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We reach an intersection, a fork in the road. J.D. looks both ways. “Huh.”

The pill’s worn off. I know this because my body’s weary. More than fatigue, I feel like I’m on the verge of collapse. My heart, limbs—everything feels woozy. I could lie down, right here, and sleep on the sidewalk. Or, die.

Worse than exhaustion, there’s the sunlight. My pupils slam shut. I know, I never got around to asking J.D. what was in those little white pills or how much they cost. But I’m learning there’s a price to pay for intergalactic euphoria, music and romance. He warned me. Fool, I should have stuck to “Just Say No.”

“Better to have lost and loved,” I say.

“What?” J.D. gives me a look.

I was unaware I spoke out. Maybe I am—still—a little bit high. I notice J.D.’s brown skin is pulled back tight on his face.

“Nothing,” I say. Mouth shut, finishing the stanza—“Than to have never loved at all”—in my head. It feels heavy as a diving bell, lizard brained. My eyes drill the street, counting steps. We turn, walking down an alley. I expect Blue-Eyed Bob to jump out of the shadows. Abrupt, J.D. turns and shoves me against the wall. I guess this is his “passionate”—date rape—gesture. Take me! I want to tell him, knee cocked and ready to slam his crotch.

“Is that your big move?”

“What?”

“Backing me—” I don’t finish. His face comes close to mine, hands all over my body, the scent of his sweet breath—

O
ur music video moment. J.D.’s hands cup my face. Around us, the world swirls. His red lips touch mine. Wet, they taste like raspberry and—

He lets me go. The klieg lights and crew scatter.

“What?”

“Not here.” He wipes his mouth. I worry, am I the one with bad breath? “Inside.”

J.D. jumps, his fingers catch the ladder’s bottom rung. He pulls, holding it down with his body weight.

“What? Am I sup—”

“GET ON!” he shouts, face red, veins popping out his forearms.

I jump, and land on the ladder. I just do it. I don’t know how, but I do. Last night, I dropped the sum of my fears. We step off and the ladder pops up, guillotine style.

I look at him. He nods, Up. My stomach lurches. I want to barf. Nope. I didn’t drop all my fears.

“You can do it, mi’jo, I got your back.”

“I can’t,” I say, unable to move. Paranoia and fear poison whatever’s left of my euphoria. I would jump and end it all, but we’re not high enough. I’d just break my legs. “No, there’s
no
way.”

He peers through a glass door. I look over his shoulder. A hallway. He turns the knob. Locked.

“Give me the cape.” I do and he takes it, wrapping the material around his fist. He punches the glass. “Fuck!”

“Let me try.” I wrap the cape around my ankle, lift my leg and slam my foot. The glass shatters. But I lose my balance and fall forward, into the jagged edges.

“Hey! Careful!” He pulls me back. “Don’t cut yourself.”

He reaches through the gap, lifts the latch and opens the door.

“After you,” he says, ushering me into the hall.

I shake the cape over the street. Glass shards rain onto the ground. The sun turns the pieces into fistfuls of yellow diamonds.

I step forward. J.D. grabs my arm and holds me back. His index finger traces my cheek. Morning light crawls over the fire escape. He pushes me back, against the brick and leans forward, eyes shut, ready to kiss.

I turn away.

“What?” He takes my face, forcing me to look. His eyes are filled with love, lust and betrayal.

All our feelings lurk, just below the surface.

My heart, my skin, my whole being feels raw. And nervous. I want to run away. Sugar couldn’t leave. Me, I can’t bear to stay. This might be how the safe house leaves its mark: me, forever in flight.

“What?” he says, fingertips under my chin, tilting up my face. He doesn’t have a clue, not a single G-D damn clue what I feel.

“I—” I start. But I don’t know where, exactly,
to
start. Feelings and thoughts, they’re all jumbled up inside. “Let’s go.”

I look down, avoid his gaze, and push past him. I can’t help it. I need to punish him for kissing Pony. Love begets tough because love kills. He needs to learn he can’t kiss whoever he wants. But I won’t tell him that. He’ll have to figure it out.

He leans back against the metal railing. One push. That’s all
it would take to him flip over and onto the street. I look away. The thought makes me nervous. I scare myself.

“‘k,” he says, and sighs. “If you say so.”

He squints, looking at me with snake eyes. He smokes. He takes his time; he’s got all the time in the world. He places his bet. Ben won’t wait. Ben won’t go back to the safe house alone.

“I’ll meet you up there,” I say, calling his bluff. He kills the ciggie, pushes his body off the rail and steps past me. Just like that, he thinks he’s put me in my place. I follow him into the hallway. We walk up. Two, three, four flights.

Halloween ends with me, in a zombie state, barely able to keep my eyes open, the walking dead. I try the safe house’s door. Locked. I collapse against the wall.

“How do we get inside?”

Sly, J.D. smiles, left hand to ear and earring. He unscrews the ankh. Something drops out. He holds it up: a key. I’d say, Congratulations, but I can’t speak. He unlocks the door, picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder. I don’t mind. Otherwise, I would have crawled.

He stops, one foot inside, and slides me down, till my feet touch the ground and my body’s pressed up, against the door frame. He tries to kiss me. No. I turn away. He needs to learn.

“Oh,” I say. Vagueness, I’m aware, drives him nuts. “I’m not sure.”

“About
what?
”

“Everything.”

“
Everything?
In the club, you said, ‘Oh, yeah, baby, I
looooovvvvee
you.’”

“Dunno.” I shrug. I don’t have the energy to explain how it’s Blue-Eyed Bob, Pony’s kiss, the drugs. “The music, the—the, you know,
everything
.”

“The moment.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess.”

“Me. You. I don’t know. I don’t know if you really like
me
.” I look him in the eye. “Maybe you just want me for sex.”

“Hey,” he says, holding my gaze. There’s my answer. He does like me. It’s no act. I knew it. No wonder I’m so nervous. “What are
you
afraid of?”

“You.”

“Afraid of me? Why?”

“I don’t know … who’s the boy, who’s the girl?”

“Oh!” J.D. says, with a huge smile. “I can tell you
that
.”

“But that’s not the
only
thing I’m afraid of.”

“Halloween’s over,” he says and leans forward, Casanova with plastic fangs. “What else scares you?”

We stand, face-to-face, chest-to-chest, crotch-to-crotch. His body pulses, far from being one of the living dead, he’s warm, oozing sex and life. Tempting. Young, lean and fine, J.D. flicks a switch, turns on my desire. Still,
I need to know.

“You being poz.”

J.D.’s body goes cold. The smile fades. His eyes shift. He bites his lower lip.

“It’s true?”

“No.”

“So you’re not poz?”

“No.”

“If you can’t tell me the truth, I don’t care if you’re the best kisser in the world.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Are you HIV-positive? Or aren’t you?”

“Let’s go inside.”

“Sure,” I say. I’m casual. But now, nothing is casual.

J
.D. stands outside the kitchen window, leaning against the fire escape. I sit at the table. We’re separated by five feet, but it might as well be five million. That’s how far apart far apart feels. He lights a cigarette.

“Fear and ignorance.” He exhales. “
You
probably think you could get it from kissing me. Or cuddling.”

“You can’t blame me. Who’d have sex—sex without condoms—knowing it was a death sentence?”

He looks at me and takes in my words. Or, I imagine he does. Maybe I’m more interesting to look at than the wall.

“Everybody acts like they’re so cool about it. But they’re not. When my other grandma died, my mom freaked out. And
she
was the one who was still alive.”

“Didn’t you just yell at your mother for telling your grandmother?”

“Yeah, but that was a couple years ago,” he says. I almost believe him. “Anyway,
that’s
why I don’t accept labels or categories. I need to show people that it’s
not
a death sentence.”

“It’s a virus. You either have it or you don’t.”

“We all have it.”

“You
are
positive?”

“Nope.”

“You would have sex with me without a condom?”

“Nope.” He twists his head, cracks his neck and smokes.

“You know …”

“No,” he says. He glares at me. “I
don’t
know. Tell me.”

“Everything and its opposite,” I say.

“What?” He looks at me through narrowed eyes.

“Well—” I start, then stop. “I didn’t want to say it, because then I’d be calling you a liar.” He opens his mouth. I put up a hand. “It’s my turn. Half of what you say sounds like a lie. And the other half sounds true. So I’m standing here, looking at these two piles. One pile, lies. One pile, truth. So I made a third pile.”

“What’s in that?”

“The I-don’t-believe-
anything
pile. And—” I can’t say it. My pride won’t let me. Plus, I’m terrified if I do say it, I’ll feel vulnerable to him in a way I can’t ever take back. So I muzzle the words. “It doesn’t matter, I
still
want you.”

J.D. flicks the ciggie, and it flies out, into space. He doesn’t give it a glance. I watch it fall. He ducks under the window, into the kitchen. Inside, his left leg swings over the chair. He stands, crotch level with my chest. He looks down, mouth turned up at the sides. I gaze up into his eyes. Morning light hits the yellow flecks. Gold in green pools. I fall under his spell. Thing is, I
know
I’m falling. Hypnotist or magician, J.D. doesn’t need words to get what he wants. He smiles, sexy and seductive, “You wanna.”

“
Sleep
,” I groan. “All I want is sleep.”

“Go,” he says, swinging his leg over and off the chair. He walks away. I miss you. “Don’t flatter yourself,” his body language says, “I don’t want you anyway.”

I know—
know
—he’s manipulating me, but I still want him. My body—it must be chemical. I’ve lost control. My legs—not me—stand and follow. I catch his arm.

“Really? You know you don’t want to.”

“You don’t know what I want,” he says, and pulls away. Like that, we’ve switched roles. Now he’s the one who plays hard to get.

“I don’t know what you want, because you won’t tell me the truth,” I say, and let him go.

“Really.” He walks to the bathroom and turns over the sign. OCCUPIED. I wait. He leans back, beckoning me with a look.

I step into the dark. He lights candles and runs the water, scattering powder for a bubble bath. Steam rises off the water and fills the cold room.

“Well?”

I nod.

He shuts the door.

I
look in the mirror, check my hair. When I turn back, J.D.’s naked. He puts out a hand and pulls me close. I don’t resist. He reaches around my body and unzips. I let him peel off the skin-tight pants. I stand there, naked. But I feel more than nude.

His left toe dips in the tub. I mirror his movement, and dip my right toe. Mute, our bodies mime one another. Tell one another what the other wants. Till we stand, water knee high, in the tub. We kneel, submerging ourselves, sinking down until we’ve disappeared under the bubbles.

I lean back. He holds up a sea sponge.

“Close your eyes.”

He squeezes. Warmth floods my face, neck and shoulders. It dissolves the layers of night. Washes away makeup, sweat and smoke. My weariness slides off. I reawaken. He reaches out, over the tub.

Click

A horn, mournful and low, fills the room. It swirls, a dancing genie freed from her bottle. Drums join the horn. Chills run down my spine, legs, out my feet. A woman’s voice, low and mournful, comes forth and sings.

Her voice fades, the horn goes crazy and J.D.’s body moves up, his tongue running over my skin. Song matches music, and pleasure with sensation.
Held
, now I understand. J.D.’s hands are strong, gentle, knowing. His touch lacks fear—of my body or desire. Everything is possible. He’s bold. I can follow him into the dark, and know I’m safe. J.D.’s arm holds me, his embrace ties me to this moment and each one that follows.

“Am I dreaming?”

“Yes,” he whispers. “We dream together.”

I get lost in him. The feeling of water and warmth. Reality and imagination blur. He slides under me. His hands—big, square, certain—hold my hips. His lips brush my ear.

“I’m real,” he says, pressing himself, rock hard, against my ass. He pushes. Inside. He wants to enter me.

“You got a condom?”

He reaches over the edge of the tub and rolls himself over, his body on top of mine.

“Here,” he says, and hands me the rubber.

My teeth tear the wrapper, I slide it out and roll it on. He leans forward and pushes back. I enter him. It happens without effort. Our bodies are a perfect fit. I know what to do. How much and how fast.

“Ah!” he cries, hands gripping the tub. Ass arched, his body pushes back, demanding, “Take me.”

“You feel so good,” I rasp. My voice catches. I shut my eyes. I want to feel. He gives himself to me. Completely. He tightens his body. I caress him. I want to know him, every inch of him.
His smooth skin. His body is the new world. A landscape to explore. He catches my hands and holds them over his heart. We inhale, reciting the prayer said between lovers.