Are We Human? Ch. 05

It was Friday evening. The stresses of the week had passed, and the stresses of the next week had yet to make their presence felt. Students were descending on Grounder's to rupture the newfound calm with chaos of their own design. The bar had an exorcism for everyone's pent-up tension: some people released it through pounding drink, some danced till their muscles burned, and, of course, some lucky individuals chose to exorcise their tensions together. These individuals may have come to Grounder's solely to prowl, nostrils flared in the doorway to sniff through the pheromone cloud and locate their ideal, temporary mate. Others may have arrived with other intentions before finding themselves magnetized to a specter of perfection that catches their eye and refuses to let go.

It was strange for Drew to be back here. If someone had told him that it had only been a week since his most recent trip to Grounder's, he wouldn't have believed them. A whole lifetime must have come and gone since he last stood on the outskirts of the dance floor, observing the manic celebration at the funeral of stress. He used to view these dancers as carnally obsessed, driven by a feral lust that overpowered their humanity, but now he felt himself on the other side of the zoo enclosure. His lust had pushed him to new depths that none of these people around him could even fathom. If anyone was helpless to control their animalistic desires, it was him.

Drew's mind began to wander, the way it always seemed to do these days. He wondered what had drawn Abby to him that night, what made him the specter of perfection that she chose to pursue. How did she know that she could get what she wanted from him? How could she tell that he was a submissive at heart when even he didn't know? He pictured her watching him from the bar, licking her lips at the thought of him cowering in her shadow. She had sensed something beneath his initial arrogance, some truth that no one up to that point had been able to unearth. She knew his mind and his body from the moment her hand seized his to lead him into her world. Somehow, Abby knew him.

Could anyone else tell? Drew scanned the crowd, hoping to catch a predator's narrow glare honing in on his throat. He longed for one of these strangers to drop a hint, to call him forward and whisper in his ear that they know the truth as well. They would pull him in close and sway their hips side to side, brushing up against him, making him sweat and squirm in their arms.

"You're coming home with me tonight, cutie," they would tell him. "I know how badly you wanna be my slave. You're gonna serve me well, aren't you?"

The collar would tighten around his neck, and a flame of malice would erupt from their eyes as they twirled the leash around their fist and yanked him to his knees. He'd crawl out after them, choking out whimpers against his strained windpipe, unable to halt the advance toward the stranger's den. Soon, he'd be tossed onto a bed, lost somewhere in the void, and this predator would make the true horror of their intentions known. Drew's fingers dug into his plastic cup of whiskey ginger when the horror unfurled before his very eyes.

"You good, dude?"

Drew whipped around to the voice at his side, and he realized he had done this before. He had been here before, and everything was happening just as it had and now it would happen again. She would always find him. She would always take him home and he would always give in to her and he would spend the rest of his life serving her. This was destiny: cyclic and inescapable.

"Margot," he said, surprised at her presence and the sound of his own voice.

"You can recognize faces, at least," she replied. "You look a little out of it, my guy. How many of those have you had?"

She gestured to the cup in his hand, somewhat compacted from his tension.

"I uhhh... not nearly enough," he told her.

"Ain't that the fucking truth."

She jerked her head back toward the bar, and Drew's feet pursued her. As they pushed through the sweating, pulsing mass of flesh, he knocked back the dregs in his cup and discarded the remains in the trash can. Margot's below average height and attractive, yet generic brown waves on the back of her head made it easy to lose track of her in such a bustling crowd. Drew reached out to take hold of her hand. Without stopping to glance back, she gave him a comforting squeeze and pushed on into the thickening jungle of humanity.

Margot's determination eventually got them up to the bar, where they placed their orders and watched the bartender's hands flit with refined purpose to fix their drinks. In a slightly intoxicated state, the pair was captivated by the display of impeccable skill until the cocktails were in their hands and the money was out of their wallets. Margot took the lead once more, guiding Drew by the hand to his original spot at the edge of the dance floor.

"We wouldn't want you to get lost like you did last week," she joked, her smile catching the dim light of the bar.

"I wasn't lost," he clarified.

She rebutted, "only 'cause someone found you, allegedly."

It was the first time Margot Nellen and Drew Lawson had spoken in person since his disappearance at the last Grounder's happy hour. His multiple absences piqued her curiosity, same as it had for Drew's roommates and same as it did for Margot's roommates, Beth McGowan and Fatima Nadiya. Drew told Nathan and Terry a partial rendition of the story on Sunday morning; two days later, during a group text discussion of the past weekend's events, Terry had failed to resist the temptation of alluding to it. The women pressed him, and as was his usual reaction lately, Drew relented to the pressure and informed them in fuzzy details of his new acquaintance.

Not even Fatima, the sorority sister and social butterfly, had heard of her before. This made the mystery of Abby Heyman a topic of discussion that most everyone was eager to pursue with their good friend Drew. Although he had remained tight lipped around his roommates, Margot was confident she could eek out some semblance of genuine answer from him. People - especially the drunk ones - tended to trust her with sensitive information. She already had some of Drew's secrets in her possession, and since she had so far honored his request to never mention Henry's name to anyone, she figured that this would be an easy admission for him.

Of course the truth hung on the tip of Drew's tongue. It was a weight in his chest that roared to be puked out. He had told Carly the day before, when he had sunk back into the part of the plaything, but she was a blank slate to him. Margot and the rest of his friends already had a decent version of him in their heads: all-around normal guy, a lad's lad, somewhat subdued in his behavior. He was rarely the one to bring home the weird news, so how would their perception of him change when they learned that he was the weird news? It wasn't as though sadomasochism ever came up in casual conversation; it was anyone's guess how they'd react to this newfound identity of his. Every guess that Drew made was poisoned with doubt and anxiety.

"Is she here tonight?" Margot began.

"I haven't seen her, and she hasn't mentioned anything to me, so..."

Drew shrugged his shoulders and closed his sentence with a deep sip.

"Well, did you tell her you were here? Maybe she'd appreciate an invitation," she suggested.

"I was planning on hanging with the gang tonight. Let them know I haven't abandoned them or whatever," he responded.

"You can't have us both? You know everyone wants to meet this Abby of yours, Drew."

He reflected on the last time she and he had interacted with normal people. Lady Sparrow only knew how she might torment him in front of a crowd of his closest friends.

"I think it's a little soon," he excused.

Margot scoffed, "we're not your parents, dude. Friends can be friends with friends."

Friends and friends maybe, but friends and Dommes? Drew wasn't so sure.

"Are you worried about looking too serious with her?" she pressed. "Like, I get that, but I don't think it's the biggest deal for your friends to know the people you sleep with. We've all brought a partner or several around before. Hell, my first date with Adrian was at the Fiscal New Year party, y'all met him the same time I did."

Drew pushed his nervousness down long enough to tease, "what a romantic first date."

"Nothing brings a couple together like three straight victories at beer pong. Shit, I'd suggest a two-on-two for an icebreaker, but I wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of her."

Drew imagined beer pong with Lady Sparrow: she sinks every shot perfectly, he fumbles and overshoots then undershoots, which leads to him panicking and flinging the ball in an implausible direction. She mocks him at first, taunting him in whispers before his turn, and then after every miss she chastises him for being such a worthless tag team partner. He'd be better used kneeling under the table to pleasure her between rounds. Then again, it might amuse her to see him embarrassed by two women whose skills far exceed his own. Maybe they would bond well laughing over his pitiful attempts to display anything above total incompetence at the sport.

"I don't know how I'd feel about that," he decided.

"I suppose that's on you to figure out then. All I'm saying is that I think it would be nice to meet her. Do with that opinion what you will."

The DJ threw on a nostalgic Outkast tune, and a cheer from the dance floor called Margot forward. She raised her eyebrows to Drew, imploring silently, but he waved her off. He had thinking to do, and this wasn't his favorite Outkast song anyway. Margot shrugged and the crowd swallowed her up, leaving Drew to scan the faces until his drink was finished. Then, he stepped out of the bar to a private section of the sidewalk to make a phone call.

After a few rings, Abby answered, "hello, pet."

"Hi, Lady Sparrow," he greeted, smiling at the sound of her voice.

He heard another voice in the background, someone male.

"Is someone there with you? I can call back later," he said tentatively.

"No one's with me, it's My Chemical Romance. Jesus, don't you know good music?" she snapped.

"I'm sorry Lady Sparrow, I couldn't tell over the phone," he apologized.

"Excuses, excuses," she huffed. "How are you, darling?"

"I'm drunk. I mean, I'm fine. And drinking. I have drunk. Or drank."

"Oh, a booty call! Don't I feel special," she said dryly.

"No no, I'm not umm... booty calling. I'm at Grounder's again, and I wanted to invite you to meet my friends because you uhh... would appreciate it."

For a few moments, Gerard Way was the only one who spoke.

Eventually, Abby resumed, "awful delivery aside, that is nice of you to offer. I like when you want me."

"I always want you," he assured her.

"No shit. Unfortunately for us both, Carly somehow convinced me to host a party for the theatre kids tomorrow night, so I need tonight to mentally prepare for that."

"That sounds fun!" he said cheerfully.

"Fun for them, maybe. Theatre kids drain me, all that singing and monologuing and incest is just... it makes me feel like the fucking Grinch."

"If you're the Grinch, I'll be your Max," her pet joked.

"My what? Look, I've never actually seen 'The Grinch,' I didn't watch Christmas movies as a kid. Except for 'Die Hard,' but that's different."

"I'd watch it with you if you wanted," he offered. "When it's Christmas time."

Abby chuckled, "that would be cute, angel. You can make us hot chocolate if it gets cold enough."

Across the phone line, the two lingered on a shared image of Abby in a pile of blankets, Drew curled up in her lap, all eyes fixated on the dastardly ol' Grinch stuffing trees up chimneys and creeping on sleeping children. Abby has both big and small marshmallows in her cupboard, but they both prefer the small ones in their cocoa. The big ones are for snacking; whenever Abby desires it, Drew fishes one out of the bag and feeds it to his Miss. She repays him with a pat on the head, a gooey kiss every now and then, and they sip their hot chocolate and gulp up the teeny marshmallows in comfortable silence while Thurl Ravenscroft croons about the depths of the Grinch's meanness.

"You know," she started, her heart warmed by the affection and the imaginary cocoa. "It would make Mistress happy if you'd keep her company while the party is going on."

Familiar sensations fell upon Drew: butterflies in the stomach, buzzing in the ears, heat and hairs rising on the back of his neck.

"How... how many people?" he asked timidly.

Her laughter was deep and overt this time around.

"That'll probably be a surprise for both of us. Don't you enjoy surprises, angel?"

He nodded eagerly in response before remembering that he was on the phone.

"Yes Lady Sparrow, I do. I love your surprises."

"It's not my surprise, this one's from your good friend Carly. I'm sure she'd love to see you strutting around here as much as I would. So, are you interested?"

Drew thought again of the normal people, and the way that Lady Sparrow dared their attention with her unabashed dominance of her slave. She had previously tossed him to the wolves covered in bruises and bodily fluids, not to mention her commission of an indecent show of loyalty in plain view of the plain houses. This was one of her favorite games: the tease of exposure. It wasn't a question of whether she would play it; it was only a question of how. What indignities would she force him to suffer if he went to this party? Would it be subtle hands down unsubtle pants in the dark corners of the room? Would it be an order to grind himself dirty in the center of the floor? She always said she would take him dancing someday.

Then he thought about arm candy. He thought about the hook of his mistress's arm sashaying him through the crowds, making the entirety of the party into a dance floor. He thought about elegant evening gowns and dapper suits, the Saturday night specials and the Sunday best. He listened to the conversations over champagne and the smooth cadence of her voice draping a charm over the eyes of everyone she speaks to. He pictured playing witness to her charismatic captivation of her guests, the knowledgeable way she works the room. Every time she leaves another person smitten with her presence, she glances back at her arm candy and smiles. He smiles in return, the most smitten of them all.

"I would love to come."

"Yeah I know, slut, but that wasn't what I was asking."

After a small chuckle at her own joke, she continued, "I look forward to having you there, my darling. Party starts at 9:30; I accept fashionably late, but you would be a very stupid boy to keep me waiting. Bad things happen to stupid boys, don't they?"

"Y-yes, bad things happen to stupid boys," Drew agreed.

"Spoken like a real smart boy," she praised without enthusiasm. "Anyway, you're distracting me from my meditation. Go be someone else's problem."

"Oh yes, sorry for distracting you. I'll see you tomorrow, Lady Sparrow," he stumbled.

There was the puckering sound of a goodbye kiss, then silence. This silence died suddenly once Drew reawoke to the overpowering din from the nearby bar, which reminded him of his reason for being out tonight. He slipped his way back into Grounder's and looked out onto the rolling hills of heads to find the ones he came in with. Nathan and Beth typically served as the beacon members of the group as a result of their impressive heights, six foot and six foot two, respectively; Beth also had the benefit of vibrantly colored hair that tended to stand out in a crowd. Indeed, it was the green locks that Drew noticed first, and upon approach, he found the rest of his gang fortuitously crowded around her.

"Oh I was wrong, he's still here!" Terry announced when Drew came into view.

The tight circle of friends parted just enough to let him sneak in. The impassioned display of dancing tamed instantly to minute bobbing; the focus of the group had switched from the Sia song blaring through the bar to the surprise reentry of the topical member. The heavy attention made Drew wish Terry had been right, but he caught the beat of the song and mimicked the bobbing as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"I just stepped out for a sec," he explained, maintaining the characteristic vagueness.

"And who were you stepping out with, hmmm?" Beth asked suggestively.

"Me and my phone and no one else," he answered with a defiant grin.

"And who was on the other end, hmmm?" she prodded again.

Nathan raised his hand and interjected, "I think I know who."

Following this move, Terry, Fatima, and even Margot shot up their hands for an opportunity at the question. Beth made for a rendition of "eenie, meenie, miney, moe" before Drew put a stop to their fun.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I was calling my new friend Abby! Don't y'all feel smart?"

"So is she coming?" Margot asked.

"Yes! Tell her to come through!" Fatima cried. "I wanna meet her so so bad, you have no idea."

Ever the buzzkill, Drew informed them, "she can't make it tonight, she told me she's busy... meditating."

"Only a week of knowing you and already she needs time to emotionally recover," Beth teased.

"Why do you think I do so much yoga? I actually have to live with him," Terry complained.

Fatima spoke, "well maybe he'll end up moving in with Abby and you won't have to be roommates anymore."

"You're right," Terry agreed. "Drew, I must insist you wed this woman immediately. I'll call the rabbi."

"I'm not Jewish."

"Doesn't matter, religion is maternal. Miss Heyman is gonna make a mensch out of you!"

Nathan raised his drink and hollered, "mazel tov!"

The gang followed suit, lifting a cheap cup and blessing the union of Abby and Drew with a rousing "mazel tov!" Although the idea of marriage made his heart skip a beat or several, Drew accepted the blessing with a clink of his drink against those of his friends. The next gulp took them under the sway of the new song, and the friends receded into their own minds for a while. Some of them thought of nothing but the tightening and unrolling of their muscles, while others played through visions of swaggering up to the specter of perfection that had kept them enthralled all night. Drew dreamt of wedding dresses.

Cursed light shimmered through the bedroom window. Drew's eyes teared up as they cracked the crust layer apart and took in the overwhelming burn of its brightness. He quickly burrowed under the dark safety of his blanket, sluggishly processing the fact that he was still alive, and very much in pain. His head thumped with every thought, pulsing relentlessly as he listed off all the things he needed to treat his ailments. At the top: a swift death, then water.

The house was filling with the smell of crisping bacon and marijuana, indicating that someone else was awake and likely just as hungover as he was. Drew wiped his bleary eyes clear and dragged himself to the floor. He crawled like the dog he was to the spot near the bed where his clothes had somehow come off and slithered into yesterday's pants. Every joint of his body rusted to life as he pulled himself from the ground and shuffled out of his room into the kitchen. Nathan was bent over the counter, his face buried in his hands and his breakfast sizzling in the pan. A half-smoked bowl and an open bottle of Advil were resting on the table; Drew filled up a tall glass of water and helped himself to both.

Silence reigned. Nathan chewed as gently as he could to limit the agonizing sound of crunchy bacon. Drew cautiously prepared a slice of buttered toast, convinced that he'd end up tasting the first bite twice. By some miracle, the food stayed down, and actually gave him energy enough to speak.