2. Lane

I can"t sleep.

The darkness is closing in on me, magnifying everything in the small cabin that has become painfully claustrophobic. I"m lying here with just a sheet, missing the weight of the blanket, but it"s too hot. It"s too hot for even the sheet, but not having some kind of cover makes me feel exposed.

I"m too exposed as it is. Always too exposed.

The silence in the cabin is loud. I"ve been trying to focus on Noah"s soft, even breaths. But instead of lulling me to sleep like it normally does, it just makes me more aware of him. His presence is like an itch crawling beneath my skin, one I can"t reach without peeling back layers of myself, probably bleeding out in the process.

The sounds of his breaths fill the room, drowning out everything else. I strain my ears to hear anything other than him, anything but the memories of his harsh pants and the way he cried out in the shower. I could hear him through the door.

I wish I hadn"t come back when I did. I should have stayed with Maci. Let her kiss me some more. But I lost my nerve after Noah left.

All I could do was compare them, anyway. They"re my only two experiences with kissing, and so drastically different from each other. Maci"s kiss was gentle and hopeful, but her lips were both too soft and too sticky with lip gloss that tasted like candy. It reminded me of the taste of Skittles on Noah"s mouth, the harsher push and pull of his lips coaxing mine to open. Maci didn"t slip me any tongue the way Noah did, and I"m both grateful and disappointed.

I felt nothing when she kissed me. Yet, when Noah kissed me, I felt everything. And that…terrifies me.

It"s too quiet. Too hot. Too everything. The cabin doesn"t so much as creak or settle; the wind doesn"t blow. Even the crickets and owls and other nighttime sounds of being in a cabin in the woods have abandoned me to my torment. All I can hear is him. With each heavy breath, he draws out more of the air in the room. He breathes it in, makes it his own before breathing out again, sending it over to me, forcing me to exist on something else he"s recycled. I try to breathe less, to hold my breath, until I have to take in a deeper lungful when I can"t hold it any longer.

I"m hyper aware of his presence, his smell. My lungs ache, and that persistent itch of awareness infiltrates my airflow. He"s under my skin and in my lungs. It"s too much.

Even asleep, he"s ruining my life. Making me think things I don"t want to think about.

The problem I"ve been trying to ignore for the past hour isn"t helping. The more I try to focus on anything else, the worse it gets. Even remembering my grandfather and what he would say does nothing to make it better. It only gets worse.

It"s normal. It"s natural. It"s a part of growing. That"s what my mom says, but what does she know?

It's not what Grandfather said. He said it"s the devil trying to get inside me. And the more I think of that, the more it makes sense. I can feel Noah"s tainted air trying to suffocate me, trying to get inside my brain, scrambling it and making me dizzy. Each exhale of the stupid boy on the other side of the room passes more toxicity into my system. It"s infecting my bloodstream that seems only able to travel in one direction tonight.

It"s starting to hurt.

I press my palm against the bulge that"s tenting my boxers and the sheet, nearly groaning with relief at the slight touch. I move my hand quickly away, unwilling to tempt myself further.

"Don"t stop on my account."

I nearly lurch off my bed, hitting my head so hard on the metal headboard there will probably be a lump. My hand flies farther away from my erection to touch the tender spot.

"I said, don"t stop."

His voice is gravelly with sleep, sounding irritated to have been woken. My eyes fly across the room, finding Noah propped up on one arm, staring at me intensely. A beam of moonlight lays across the bed, perfectly highlighting his usually smiling features. The eerie way the shadows fall across his face makes his hooded eyes look darker than ever. Sinister. Evil. Like the devil that will most certainly swallow my blackened soul.

After over an hour of listening to his even breaths and overthinking every exhale, I somehow missed that he woke up. Or was he awake this entire time, watching me squirm and panic internally over sharing space with him?

My voice sounds rough and strangled even to my ears as I stutter and struggle to ignore his words. "I th-thought you w-were asleep."

"How can I sleep when you"re over there tossing and turning, breathing all weird? Just fucking jerk it already so we can both get some sleep."

I wince at his language and the force in his tone, biting back without thinking. "Like you were in the shower?"

I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth. Now he knows I heard him. It incriminates me more than it does him. I was listening and now he knows it.

Noah chuckles darkly. "You liked that, didn"t you? Knowing I was in there touch?—"

"No!" I spit out the words before he can go any further. "I didn"t."

Really, I didn"t. I tried not to listen, tried not to hear. Because I didn"t want to hear. I didn"t want to think of him like that.

They"re the wrong thoughts. The wrong thing. The wrong feelings.

It"s all wrong.

"I didn"t?—"

"Touch yourself like I was."

My eyes feel like they might pop out of their sockets at his words. I blink rapidly, processing what he"s asking me to do. No, not asking. Commanding.

The bulge in my boxers twitches, and I have to look away from the salacious grin that slowly spreads across his face. It"s like he can see inside my thoughts.

"N-no."

"Why not?"

"I don"t want to."

"Liar."

His audacity astounds me, and I turn away from the intensity of his glare. He"s still facing me, leaning towards me.

"I don"t do that."

He scoffs. "Everyone does it."

"N-no they don"t. I don"t. It"s wr?—"

"Put your hand on it."

When I don"t move, I hear him shift, and I flinch, worried he"ll come over here. I peek over my shoulder to find him leaning towards me. He looks me right in the eye, the contact scorching my retinas. It makes my brain feel hot, and I expect there should be steam coming out of my ears like an old cartoon. When I don"t move to obey him, he stands, taking a few menacing steps toward me.

"Do it, Lane."

I don"t like hearing him say my name. The name I gave myself, to make myself new. I was supposed to start over, and he ruined me the first chance he got.

"Fuck off," I snap, surprising myself by using the curse without stuttering. "You can"t make me do anything."

"Wanna bet?" he threatens, crossing his arms over his chest. When I still don"t move to obey him, he jerks forward, and my hand instinctively flies to my crotch to block him.

"Don"t touch me!" I say quickly, my voice cracking. Please don"t touch me. I wouldn"t be able to stand it.

His eyebrows raise, and once again, I have the distinct impression he knows what I"m thinking. That he knows why I don"t want to do this. With him.

Noah nods towards my hand, and I realize with dismay that I"m squeezing myself through my boxers and the sheet. His chin lifts, silently commanding me to keep going. With my eyes locked on his, I press down on my erection and slowly stroke myself.

"Feels good, right?" he asks, his voice husky.

Even through my boxers and the sheet, the pressure does feel good, but I fight to keep my features neutral. I refuse to react, to give him anything to use against me. His lips smooth out into a soft, knowing grin. It makes him look even more dangerous.

Reaching forward, he pinches the edge of the sheet and pulls it off me before I can grab hold of it, and I"m left in nothing but my boxer shorts. My sleep pants, t-shirt, and socks are all balled at the bottom of the bed, discarded in the effort to cool my overheated body.

All of my exposed skin burns, as if Noah were a bonfire and I"m sitting too close. But there"s nowhere to go to get more space. I"m pressed against the wall, as far from him as I can go, pretending that I"m not a moth drawn to the flames.

Noah takes a small step back, and I relax a little. When he doesn"t relax, his hard stare not moving from me, I slowly return my hand to the massive erection I couldn"t avoid even if I wanted to.

With every tentative squeeze and stroke, I fall deeper into temptation. I"m Eve, biting into the apple, promised all the knowledge in the world. Noah is nothing more than the serpent, with his heated glare pinning me to the bed.

"Take it out," he says, his voice low, almost a whisper.

"Noah—"

"Take. It. Out."

Pressure builds up behind my eyes, but the heat of my body evaporates any tears before they fall. Or at least that"s how I imagine it happening. I refuse to let anyone see me cry, much less him. Especially him. I refuse to let him know he affects me.

"Need some help?" he taunts. "I bet you"d like that, wouldn"t you?"

"No!" The flush of heat that overtakes my already feverish body is concerning. My boxers strain to keep me inside as my erection grows impossibly harder.

"Do it, or I"ll do it for you," he says, his voice barely above a growl.

My throat struggles to swallow the saliva that has built up in my mouth. Trembling, my hand slips into the front of my boxers, fisting my erection. My abs contract with the contact, drawing Noah"s attention. His gaze runs the length of my body before he raises his eyes back to mine with an impatient expression.

He"s not going to give in. He"s like a dog with a new squeaky toy. He"s going to hold me in his jaws and shake me until he"s punctured me and torn me apart. Until there"s nothing left.

I should get up, push him out of my way, and leave. I"m bigger than him. Physically, I'm stronger. I could beat him up easily.

But I won"t, and he knows it. Because I"d have to explain to someone, somewhere, why I can"t sleep in my own cabin. Because I"d have to stand up in front of him, get closer to the flame.

…Because I don"t really want to stop, and telling myself I don't have a choice feels like the safest way to satiate the curiosity inside me.

He traps me under the weight of his searing glare. I can"t look away from him. Part of me wants to look away and pretend this isn"t happening. Another part of me—the broken, vile, tainted part of me—is exhilarated by his attention. How much hotter would my skin burn if his eyes left mine, and he turned his heated stare on my body, watching me as I comply with his demands.

The broken part of me wins. I let the devil overtake my better sense, and give into temptation. Visions of Noah doing exactly what he threatened flood my brain. It's so vivid I"m left with no doubts that he is truly the devil"s tool.

"Stroke it," he whispers.

My eyes flutter as I do what he says. Seconds or minutes or hours pass. It feels like I"ve been here forever and yet it all happens so fast. Once I"ve started, I don"t need his coaxing to keep going. Shivers of pleasure race up my spine, and my breath catches. I stare so intently back at Noah that the pools of darkness in his eyes feel fathomless, and I am drowning in their depths. My vision blurs with pleasure as release builds, and the darkness seems to overtake the whites of his eyes.

"You"re the devil," I mutter breathlessly. Noah"s tongue swipes across his bottom lip.

My body explodes with a force I can"t comprehend. I"ve done it before. Masturbated. I know it"s wrong, and I hate myself more every time I let temptation get the better of me. Recently I"ve thought about it more often than not. He"s always here. Too close. Crowding me with the way he smells and the way he makes my brain feel so overstimulated.

Sometimes I feel like I have no other choice, and I chastise myself when I realize I"ve fallen for the trick of temptation again.

But it"s never felt like this. Never have I doubled my efforts and moaned out loud from the force of the pleasure that nearly tears me in half.

And never once have I looked into the eyes of a demon while I did it.

But I can"t stop. I can"t look away.

When the climax finally recedes, I"m left feeling like a deflated balloon. I slump back against my pillow, breathing as heavily as I do after running drills all day. Sweat drips down my brow, and my skin prickles with gooseflesh.

My vision is hazy as I stare up at the beams that run across the ceiling, waiting until Noah"s menacing shadow retreats to his own bed. I don"t need to look at him to see his wicked grin of victory, or have mind powers to know that he"ll use this to make my life hell. When I hear his bed creak under his weight, I let out a silent breath and turn to face the wall. Reaching for my balled-up t-shirt, I wipe away the evidence of my shame. I"m too embarrassed to get up and walk across the room to pick up my sheet, or go to the bathroom to clean myself properly, or to even breathe too loudly. I'm too exhausted to move anyway.

My eyes finally fall closed, and I surrender to the heaviness of sleep.

I dream of a shadowy, demonic figure with piercing dark eyes that lull me into a hypnotic state. It holds me down and does things to me with a long, red tongue that slithers wetly along my skin, burning me alive with the heat of its touch. My prayers to God to make it stop become cries for more, until the lashing of the monster"s tongue becomes the lashes of my grandfather"s belt.

"You"re a sinner and you must repent. Use the pain. Use the pain," he repeats until I"m sucked down through my bed and the wooden floor, into the ground where the dirt and roots and rock suffocate me, and then I'm falling, dropped into a lake of hellfire.

I sleep later than I have in a long time, not waking until my alarm goes off. When I shoot out of my bed, still sweaty and panting from the fear in my nightmare, my boxers are wet and Noah"s bed is empty.