertained all sorts of elaborate scenarios in which he brought it up as an afterthought to a long discussion on Byron, or left her a note in her binder during class. The second idea he nixed immediately as utterly juvenile and he decided to go with what he termed the ?Bryonic Approach.? At first Joyce gave him the required dose of incredulousness, in keeping with the sarcastic nature he?d come to associate with her almost unconsciously.

?You want me to go on a date with you??

?Yeah you know, where a man and woman make plans to meet with each other. On purpose. Eat at a restaurant that has cloth napkins. See a movie that wasn?t produced by Disney.?

?Just because I?m a socially repressed college freshman from a small hick town that has a priest for a father and a mother that beat me for crying doesn?t mean I?ve never heard of-?

In the middle of her tongue-lashing she paused and considered James?s amused expression and then realized that he had been baiting her. Cursing herself for the mental lapse she leaned back against the concrete wall that ran across the dorm fields to her room. He merely smiled at her in that infuriatingly arrogant way she knew was his trademark. And the reason why he drove a Lexus. And made six digits while a college sophomore. Either way she knew turning down the offer just because he annoyed her would be petty and relatively bitchy of her. Then again, saying yes just because she was attracted to his money and the security blanket he could wrap her in was just as petty. Instead she merely gave him an enigmatic smile and left him standing there while she strolled back to her dorm, as haughty as a princess.

The next evening he called her and she picked up on the fifth ring, giving a characteristic and rather drawn out, ?Yes??

?So we?re still on for tonight yes??

?I suppose so. Any sort of dress code??

?Heels. Definitely heels. And wear your hair down.? Joyce blinked a few times. Sure she?d dated in high school but guys had always been poor enough to not care if she wore chucks or flip-flops, curled her hair or just left it up in a messy bun. In fact she wasn?t even sure she had brought more than boots and sandals with her to college. Much less a curling iron and styling gel. A quick scan of her miniscule closet revealed that yes, there were in fact two pairs of heels but nothing to match them save but jeans and also; no curling iron, no styling gel, no hairpins to keep her bangs out of her face. She heaved a reluctant sigh and buttoned up her jeans and slipped into the heels anyway, hoping he wouldn?t mind the fact that she didn?t come prepared with a dress, a skirt, or anything else that would conform to James?s apparent feminine ideal.

It was only six months later, after a rather torrid and sex filled ?relationship,? that Joyce realized just what kind of male James was. He might be well read, ambitious, successful; maybe a little brilliant. But he was also arrogant, emotionally vacant when attempting to express anything besides lust. Then there was the fact that his job, which of course demanded more of his time than 20 units of class work per quarter was cutting into the time Joyce would?ve rather spent with him. Writing papers and doing math homework instead of doing dinner and debauchery with him twelve days out of every fourteen really wasn?t her idea of a relationship. They never crossed paths on the enormous Irvine campus, nor did they actually ever call each other short of setting up dates. In fact, Joyce felt like her feelings for him were bordering on the pointless. Growing close to him was difficult when he wasn?t interested in her, or at least horrible at conveying the message.

Dryly considering his English major and Communications minor and their unbelievable shortcomings she did the only thing that seemed sensible at the time. She called one of her more pretty male friends and made plans to abandon all sanity and go to a dive bar. Riding on the bus together was an adventure in and of itself. Gen was a tall, half Japanese half white business major with almost impeccable taste and a fancy for linen shirts. By contrast, Joyce stood at roughly five foot nothing and was dressed in a black skirt and red blouse, with a leather collar and spiked heels. They couldn?t have looked more imperfect for each other and attracted a rather flattering amount of stares from the everyday, tired, bored, and conventional people that used public transportation. Getting off one stop too early, Gen linked elbows with her and they strolled into the last four blocks to ?The Hookup? and flashed their IDs at the bouncer. He gave them a glance that couldn?t have ascertained their validity but waved them into the crowded room anyway. Both were fully prepared to enjoy themselves but instead discovered that they were wincing in auditory agony when they realized that it was karaoke night. Joyce honestly didn?t mind karaoke, unless it was ?Summer Lovin? as sung by an overweight angry butch lesbian much in the same way Gen disliked lesbians in general when they sniped all the pretty girls out of the pool of possible people to sleep with. Eventually they managed to pair up with the most interesting people they could find. Gen vanished with a vacuous, pale slip of a girl with a thick Russian accent and Joyce found herself talking to a 50 year old ex Marine that answered to Master Jerry. Not that talking to him was intellectually stimulating so much as it was a pleasant change from more civilized conversation.

?So what is it exactly that you like? You?re far too pretty to be in school and you?ve already said you?re not a porn star, even if you look the part.?

?I like books. You like filming amateur porn. We all have to have something we enjoy.? Joyce raised her whiskey sour to clink against his Jack and Coke, noticing that her hand was shaking slightly from the excitement.

?Is it only books that you like?? He leaned forward slightly and she did too, feigning confidentiality, putting a hint of secretive stage whisper into her voice.
?I like being punished. But my boyfriend isn?t into that sort of thing. He doesn?t like playing rough. In fact I?m pretty sure he doesn?t know what BDSM stands for.?
?So you?re into the lifestyle?? His tone was calm, pleasant, and even completely conversational. Master Jerry didn?t look overly excited, which was a nice change from the typical response she got from the typical college guy who thought that all BDSM was about was spanking, choking, and whipping.

?What if I am? It?s not like I know anybody in the area yet. I?m only here because of my friend.? Joyce turned around to point Gen out only to find that he had in fact vanished. She sighed and turned back to find Master Jerry writing his number down on the back of one of his business cards. He handed it to her and she considered it. He turned to her again from putting away his pen and she found herself feeling almost pinned against the wall by his stare.

?Tomorrow night I?m going to a club in Los Angeles to discuss a business idea with a friend. Will you accompany me?? Joyce stared at the card, then looked back up at him with great effort, letting him see her struggle.

?I will.? He smiled and then gallantly offered her a ride home. Joyce stood, almost uncertainly and picked up her drink with her, draining the last of the whiskey and grimacing slightly. He plucked the empty glass from her hand before she had a chance to protest and set it back down on the table.

The next evening she met him at the club parking lot, quivering slightly with the excitement and partially from expectation. She slid into the passenger seat and fastened her seatbelt, then almost flinched when he put his hand on her knee as he navigated through the crowded parking lot. Joyce gave him an almost empty expression from behind her glasses and wondered exactly where this was going, when she remembered that he?d singled her out of the crowd of people because of her collar. Most assumed it was a fashion statement, but then again most people at dive bars hadn?t read The Story of O, much less figured the o-ring dangling from the black leather was for anything more than clipping a lead to. The thing was, Master Jerry didn?t need to bring a leash to get Joyce to follow him to a place as removed from the karaoke-infested bar as Compton was from the Hamptons. He didn?t even need to ask her if she was interested in being seen in public with him. Instead of explaining where they were going and what she could expect, he drove to a place close to LAX and parked in the half empty lot. Opening her door, he took her hand and pulled her up to his level and gently removed her glasses. With a gentle nudge, he used body language instead of words to indicate that she should follow him. Tucking her fingers behind her back she did, staying as close as she could, utterly blind without his glasses.

After paying the entrance fee, he led her through a narrow hallway into a wider area that could?ve been filled with half naked screaming people dancing to terrible music. Instead it was filled with living room furniture in mostly black and brown leather, with a raised stage in one corner. Unlike the clubs Joyce had been to, this one came with only one half naked screaming person tied to a post being whipped in time to rather good music. Or at least she thought it was one person. Without her glasses she couldn?t see past blurred, flesh colored outlines. He led her past the main area into a side room. There he instructed her to undress as much as she saw fit, and for the first time, she was grateful to her parents for giving her the genetic predisposition of someone legally blind. Unbuttoning her blouse and stepping out of her heels, Joyce stood shivering slightly in just her slacks and bra. Using the collar with far more imagination than most she?d ever been with, he clipped a steel chain to the o-ring and attached it to the bar hanging from the ceiling. He leaned down to her height and whispered directly into her ear to be heard over the music.

?If you ever want me to stop, you know what to say.? He drew back, enjoying Joyce?s surprised expression, which she immediately smoothed back into an emptier one; so very easy when you can?t see a damn thing. In fact her expression was so remote, so inappropriate for what happened next, that more than a few well-dressed businessmen began to drift into the place that was labeled ?The Elizabethan Room? on the door. Master Jerry cuffed her wrists above her head, connected them to the chain, and nearly suspended her, leaving just enough room to stand on her tiptoes. He tied her ankles together leaving just enough room to insert perhaps one sheet of paper but not two, and then drew the first of two deerskin floggers against her skin. Just a brush, but she shivered most appreciatively, shrieked aloud when he drew it back for a quick snap, and whimpered to herself when he loosened the chain just enough to bend her over for a spank. He paused after a few minutes of intense flogging and put his lips to her ear again, his tone mocking her almost as much as the laughter she elicited from the audience when he grazed her with the tip of his knife and made her scream.

?Sure you don?t want to cry surrender?? Up to that point, Joyce had been letting herself dangle by her wrists, only pushing up when she began losing feeling in her fingers. She clenched her fingers into fists and pulled her head up from between her arms and shot him a glance that screamed complete defiance yet spoke in a hushed tone, suitable for a library, not a bondage scene.

?Won?t. You can?t break me.? Master Jerry drew back and turned away to look at the half circle of men and women as if disappointed in her, then hauled back and slapped both of his whips against her face and chest in a motion so smooth and controlled, she knew he?d been preparing ever since he leaned down to ask her if she was ready to give in. She clenched her teeth, feeling the pressure and heat on her skin, and then he paused to pull something else from beyond her field of vision. One of her watchers, in a move so bold it was almost shocking, walked up to her and touched her face, which she?d let hang forward again. He pulled her chin up with one finger and put his face close enough to hers so she could see the brilliant blue of her eyes, and the way they narrowed when looking into her almost unfocused ones.
?You know that?s a good way to loose an arm.? Master Jerry didn?t give him a chance to pull away before swinging the first of his whips and catching just the tip of his hand as he let go of Joyce?s face. Bragging and posturing aside, he didn?t break her. Not when he accidentally cut her back when she jerked against him unexpectedly, and not when he used a single lash whip on her back to raise welts. Instead he delivered her, bruised, scratched, and exhausted back to her dorm and had to content himself with a chaste kiss on the cheek instead of her phone number.

She showered, longer than she?d planned, blessing the dorm?s inexhaustible water heater all the while. After drying off and settling down behind the gentle glow of her computer screen, she found no messages from James, and surprisingly none from Gen, who probably assumed that she?d found some joyless hump of her own to while away the weekend with. James finally called her the next morning, asking for a date, only to listen to her speak to him as if she was reading from a legal document.

?I cheated on you last night. I went to a club with someone twice as old as you and let him do me on a stage. I was naked and covered in sweat and screaming his name while people cheered him on.?

?So you?re a whore. Good to know.? He spoke those last words with possibly the strongest feeling she?d ever gotten out of him, but even then, they felt as empty as when he?d said he loved her. She stared at the cell phone, the end call screen blinking at her for a few moments, then going dark again. Feeling like she?d had a weight lifted off of her neck, she went through her mail and texts, deleting everything that had ever come from him. She was on the verge of throwing away the earrings he?d bought for her when she stopped herself and put them back in their box. Her roommate noticed Joyce?s expression and bit back a snide comment. Instead she handed her the bottle of sake they?d received from some not so well meaning fraternity brothers and almost wrenched Joyce?s car keys from the nail on the wall as well as her own and turned to her desk again. Joyce contemplated her roommate?s back in a mixture of hatred and gratefulness. It wasn?t that Fumi was a controlling, or impossible to live with, far from it. In fact she was deeply empathetic, capable of diving Joyce?s moods and anticipating when it was time to clear a space on the floor for her to collapse into when she came home late from lecture or vacate the room before she burst in with a male wrapped around her like a giant squid.

Conversely, she was as much of a party girl as Joyce was into the lifestyle. Every time Fumi came home late from some club drunk, stoned, or some combination of the two, both were profoundly grateful that their bedroom was on the first floor. With her bed right beneath the completely accessible window, Joyce slept with it open and more than once had been woken when Fumi climbed through it rather than use the door she had lost her keys to. Usually she eased her onto the floor between the beds, but sometimes she just let Fumi sleep with her face mashed into Joyce?s stomach, legs, or feet, depending on how she?d gotten herself up and over the windowsill and how she?d landed. This time, Fumi stayed in to keep Joyce from leaving the relative safety of the dorm and walked with her to Craig?s room across the balcony. Craig was the resident alcoholic enabling, joke telling, slightly amoral chemistry major that used his sense of humor and comedic antics to catapult himself into the coveted position of ?most liked person in dorm.? He took the bottle Joyce had been clinging to like a security blanket ever since Fumi had handed it to her and tilted his head up when Fumi leaned down to whisper something not meant for Joyce?s ears.

?Don?t let her leave unless you?re walking her back to our room.?

?Is it going to be bad? Is she going to get all kinds of fucked up if I leave her alone in here?? He poured Joyce a double shot of the sake and slid it across the table to her without even watching what he was doing.

?You could say that. Or you could just give her a Valium, four shots, and let her collapse into the fetal position on the floor.?

Joyce drew herself up from said floor where she?d decided to start her drinking and looked at the pair of them, her eyes already slightly out of focus. She held up her glass and Craig almost absentmindedly refilled it. She downed it in a matter of seconds and then set the glass down, her eyes looking unfocused towards the window and the hills beyond it. Even though her vision was beginning to blur, she could see the lights glittering and growing larger, more unfocused as she let herself relax. Fumi left after giving Joyce a gentle pat on the cheek and Craig turned to pour her more sake when he realized that she was crying quietly to herself. Not sobbing, and not letting her body heave with sadness. Instead she sat still, her legs drawn up to her chest and in an unconsciously graceful movement, turned her back on the window and faced the wall instead. For the first time, Craig was afforded a good view of her back, visible through the semi transparent shirt she?d thrown on. Every welt, every bruise, and laceration seemed to glow to his eyes, even though he hadn?t been the one drinking. Instead of refilling her glass, he knelt next to her and poured himself a drink instead. He leaned against the wardrobe to face her, holding out a Kleenex. She took it awkwardly, and wiped her eyes.

?You?re going to be okay you know.?

?I?m going to be hung over is what I?m going to be.? She sniffed and crumpled up the tissue into a ball.

?Now isn?t that the truth. Why did you go out with that guy anyway??

?To see how much I could take before crying.? Craig handed her another tissue and gave her a wry smile.

?Couldn?t you have just broken up with him normally? You know, with the crying and pleading and shit?? Joyce almost laughed through her tears, and gave him a look that was meant to be stern but instead came off as offended.

?You know me. Can?t do things the normal way. Have to go all out and then jerk myself back just before I fall off the edge.? Craig almost stared but instead patted her knee and stood up, pulling one of his pillows onto the floor. She took it when he held it out and hugged it to her chest, burying her face in the downy softness. He turned out the lights but didn?t draw the curtains. Instead he went back to his computer to finish his paper and wrap up a couple other assignments before morning. After he fell asleep sitting at his desk, Joyce stood and pulled the shades across the open window. Then she put his pillow back on his bed and made her way back down the hall to her bedroom. Fumi was gone, but the blinds were open, and from there Joyce could see the city lights. She stared until they went out one by one, then she drew the curtain shut, closed her eyes, and fell asleep with her back to the wall.
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