Does It Hurt?

by H.D. Carlton

“I’m terribly sorry for not passing your standards on what a woman of twenty-nine years should look like. Thank my skincare routine. Can I have my drink now?”

Why don’t you make it more interesting and say you’re more likely to get killed by a falling coconut?”

He just… listens, and attentively at that. Like the next thing out of my mouth just might be the cure for cancer. Too bad I am the fucking cancer.

The only type of daddy I'm interested in is the sugary ones.” “Would you like to go write your number on the bathroom wall?” he proposes. “Don’t think whoever calls would be the type to take home to your parents, though.”

“Why do people say the universe makes them feel small but never say that about waterfalls?” “Probably because they feel waterfalls can be conquered. But no one will ever conquer the universe.” I jut out my bottom lip, considering his response. “The ocean hasn’t been conquered. People don’t say that about them, either.”

“Those people have never been in the middle of the ocean then.”

“Only if you promise not to touch me,” I call back. “I promise not to do anything you don’t beg me for.”

I’m in trouble, but it’s the type of danger that makes you smile uncontrollably as you ride the line between life and death. The kind of danger that gives you a thrill, makes you feel alive, and then leaves you bereft and empty when it’s over.

“Want to know what I thought of you when we were in the bar?” I quiz. “That I could get you pregnant with one look,” he reiterates dryly. Liquid heat pools low in my stomach from his words. I don’t even want kids, so it’s shameful to admit that I’m incredibly turned on. It’s like your celebrity crush talking about knocking you up. Doesn’t matter if you want kids or not, your panties immediately melt at the thought.

“No, bella, I’m going to make you take it from me. If you want a predator to submit to you, then you need to be stronger.”

“We’re in the middle of a big bowl of monster soup. I’m pretty sure I should’ve brought diapers.”

He may be incredible in bed, but I guarantee these monsters are far scarier than the one between his legs.

“They won’t, like, eat the boat, right?” “Why eat the boat when they can eat you instead?”

“Sure, they’ll take a little nibble, say blech, and swim away. Meanwhile, they have my leg caught in their teeth, and I’ll live the rest of my life as a half-cyborg.”

“There are worse things in life than being a half-cyborg,” he says, grabbing another bucket and dumping it in the ocean. He would know, he practically is one.

“Does it hurt, baby?”

“Where did you get this?” he asks, wiggling the book and ignoring me. “The bookshelf. It's a shelf that you put books on,” I clip. “Where did you get your audacity?”

While my bravery is forced, the way my body reacts to him is anything but. There’s a constant battle of fighting my attraction to him and convincing myself that any man could make my knees weaken with a single look.

“Oh God,” I cry, trying to keep my voice down but failing miserably. “Can you see him, baby? Ask him for forgiveness.” “Why?” I pant, another high-pitched moan nearly swallowing the word. “Because you worship me now.”

“Because it pisses me off that I want you as badly as I do,”

If I’m the siren, then he must be Poseidon, an angry god who commands my body like it’s the ocean beneath his fingertips.

We both lost pieces of ourselves that day. But as time passed while stuck in that lighthouse, we slowly merged our remaining scattered pieces until we made more sense together than we did apart.

by a clown fish and scrambling over to the other side of the building where it swims. “It’s Nemo!” she screeches excitedly.