Heartbreaker (15 page)

When he finished he looked at me, his skinny pink tongue flickering out to clean his whiskers. He was red, with those long black marks on his front legs that made him look like he was wearing evening gloves, and his eyes were a kind of yellow that almost glowed. I had never seen a fox up close.

Hi, I said.

His ears twitched.

Was it good?

He cocked his head. I squatted, plucking my shirt away from my stomach. We watched each other. He sat, tail curled against his side. I held out my hand, palm up. Neither of us moved. The woods behind us crackled and snapped, like cereal in milk, the sounds of nature doing its thing. At night you could hear something running out there—not the way we ran, with our feet dragging and our fat shaking all over the place, but something going fast. Trying to get away.

It's all right, I said. I won't hurt you.

He shivered.

Amber! one of the counselors yelled through the doorway. I turned and the fox darted off, leaves spitting beneath his paws.

Shit, what! I yelled back. Wilson's head popped over the Dumpster.

What are you doing? she asked.

Taking a piss, I said.

Cool it with the language, jokester, Wilson said. We need you in the Circle.

*   *   *

Prayer Circle was time for us to sit on the floor in the rec room and hold hands and ask Jesus to make us skinny. We were supposed to say things like “I pray for the strength to run a mile Wednesday without stopping” or “I pray for forgiveness for eating outside my Calorie Plan.” I thought about the fox, the way he ate that rat like it was nothing, so neat and easy. Looking at me afterward without any shame at all. It was my second week at camp and I weighed 192 pounds.

*   *   *

I didn't have to tell him to come, didn't have to tell him which room was mine; two days after I'd seen him by the Dumpster I was lying in bed when I saw his head slip beneath the window we had cracked open, the screen torn just enough for him to squeeze through.

It's you, I whispered. He stepped onto my shoulder, fur brushing my cheek. I sat up and made room for him on the pillow but he sat in my lap instead, a snack pie in his mouth.

For me? I whispered, and he dipped his head, laying the pie on my chest, eyes deep into mine, and I thought about how a person would never look at another person like that, for such a long time, hardly blinking. I tore the wrapper and slid the pie into my hand, breaking off a piece and offering it to him.

Do you like this? I asked, and he took the piece from me and we ate there in the near-dark, comfortable, like we'd done it a hundred times before. Our faces were so close I could almost count the hairs in his velveteen ears. The pie was cherry and the filling was thick, like glue, sticking to my teeth even after I swallowed.

When we were done he licked my lips. I jerked my head back; he paused, waiting, then did it again. His tongue was warm, smooth, clean; I opened my mouth and he got inside it like it was a jar of honey, like it was the best thing he ever tasted, his paws on my chest as if to hold me down as we licked each other clean.

*   *   *

This happened almost every night, night after night. He brought snack cakes, potato chips, red licorice, jerky. There was a convenience store a half mile down the road; in the woods there were garbage cans, summer cabins with kitchens, campers with coolers and picnic baskets. But I could only guess where he got what he brought, and every night it was something different.

What do I look like to you? I asked after our snack, feeling how I spread over the tiny bed like a bowl of spilled pudding.

Enormous, I said. Right? A blimp. I puffed out my cheeks.

He twitched that place above his mouth where the whiskers entered, two soft white lozenges I longed to touch but never did.
Don't
, his eyes said. He didn't like it when I said anything bad about myself.

It's just that I think you're so beautiful, I explained, but it was more than that; I had this weird ache when I looked at him, like his prettiness hurt me. He tucked his head beneath my hand, pressing it against my palm. I pet him. He kept butting his head against me, insistent, all four paws sinking into my stomach.

What? What do you want? I asked. Hm?

He rubbed his head back and forth in my hand.

More? Like this? I dug my fingers deep into his fur; he pushed hard against me. I was stroking him all over. He was so clean, so soft, almost meatless; I'd had cats heavier than him. He crouched between my breasts, back arching and slinking as I touched him, his tail tapping my thighs. I didn't think about what was happening. I just let it happen. I lifted my hips. He stretched his jaw to my chin, resting it there, his whiskers trembling as he breathed his warm breath over my mouth. Lauren snored above us. I swallowed a sigh and closed my eyes.

*   *   *

I'd lost thirty pounds since the start of camp and I was learning how to run without puking, how to lift weights without feeling like I was going to pass out. I didn't have to lie down to button my shorts. At mealtimes I told everyone I wanted to be a vegetarian but in secret I was still eating meat, hamburger patties and hot dogs he got from someone's grill, studded with little holes from where his teeth had split through the skin. I was eating everything I had eaten before and more.

One night Wilson sat next to me at dinner all cozy and said You know, God gave us animals to sustain us. It isn't wrong to eat meat as long as we eat it in moderation. She pointed her chin at the pile of chicken breasts on the cafeteria counter. I said Yeah, I know, and chewed a slice of cucumber dipped in nonfat ranch. Wilson squeezed my wrist and told me that what she really wanted to say was that she was proud of me, that I was an example to the other campers, that she could see Christ working in my life and that she hoped I could see it, too. I swallowed the cucumber and smiled.

*   *   *

No matter how long I'd waited to see him, no matter how much I wanted to do all the other things we did, the food came first, and it always had to be slow. I loved that about him, how he took his time; nothing was rushed. He wanted to be with me. And though it was always him who decided everything, always him who made the rules, everything that happened felt right. We would eat, and then we talked a little, and then we'd go quiet, and then, when I thought it might not happen, that it would never happen again, his tail would start to swish across my thighs. He used his nose to catch the end of my T-shirt, pushing it up. His ears quivered beneath my palms. His chin rubbed against my breasts, his fur sliding all over me. I helped him get my underwear off my hips. His little teeth were like needles, sometimes nibbling at my skin, just so I would know they were there, that he could hurt me if he wanted to, could take a piece of me in his mouth and swallow it whole.

*   *   *

It was midnight when the dorm door was flung open and the light snapped on. He froze between my legs.

What the heck, Lauren murmured, creaking awake in the bed above me.

Room check, Wilson said, sweeping the room with a grim gaze I'd never seen; there were cookie crumbs on the floor, wrappers crammed beneath the pillow. I was propped up against the wall, my knees making a tent beneath the blanket.

You should be asleep, she said.

I was, I replied, gulping air. She strode toward me, her hand raised over the blanket.

Give it to me, she said.

I didn't move.

Give you what? I said.

Whatever you've got under there.

I could feel him panting between my thighs. I don't have anything, I said.

Amber, she warned.

I don't have my shorts on, I said.

I need you to make the right choice, she hissed.

No, I said. She snatched at the sheet; I snatched it back.

Get out of that bed, she said.

For chrissake, you can't get her in trouble for
masturbating
, Lauren said, loud. Wilson's hand flew back from the blanket. I flinched.

You girls—Wilson started. She swallowed, her hand to her chest, her face slack as if she had just been slapped. I stared at her without wanting to; she looked away.

You girls should be asleep, she finished.

Okay, I said, and she left.

I wasn't doing what you said I was doing, I said to Lauren in the dark, heat thick in my face.

I don't want to know what you're doing, she said. She turned over and I thought about all her weight above me, straining the mattress, suffocating us.

I lifted the blanket so he could breathe. The moonlight from the window hit his eyes, turning them green. His nose quivered between my breasts, his fur slick with my sweat. His tail flicked against my legs again.
We can keep going
, he meant, but I shook my head. We waited. Finally I heard Lauren snore and I lifted my head to his; he took my bottom lip, very gently, between his teeth.

Good night, I whispered, and he slipped through the window, his tail bunching beneath the sill.

*   *   *

All during Circle Wilson kept giving me mournful little looks, her forehead puckered, like I'd hurt her feelings on purpose and she couldn't figure out why. I picked a piece of rubber from the sole of my shoe and rolled it between my fingers and when it was time for me to say something I just sat there like an idiot.

Amber? Wilson prompted, her knees poking from the hem of her shorts like two bony fists.

Pass, I said, pinching the ball of rubber between my fingers as hard as I could. There was a long pause. Ray sniffed. Marcie glanced at Lauren. Wilson cleared her throat.

Pass! I yelled.

*   *   *

After showers Lauren announced that there was going to be a “little party” in our room. I was sitting on my bed, combing my wet hair; she stood in front of me, hands on hips, her considerable midriff at eye level. Our dorm was the farthest from Wilson's room, and so the safest, sound-wise, to break rules in, or so she told me. Someone would find beers somewhere, someone else could maybe rustle up some snacks, we could relax.

Can't you do it outside or something? I protested. I don't want to get caught. We already got in trouble once.

We?
she echoed, one pencil-thin brow arched as high as it could go. I wasn't allowed to pluck my eyebrows at home and I had the urge to touch one of them, to see if it was as thick as I suspected it was.

Fine, I said, and went on combing my hair, wondering how late they would stay, how long he would wait for them to leave.

It turned out they brought just one beer to share, along with a snack-size bag of chips. Also a roll of mints and a soggy napkin full of watermelon Jell-O cubes Ben had smuggled from dinner. Ray and Lauren sat on my bed; the rest of us sat on the floor. They were all, I guess, good-looking, aside from being fat; Marcie had a waist, Lauren had the best hair, and Ben was tall, the only one of us who walked without hunching over. Probably some other girls would be really happy to have been there, hanging out with what passed for Camp Covenant's popular crowd, but I just sat there sucking on a Jell-O cube, glancing at the window.

It smells weird in here, Marcie said, wrinkling her tiny nose.

Yeah, Ray said. They looked at me and I shrugged. It seemed like everyone was expecting Lauren to say or do something but she just stared, combing her hair back with her hand. It was hot with the window closed but no one made a move to open it and I realized that even though I had lost more weight than any of the girls I was still the biggest one in the room.

You want some? Ben asked, holding out the beer. I took a sip, wiping my lips on the back of my wrist, and handed the bottle to Lauren, who drained it in one long gulp before announcing a game of Spin the Bottle.

Three seconds, on the lips, she said.

What if it's girl-girl or guy-guy? Ben asked.

Same rules, Lauren replied. She spun first: the mouth of the bottle pointed at me, the butt at Ben. He smiled.

No, I said.

What do you mean, no? Lauren snapped, quick, like she'd been expecting me to resist.

We don't have to, Ben said.

Yes, you have to, Lauren insisted. Otherwise what's the point?

This is so childish, I said. Marcie rolled her eyes.

Like you're so mature. She was about to say something else but Lauren shot her a look and Marcie shut up. I stood and headed for the door.

Where are you going?

To the bathroom, I said.

You can't—

But I could and I did. I was barefoot and my hair was still damp and I knew they wouldn't come after me because they weren't my friends and they weren't really my enemies. They were just bored. I opened the back door.

There he was, on top of the Dumpster, sitting still. I took a step back, wiping my hands on the seat of my bike shorts. The tip of his tail rose and fell against the Dumpster lid.

You scared me, I said.

He cocked his head. Near his back foot was a marshmallow pie, mostly intact. With his nose he pushed it toward me: this was his way of saying
Here
or
Please
or
Eat.
Tonight I thought it meant
For you.

We ate the pie in the light cast by the security lamp over the kitchen door; when we finished he licked his paws, then licked my hands.

Take me somewhere, I said.

He looked at me, his eyes almost all black. This was a new look, one I couldn't read; I thought maybe he didn't understand.

Show me where you live, I clarified.

His fur rippled and his eyes got even darker. I touched the place behind his ear that was so sensitive; he turned his face into my palm.

Please. So we can be alone.

Again he just looked at me. The night was cooling, peppered with the sound of insects and leaves slipping against each other, the air with a smell of dirt so strong it was almost a taste.

Please, I said again. There was a rustle in the dorms; a head popped out of a window beyond the Dumpster—Lauren looking for me. He jumped down into the dirt and I ducked. Someone laughed, then was shushed. He put his paws on my knee and lifted his face to mine.