Gravity

Considering that the British consulate had decided that Jen and I posed a significant risk to the United Kingdom, things did not go as planned; apparently the British government didn’t give a shit about The Hectic Glow. Cassidy, Mason and Liam returned to Paris for a few hours in order to give us a few days worth of supplies. They told us we should try again after the New Year, but I wasn’t too keen on spending a whole nother week in Paris with only Jen as a translator. However, it looked as though we had no choice.

Courtesy of the record company, they booked us a two-bedroom suit in a fancy French hotel for ten days, or until we were able to return—we hoped to be out of there by the third of January at the latest.

We took advantage of the opportunities that Paris provided—we visited the Louvre, went to see the Eiffel Tower, and took a tour of the Château de Fontainebleau; it was a marvelous way to spend Christmas Eve, and, to top it off, there was light snowfall.

I’d been thinking a lot about what Liam and Mason had said about caring for Jen—it wasn’t that I didn’t, it was that we never allowed the opportunity to grow on each other; we weren’t enemies, but we weren’t friends either. However, in the ten days we had to spend together, I was hoping nothing but good things would come out of our trip.

When we got back to our hotel, light snow had covered the glowing city, captivating Jen: “I’ve never had a white Christmas before,” she said, staring out the largest window in our apartment. She sat with her legs crossed in sweatpants and a tank top, a blanket over her shoulders, “My mom hates the cold, so we always went south for Christmas; it just rained instead.” She sighed nostalgically, peeling her eyes away from the window and toward her computer.

“Let’s do something,” I said, leaning up against the nearby wall. I was still dressed from our day and quite restless.

“Everything’s closed,” she said without looking at me. The computer’s screen glowed across her face.

Before I could stop them, the words came out, “Let’s get high.”

That got her attention. “What?” she snapped, whipping her head at me.

I walked over to her, “Come on,” I said enthusiastically, “We’re stuck in Paris with nothing to do, what do we have to lose? Haven’t you written a song high before? Besides, what would make Christmas more magical than snow and a little buzz? Even Jesus would do agree.”

She bit her lip, “This isn’t something I would normally do…” she sounded like she was trying to convince herself it was a bad idea—I knew it sounded appealing to her. “I’ve only been high a handful of times…”

“I can imagine how great culinary school was in those instances,” I added. She still looked unsure, so I took the blanket from her shoulders and pulled her to her feet, “Come on,” I practically whined. “I’m sure there’s some poor French guy with drugs that could really use our money right now…”

She hesitated, “Fine. Let me put some jeans on and we’ll go. But if we get mugged, it’s on you.”

Jen’s agreement surprised me—I was optimistic that there would be another dirty story of hers ahead; she seemed so complex that I felt like I hadn’t given her enough credit—if she was willing to get high and drunk with me, I wondered what she was like around her friends.

We soon found ourselves in a sketchy patch of Paris, similar to the type of neighborhood our first hotel was in. Jen’s arms were wrapped around one of mine as I kept my eyes peeled for potential dealers. Since Jen didn’t know any drug-related topics in French, we had to rely on good old sign language and hope that it would translate.

“This is a bad idea,” she whispered.

“Bonjour,” a male voice suddenly said.

Jen jumped, causing me to jump and squeeze her hand; she wouldn’t let go as he stepped from the shadows, and I rubbed my thumb against her skin. She spoke, presumably telling him that we only spoke English and asking if he did too.

He nodded, eying us—mostly Jen, though. He was a twenty-something man, aged from sunlight and filth; I’d seen scarier people in America. “What you lookin’ for?” he asked thickly.

“Um… marijuana,” I said uncertainly. I felt dirty going to some stranger for it, almost sick with myself. “Do you have any?”

He watched for Jen’s reaction, but none came; she continued to cling to me, shaking from what I hoped was the cold. I knew it wasn’t. “Yeah, I got some,” he said gruffly. He dug through his pockets, pulling out a small baggie with two white pills in it that certainly weren’t marijuana. “I’ll give eet to you for a keess from ze madame.”

I think Jen just about died, “Oh, non. Non, non, non,” she said, backing up as much as she could with my anchored feet. Her fingernails dug into my palm, “We will pay you—nous allons payer tu.”

He looked at his old rusty watch, “C’est Noël,” he said slowly. I’d learned that Noël meant Christmas. He pursed his lips and looked at us thoughtfully, “Fine, for free,” he bargained, “I give eet to you because I want you—” he looked me right in the eye, as if relaying a message “—to ‘ave good Christmas.”

“But that’s not marijuana,” I argued, “It doesn’t come in pills.”

He ignored me and shoved the bag into my hands, “You thank me later, yes?”

Even though I knew very well what was in the bag, I didn’t want to accept it; I knew that Jen wasn’t stupid either, but she didn’t say anything. All we could do was take the pills and hope the turnout wasn’t completely terrible.

“Merci,” I said uncertainly. As we walked away, I gave the man a short nod as a sort of gratitude. For some odd reason, I found myself to be ambivalent when I thought about how the night would end. There was a tension between me and Jen, but a good one for a change—it was as though we were both waiting for our relationship to officially begin.

“You ready?” I asked slowly.

She nodded briskly, rubbing her lips together, “Yeah,” she said quietly.

We clinked our glasses together, swallowing the pills without breaking eye contact. We stayed silent for a moment before she spoke, “They were ecstasy pills, weren’t they?”

Her voice didn’t fluctuate, signifying that that was more of a statement than a question. I looked away from her, nodding. I ran my hand through my unkempt hair, “I think so, yeah.”

She looked over her shoulder and out the captivating the window again. “Maybe it’d be best if we stayed in separate spaces,” she suggested awkwardly, “That way you can write your song, and we won’t get in each other’s way.”

I want to get in each other’s way, I thought. “Okay.”

I walked quietly to my room, leaving my door open a crack as Jen turned on loud house music.

It took about an hour for the pills to kick in—the only reason I knew was because a song that Sarah used to play all the time came on and I didn’t get depressed about it. Not a second later, I heard Jen in the doorway, singing along to the song, “I want your whiskey mouth all over my blonde south.”

I turned around in my chair, watching as she slowly made her way to me. She looked so beautiful, I sort of fell in love with her. She placed her hands on my shoulders, putting each of her legs on either side of mine. Her lips moved against mine, “Red wine, cheap perfume, and a filthy pout.”

As I tried to kiss her, her mouth moved to my ear as my hands wandered her soft body, but she didn’t sing. Instead, her breathing was heavy and sensual, her warm breath lingering. I leaned into her, moving her hair away and kissing her shoulder instead. She craned her neck back, letting her hair fall behind her as she closed her eyes and let out a small groan.

“Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, heavy metal lover…” the music rang.

I felt her hands against my shirt, untucking it and grazing the skin above my jeans. She slid off of me, rubbing my thighs and pulling me to my feet. Our fingers laced together as I pushed her back against the wall. Having heard the song on several occasions before, I teased her like she had me, singing the song lowly in her ear, “Dirty pony, I can’t wait to hose you down,” Our eyes met; she looked surprised and I smirked, “You’ve got to earn your leather in this part of town.”

When she tried to kiss me, I turned my head, grinning and raising my eyebrows quickly. “Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, heavy metal lover…”

I kissed her neck again. My hands rested on her thighs; her fingers found mine and she squeezed them, singing as she stayed pressed against the wall, “I could be your girl, girl, girl, girl, girl, girl, but would you love me if I ruled the world, world, world…?”

Our lips finally met, and it was like everything that had been hidden from us was now out in the open. Everything was illuminated—I couldn’t remember ever wanting anyone more than I wanted Jen in that instant; I felt like I was losing my virginity all over again, I was so infatuated and nervous and excited.

She took control again, pushing me down on my bed as she climbed on top of me. “Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh…” She sat up, whipping her hair back as she sat on my pelvis. She unbuttoned my shirt from the bottom up before leaning down to give me a lingering kiss. “Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh…”

At the climax of the song, I flipped her over suddenly, pressing my whole body tightly against hers. She gasped in pleasure, completely forgetting to sing the song, even if there wasn’t much left to sing.

Slowly, we stripped each other of our clothes. Jen’s skin was so soft and inviting against mine, and I was sure it wasn’t the ecstasy that caused the sparks. All of our sexual repression since our breakups was being released as we maneuvered together.

I thought about everything she’d ever told me about her sex life and was sure to hone in on everything I knew she liked, and she did the same to me; she was the best lover I’d ever had. We held hands and caressed and kissed softly before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

As I fell asleep, a feeling of dread washed over me: I cared for Jen, Liam and Mason were right about that. But now, what would she think after we slept together?