Sleepover

Everything was in slow motion as Trev’s eyes bore into her’s. She was kneeling beside Mattie, who was hunched up on the icy cement, clutching his bleeding face. Her friends stood between them and Trev, shoving him back and Katie was screaming in his face, “What’s the MATTER with you, you PSYCHO!”

Their group had been hanging around on some snow covered picnic benches by the little coffee stall on the river-walk, chatting and laughing and drinking lattes and hot chocolates beneath hanging string lights while a late winter snow settled on their hats and gloves and melted into the raging waters of the river below. She and Mattie had been huttled together atop one of the tables, tittering about the persistent cold, when out of nowhere a fist collided into his face, hurling him off the table. 

Trev ignored the hollering hipsters in his face, his eyes locked on Natalie’s. His brows were furrowed, his green eyes glassy and fluttering, his mouth twisted into a frown, his teeth bared. Natalie knew that look. He was either about to break something or start fucking sobbing. Or both.

Her gut reaction was to comfort him. She started to rise automatically, just as Danno appeared over Trev’s shoulder, grabbing him by the arm and shooting her a disdainful glare as he yanked him back. Trev squeezed his eyes shut as he turned away, wrenching his arm from Danno’s grasp as he stalked off down the river-walk, Diego and Danno flanking him on either side to make sure he didn’t go punching anybody else.

And for a second she just knelt there on the icy cement, gaping after her ex’s retreating back as snow settled on her beanie and frost splintered through her veins. There was no stopping this runaway train she’d sent catapulting into motion. Everything was fucked. 

Truly. 

Royally. 

Fucked.

She was thinking the same thing as she sat hunched up and shivering on a cold countertop with her arms wrapped around her knees while Trev towered above, cooking himself a simple dinner of beans and rice and chatting amiably about God knew what. She wasn’t listening, her mind still spinning and turning over what exactly he intended to do to her.

There was a decent chance he hadn’t meant what he’d said about keeping her there. He could very well have just been messing with her, knowing how she would stew over his words, obsessing over their meaning. He despised whenever anyone tried to analyze him, and sometimes said or did crazy things just to confound all analysis. 

Or maybe, she said to herself. He’s just that fucking crazy.

“Yeah, that, too,” she said back, nodding.

And now you’re talking to yourself. 

She groaned, lowering her face against her knees, pressing her hands over her ears to try and muffle the sounds of Trev’s incessant rambling, booming from above. 

Maybe this was what he wanted. To send her spiraling into dismay. 

Or maybe he truly planned on keeping her like a pet. Of tormenting her until she lost her mind. Her heart picked up speed, panic gurgling up from her stomach with the realization that there was absolutely nothing she could do to prevent him from keeping her here if he chose to, from doing whatever the fuck he wanted. She squeezed her eyes shut against her knees, gasping for breath, digging her nails into her scalp, trying to ward off the encroaching panic before it consumed her. 

“Hey.” A huge finger suddenly prodded into her side. “Are you listening?” She lifted her gaze to find herself level with a set of giant green eyes, Trev having squatted down in front of the counter before her. His irises shifted and flickered, taking in her hunched, quivering form. Then he smiled. “Dinner’s ready.” And the shadow of his hand fell over her. 

She sat on his lap on the couch while he ate his dinner, watching Netflix, holding the bowl high above, the sky an insufferable thunderstorm of spoon scraping and chewing and swallowing and digestive gurgling. True to his word, he neglected to make her her own portion, but after he’d had his fill, he scooped a single remaining black bean from his bowl and lowered his spoon down to hover before her.

She blinked at it and craned her neck to scowl up at him with one eyebrow raised. But he was not looking at her, his attention on the television, completely indifferent to whether she accepted his offering of scraps or not. She lowered her gaze back to the football sized black bean before her, sitting within the curve of his spit smeared spoon. Her stomach grumbled. She sighed in defeat and reached out to take the black bean in both hands.

Trev’s reaction may have been imperceptible to someone normal sized, but Natalie felt the slight shifting of his thigh beneath her, heard the long intake of breath overhead, saw the twitching of his fingers around the spoon held before her. 

Her irritation swiftly overpowered her hunger—that sick mother fucker was loving every fucking second of this. She lifted the black bean to her mouth, spat on it, and tossed it back onto the spoon.

A snicker came from above. “Charming.” He leaned forward to set his bowl and spoon onto the coffee table. “Well, it’s just there if you change your mind.”

 He leaned back again, his hand coming towards her to curl around her, lifting her from his thigh. He held her in his hand as he watched the show, his fingers mindlessly stroking her and kneading her and fidgeting with her while she scowled and squirmed fruitlessly within his abrasive grasp, keeping herself sane by imagining the carnage she'd bestow upon him if only the roles were reversed.

When the show ended he stretched and said, “Ready for bed?” He turned off the TV and stuffed her in his chest pocket. He tramped around the apartment, tidying up the kitchen and brushing his teeth before returning to his bedroom. The fabric around her trembled ominously, then wrenched suddenly upwards as he pulled his tee-shirt off over his head, with her still in his pocket.

“TREVOR!” she screeched, clutching to the fabric for dear life as she was jostled about.

“Whoops." The fabric chamber flipped upside down and shook violently and she tumbled from his pocket to collapse onto his bed. “Sorry Natty,” he smirked, tossing his discarded shirt into the hamper. “Forgot you were in there.”

She scowled up at him, level with his groin as he unbuckled his jeans, revealing his blue checkered boxers. “So where do I sleep?” she called, dreading the answer.

He smiled down at her, patting his bare chest.

She groaned, sitting upright. “Trev. Come on.” 

“What’s the problem?” he asked, pulling his jeans down his long, slender legs.

“You’ll crush me.”

“No I won’t.” He stumbled onto one foot, pulling one leg from his jeans, and then the other, before tossing them into the hamper. “Don’t you miss sleeping with me?”

“Particularly the way you always rolled on top of me.”

“Yeah, cause you were cute and comfy and I liked having you squished beneath me like a comfy little pillow.” He stepped up to the bed, so close she could barely see his face, smiling down at her past the stretch of his body. “I won’t roll on top of you.”

“And if you do?”

“Then wake me up.”

“And if I can’t wake you?”

“Then I’ll squish you. Now, can you promise me you’ll be a good little mouse girl while I sleep, and won’t try to run away again?”

She glared up at him, averting her gaze from the giant appendage dangling before her, concealed only by the thin checkered fabric of his boxers.

“Okay, well you don’t have to,” he continued when she didn’t answer. “But you are gonna sleep with me. And if I can’t trust you to stay I’ll have to tie you to my hand with a piece of string and I’m not sure how restful a night that’ll be for you. My hands tend to roam south, if you catch my drift.”

“Fine,” she spat.

“Fine, what?”

“I promise not to run away while you sleep,” she snarled, although she planned to do just that.

“Good girl,” he cooed, petting the top of her head with the tip of his finger. “And Natty,” he tucked his finger under her chin, raising her face to look up at him. “If I catch you breaking your promise, which, rest assured, I will, you’ll be sleeping in my southern regions from now on.” 

His hand released her face to jostle his dick and balls within his boxers while he grinned devilishly down at her. 

She scowled. “Ew.”

He turned off his desk lamp, leaving on the string lights over his bed to cast the room in a dim glow. He climbed into bed in just his boxers, and Natalie scampered out of his way as he climbed overtop of her, then plopped down and settled himself under the blankets, lifting them like a tidal wave that flung her off her feet. She lay on her back for a moment, huffing at the ceiling, before his palm came barreling into her to scoop her up and dump her atop his warm chest, his hand plopping down on top of her to keep her there.

His free hand held his phone in the air above, its screen casting a bluish glow over his face as he swiped mindlessly through TikTok, blank-faced, occasionally grinning slightly with a light snicker, sending a vibration beneath her. She rose and fell with every breath he took, his breathing growing gradually deeper, his rhythmic heartbeat calming. The thumb of the hand draped over her gently stroked up and down her back, his fingers twitching unconsciously every so often. 

She didn’t think she’d have to worry about falling asleep on top of him, surrounded as she was by the constant gurgling and rumbling and rocking of his stupid, hot, sweaty, loud, colossal body that would very likely crush her the moment he fell asleep. But exhaustion clouded over her and she found herself dozing off immediately.

“Goodnight, my little mouse girl,” Trev murmured, his voice rumbling his chest beneath her.

“Sleep tight, dick wipe,” she grumbled back, too quiet for him to hear.

* * *

She awoke at some point in the night. It was dark; the string lights switched off and Trev’s phone facedown on the desk beside the bed. He had rolled over onto his side, and had Natalie tucked into the crook of his elbow, hugging her against his chest. His whole body seemed to curve around her, as if by gravity, wrapping around her on all sides; one arm beneath her with the other draped overtop, his chest arching over her and his sleeping face angled down from above. His mouth was opened slightly, his warm, deep breaths gently wafting over her. He looked rather peaceful in his sleep, his brows twitching ever so softly, his long lashes quivering. He looked younger, too, less like the psychopath who had tormented her for hours the previous day and more like the boy who had been her best friend for as long as she could remember.

She stared up at him for a while to make sure he was definitely, deeply asleep, before she carefully lifted herself from his grasp, and crawled up the crack of his elbow to peer out under the arm draped overtop of her, into his darkened bedroom. As per usual, he had kicked the covers off his feet, and they were hanging over the side of the bed. 

She could climb down his bedspread, and this time she’d brave the vent beneath his bed, in hopes her pocket-vision would come of use in the dark tunnel. Then she’d get into her dad’s room. But how would she wake him up? No, scratch that, she’d get into her brothers’ room, where there were always a bunch of toys and shit lying around all over the floor, and she’d find one of those obnoxious ones with a button that makes it flash brightly and make a huge racket. And Tommy would likely sleep right through it, but Nick would curse and kick out of bed and storm over to pummel the offending toy and she’d stand atop it, waving her arms and screaming at the top of her lungs and he would do a double take and say something stupid and befuddled like, “The fuck?” and she would be saved. Yes, this was a marvelous plan. 

But as she was climbing out from under his arm, ready to jump off onto the mattress below, Trev let out a groan and lifted his arm away. She whipped around, eyes wide, going completely still. His eyes were drooped open, but barely, as his hand lifted to scratch his forehead. Then his arm rapidly dropped back down and she grimaced up at it as if flattened down on top of her. 

She dragged and crawled herself out from under it to collapse, panting, back into the relative safety within the crook of his elbow. She was startled to find his sleepy gaze upon her and she quickly went limp, closing her eyes, her heart pounding. His arm lifted and he ran a finger down her arm and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep her breathing steady. 

“Nat?” he muttered groggily, his finger sweeping her hair from her face. 

She grimaced again; clearly her sleeping facade had not fooled him. But being awake wasn’t a crime; he hadn’t caught her trying to escape, and he had no proof she’d been thinking about it. 

“Mmm?” she moaned, feigning grogginess.

“You okay?”

“Mmm,” she moaned again, snuggling against him in a way she hoped he’d find cute and lacking in schemes.

It either worked a little too well, or not at all, because Trev smiled sleepilly and mimicked her little, “Mmm,” wrapping himself tighter around her to snuggle her, back; and Natalie cringed as his cheek descended upon her to grind lovingly against her entire body, before he fell still with the side of his face pressing down on top of her; using his elbow as a pillow with her smushed up into the soft skin of his cheek.

She huffed and wriggled backwards, wedging herself deeper down into the crook of his elbow, glaring up at the imposing wall of his cheek that curved up to the corner of his open mouth, breathing hot, humid air down upon her as he drifted back to sleep. She supposed this aggressive canoodling was a subtle warning; an acknowledgement of another escape attempt in the midst. He knew her too well. She’d just have to figure out some other way to get away from him, sometime when he wasn’t literally right on top of her. She fully believed his threat of making her sleep in his underwear if he caught her trying to run away, again—which he most definitely would have if he’d woken up just a few moments later as she was sprinting across the bed. 

She imagined he’d have groggily watched her run beside him for a second, then he’d snicker sleepily, something like, “Where ya goin’, Nat?” and his hand would smack down to block her path. Then he’d scoop her up and she’d wriggle desperately in his grasp as he dangled her over his face. “You do know where you’re goin’, right?” And he’d lower her down the length of his body, plopping her onto his lower abdomen. 

And she’d beg and holler and plead up at his distant face, a smirking mountain on the horizon of the vast terrain of his bare torso, while the waistband of his boxers lifted behind her. Then the index finger of the hand holding up the waistband would hook around her belly, effortlessly overpowering her struggles to drag her backwards, beneath the fabric. “Nighty night, Natty,” he’d call cheerfully from the distance, puckering his lips to send her an air kiss, before his waistband snapped shut, imprisoning her within his musky depths. 

And she’d heave with all her might to try and lift the waistband up again, yelling, “I’m sorry Trevor! Please! Let me out of here!” until the fleshy ground beneath her lurched violently and she’d be tossed around as he settled himself into a comfortable position, landing on his thigh as his flaccid member flopped down on top of her like a zealously affectionate beluga whale. And she’d struggle and kick beneath the mass of wrinkly skin, succeeding only in evoking a jolting twitch from her fleshy chamber and a blissful moan in the distance as the giant was pleasantly tickled by her tiny movements, until he dozed soundly back to sleep. 

And he’d gradually fall still and immobile, besides the gentle swaying from his deepening breaths, the light throbbing of his pulse, the occasional twitch or jerk, and she’d give up trying to struggle, and would instead lay smushed against his thigh for the rest of the night, snuggled up with his massive dick, the humid air stagnant with the aroma of his nether regions. And she’d be jostled and smashed every time he adjusted in his sleep. And his huge hand would occasionally slip down beneath the waistband towards her, and she’d have a brief moment of hope that he was freeing her from this hell at last, until his clawed fingers descended upon her to scratch himself, whilst unconsciously smashing and grinding her body against his genitals. 

It sounded awful, and hot, and agonizing, and… oddly arousing?

She imagined herself trapped beneath his dick until the sun began to rise, and he rose with it, as he always did—an ‘early riser’ he used to joke. And she’d kick and struggle beneath the increasing weight, but this would only serve to escalate the growth of his dick, until there came a deep groan from the distance, rumbling her fleshy prison.

And everything would tilt sideways as the giant rolled onto his back, and she’d smack against the side of his morning wood, towering over her like a tree, holding up the fabric of his boxers like a tent pole. Then his hand would slither through the waistband, drawing towards her like a bird of prey and she’d call out, “Trev?” praying he remembered she was still down there.

But he wouldn’t hear her, as his hand smashed her up against his erect cock; the very cock that she had been the first to stroke, and jerk, and suck, and fuck, that could now easily crush her beneath its weight. 

“TREVOR!” she’d scream, squirming against his fingers as they wrapped around both her and his shaft, keeping her trapped tight in between. And she’d struggle even harder, evoking another deep groan overhead as he stroked himself, half asleep, not even aware he was dragging his tiny prisoner along for the ride.

Natalie snapped herself from what was undoubtedly the start of some horrific nightmare, to find her own fingers stroking between her slickened thighs. 

She remembered seeing his erection pressed up against his jeans as she dangled above his lap, how it had reacted to her; convulsed with the sound of her voice. She felt the same queer kinship towards it that she had felt when she saw it in the bathroom, as if it were it’s own entity, separate from Trev, innocent of his misdeeds. It had lifted towards her at the sound of her voice, just as she had gotten wet, at the very thought of it. It was like they were calling out to each other, longing to reunite. 

She remembered the feel of his cock inside of her, stiffening every time she let out a moan, how the feel of its convulsion would send a burst of pleasure through her veins and her toes would curl and she would moan louder and Trev would groan something romantic like, “Oh, fuck,” and clench his hands around her slender waist, digging his fingernails into her skin and wrenching her up and down on top of him and she would throw her arms around his neck, biting down against his shoulder, screaming against his sweaty skin.

Natalie closed her eyes, letting out the softest of moans as she lay wedged into the crook of his elbow, beneath the side of his sleeping face. 

Then she smacked herself across the face, giving herself a stern mental reprimand: Snap out of it, Natalie, you fucking pervert! You do NOT want to fuck Trevor Dalton, because he is a fucking PYSCHOPATH out to DESTROY you, and you ABSOLUTELY do NOT find ANY part of that ATTRACTIVE! And even if you DID want to fuck him, you STILL wouldn’t, because his cock is a massive fucking MONOLITH that would literally crush you beneath it, with complete indifference for your thrashing and struggling beneath its thick, convulsing… colossal… AAAGH, STOP IMAGINING HIS DICK, YOU WEIRDO! Need I remind you of everything he’s done to you today? Kidnapping! Torture! Get your head in the game, old girl, this is FUCKING WAR!

Yet, despite all logical rationale, she found herself feeling quite cozy and content with his giant arm wrapped so tightly around her, his body radiating more than enough heat to keep her warm in the large, drafty room. She found herself breathing in his smell as she closed her eyes; counting his slow, steady breaths with the rising and falling of his chest, matching her breaths to his, as she had so many times since they were were children; when she’d wake up in the middle of the night to find him on top of her; one leg draped over her and his arms wrapped tightly around her, his cheek smushed against the top of her head and her’s smothered against his chest as he cuddled her like a teddy bear. 

She never, ever, not in a million years would have admitted this to him, but despite his sweatiness, despite his oppressive body heat, despite his heavy weight bearing down upon her, there were few things she loved more in the world than being wrapped so tightly in his arms, and the feeling of protection it gave her. 

* * *

They were eight the first time they kissed, in the little treehouse in the elementary school playground, in the midst of some sort of pirate-themed game of hide and seek. They’d been crouched together beneath the window, listening as the other team closed in around their hiding spot, and she’d growled, “Aih, the gig is up Cutthroat, ye old scallywag.”

And he’d growled back, “Not yet, Daggertooth.” And he’d grabbed her face between his palms and yanked her into him, smacking his lips against hers. He popped back with a grin, still clutching her bewildered face. “See ye in hell, me heartie.” 

And he shoved her back while he took off running, leaving her to get captured by the enemy as she bellowed after him, “I’ll kill you, Trevor!”

Natalie had merely thought of it as part of their game. It was a game to Trev, too, of course; one he really really liked to play. Kissing started getting incorporated into all kinds of activities; superheroes, freeze tag, monopoly. They were always quick, never any tongue. Their tongues were added when they were twelve, in the midst of a game of truth or dare, when Trev dared her to make out with him.

It was the summer before seventh grade and the two of them, and Danno and Diego, were sitting around on some rocks by the part of the river that ran through the Southside, in the overgrown, needle and condom infested woodlands at the end of their block that the neighborhood kids referred to as the ‘Murder Woods’.

Natalie sneered, crossing her arms. “Why do you always make me do the weird stuff?”

“Cause you’re a girl,” said Trev reasonably. “You wanna play, or what?”

“No! Every time we play one of you pervs makes me show my tits or something, I’m sick of it!”

“I don’t!” said Diego quickly, raising his hands.

“You don’t look away, either,” she snapped, jamming her finger in his face.

“Don’t be such a pussy,” said Danno. 

“Bite me, Daniel.”

“That a dare?” he smirked, baring his teeth, and she punched him in the gut.

All three boys cackled and laughed as Natalie stomped to her feet and stormed dramatically into the Murder Woods.

“Natty, c’mon!” Trev called after her. “I’m only messing with–”

“You wanna play or what?” she yelled back, without turning. “I’m not making out with you in front of the Tweedles!”

Trev jolted, mouth agape. He nearly tripped over himself as he scurried to his feet and hurried after her. “You serious?” he asked breathlessly when he caught up with her.

“Yeah, whatever,” she grumbled. “Let’s get this over with.”

They walked a ways into the trees, then stood facing each other, Natalie with her arms crossed, glowering at the ground.

“Hey,” said Trev, pinching her arm. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I really was just messing with you.”

“It’s not that,” she grumbled.

“So what is it?”

Natalie glowered at the ground, tight-jawed, then stomped up onto a nearby rock to put their faces at a relatively equal level. Trev raised his eyebrows, then laughed.

“Shut up!” she hollered, shoving him.

He grinned, grabbing her blushing face between his palms. “Com’ere, shorty.” He yanked her into him, pressing their lips together. And a pleasurable feeling began to pulsate through her lower abdomen. Her knees buckled slightly as the feeling coursed through her veins, spreading through her entire body. She let out a moan against his mouth, tilting her head, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He groaned in response, pressing into her so hard that she stumbled backwards off the rock. He followed after her, stepping over the rock, holding her face up to keep their mouths locked together, hunching over her while she stumbled on the tips of her toes until her back collided into a tree.

They returned to their friends sometime later, their cheeks flushed and hair disheveled, smiling sheepishly, fingers laced through each other’s. 

And they were never the same.

They were constantly sneaking off to play the kissing game after that; under the bleachers in the middle school gym, in the laundry room of their apartment complex, in the walk-in section of the convenience store. 

The first to catch them was Nick, when he opened the door to the bathroom to find her sitting on the counter with their limbs tangled around each other, and he let out a howl of disgust and slammed the door shut again. And a moment later Trev wrenched it back open and chased him down, tackling him to the ground and promising to murder him slowly if he ever told a soul what he’d just so impudently intruded upon. 

Nick had gladly kept his mouth shut about it, preferring to never speak aloud of the horrors he’d seen, but they were terrible at subtlety and Frank soon caught them, himself, in the courtyard stairwell. They’d anticipated certain death, but he’d been surprisingly chill about it. He’d sighed and said, “It was bound to happen, eventually,” and they both received a far worse punishment then either of them ever could have possibly imagined; a long, disturbingly graphic sex talk from Frank the Tank, who knew a thing or two about teen pregnancy and had bore witness to the miracle of childbirth three times—each of which he described to them in vivid detail as they sat cringing on the couch, unable to look at him, or eachother, for a good week afterwards. 

Another consequence of their discovery was that Trev wasn’t allowed to sleepover in her room anymore, not even on the floor, and when he stayed over it had to be in Nick and Tommy’s room, where Tommy was constantly watching him like a little hawk, unfazed by threats of violence, on high alert for any sign of funny business in the night. So they devised new ways to have sleepovers. 

Trev’s dad was rarely home and wouldn’t have cared much anyway if he discovered his girlfriend stashed in his bed, so Natalie would scheme with Kiera, Danno’s older sister of a year, to spend the night at her place so she could sneak out as soon as their parents went to sleep. She’d never talked to Kiera much, but she turned out to be pretty cool and was more than happy to aid in her shenanigans. The only problem was that she also had to spend a lot more time with Danno, which would have been fine with her, but he bugged the living shit out of Kiera and was always threatening to rat her out if she didn’t let him hang out with them. 

On other nights, Trev would sleep over at Diego’s, who’s bedroom was directly beneath Natalie’s, and she’d climb down the storm pipe to sneak in through his bedroom window. The three of them would stay up most of the night, playing video games and smoking pot, shoving Natalie under blankets and pillows with the other contraband any time his mom peeked in to check on them. She’d sleep jammed into Trev’s sleeping bag with him and he’d wake her up at the crack of dawn, and they’d make out for a while before she’d begrudgingly climb over Diego to climb back out his window, up the storm pipe to her own bed.

Their fooling around meandered around the bases at a slow, leisurely pace. Hands were introduced up the shirt; Trev’s fingers always fumbling around behind her back to get her bra undone while she snickered against his mouth and he’d snicker back, “Shut up.” And then their shirts were coming off completely. And then one day she unbuttoned his jeans, sliding her hand into his boxers and his hand went down after hers, wrapping her fingers around his dick with his hand held over hers, showing her how to stroke it and he’d groaned against her mouth, his brows drawing together and his whole body going rigid as he came immediately. 

Getting her to come had taken a bit more work. He’d made a poorly educated attempt at fingering, and she found she didn’t particularly enjoy having his fingers ramming in and out of her, his fingernails clawing her insides, and she’d shoved him, snapping, “Ow, quit that.” And he’d made sure to keep his fingers out of her from then on, instead gently circling and fluttering his fingertips around her nethers, gaging the ways that made her moan and moisten until he got into a good rhythm, and eventually found the little button that, when pattered just right, had her thrusting up against him, digging her fingernails into his hair and curling her toes.

Mouths and tongues came into play next, and they quite happily messed around on third base for a long time, until his fourteenth birthday. She’d already been fourteen for three months and a week, a fact she’d teased him about relentlessly, as she did every year during her three months and a week of being a year older and wiser, invoking relentless reminders from him that she was still the size he was several years prior. 

They’d had a small party with a bunch of their neighborhood friends at his place, where there was never any supervision; listening to music and playing drinking games around the kitchen island with a twenty-four pack of Natty Lights (jokes were made) that Diego’s cousin had bought for them with the wad of cash and loose change they’d all pooled together. And then she’d stood on her toes to whisper into his ear, “I have a present for you,” and slipped a condom into his hand, wrapped in a little bow, and he’d grinned his crooked grin and said, “Really?” And she’d grinned, too, biting her lip, and he smacked his hands around her butt to hoist her legs up around his waist and stormed into his bedroom without a word to their friends, who were quite used to them storming off without a word and simply whistled and cat-called after them and then went right on drinking without them. 

But he grew a bit awkward when they were alone and naked in his bedroom, dimly lit by the string lights above his bed and the lone candle he’d lit, for romantic atmosphere. He ran his fingers around her slender waist with furrowed brows, and she asked what was wrong and he went beet red, his eyes lowering with bashfulness uncharacteristic of him as he scratched his forehead. “Um, it’s just, we’ve never done this before, and I, um, I dunno if I’m gonna be too, like, you know…” He gestured awkwardly between the two of them, indicating the size difference. “I don’t wanna hurt you.” 

He had never said anything like that to her, in all their lives, not ever. He was always yanking her around and lifting her up and wrestling her to the ground; always teasing her about how small she was. It delighted her to see him so unexpectedly nervous and tender, and she desperately wanted to be closer to him, to be one with him. “Don’t be stupid.”

But it had hurt; as Kiera had warned her it would and her Auntie Rita had warned even earlier, when she’d given her a far better sex talk than Frank had provided, along with a box of condoms. But she hadn’t believed them, feeling certain it would be different for her and Trev, because they were so madly in love. And she’d felt ashamed by her own stupid, scrawny body, and she didn’t want to ruin the moment and she didn’t want to spoil his birthday, so she tried to hide her discomfort, grinding her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. But he noticed, anyway, murmuring, “Are you okay?” And she nodded vigorously with her face all scrunched up. And he kissed her cheek and pulled out and tears filled her eyes and she whimpered, “I’m sorry,” and he bonked his forehead against hers with a soft smile, murmuring, “Don’t be stupid.” 

It took a while before they tried again, and even longer before either of them were able to enjoy it, because her petite frame turned out to be a bigger complication then either had anticipated, and any wrong moves would result in a jolt of pain and she’d suck in breath and he’d go limp and wouldn’t be able to get it up, again. But it got better over time, as their bodies grew to understand each other and move with each other. And the first time she came with him inside of her, he came, too, at the same exact moment. And he’d been so happy that he cried, holding her tightly and whimpering into the crook of her neck, “I love you, Natty… I love you so fucking much it hurts.”

The memory brought tears to her eyes as she lay wedged in the crook of his elbow. She drew in a raspy breath and, as if in response, he moaned in his sleep and readjusted, lifting his face away from her, to be replaced a moment later by his hand draping gently over her. She sniffed, snuggling against his arm, feeling suddenly certain that he would never crush her in his sleep; that his body had developed some kind of internal recognition of her—even in sleep, even in her shrunken state—that would never allow it. His unconscious self still yearned to protect her, even while his conscious mind yearned to destroy her. 

At least his body still loved her. At least some part of him did. 

She could only hope it would be enough to prevent him from killing her, long enough for her to escape.