Sirens and Other Daemon Lovers

So, the party. Which was as punishing as any party I’d been to before. We drank. And then there was a spot of serious drinking. And a post-drink drinking session and then a long stretch of complete and utter drinking. Benjie’s windows in the living room had been sealed shut by whoever had last painted the flat. It grew so stifling that the ceiling eventually shed a thin, bitter rain of nicotian moisture. I ranged around the room, trying to find the door so that I might lose some of my own fluids but it appeared that someone had painted that in too. I started laughing till panic hovered but rescued myself by simply pissing my pants. It proved an excellent sobering technique. I poured what was left of my Budweiser on to my jeans and made like I was the clumsiest arse ever but nobody cared a toss. I found the door where I’d left it and spilled on to the landing. Someone was playing Nirvana—Drain You—with the volume turned all the way up to eleven. I yelled a line from the chorus and dived for the toilet only to find a queue which, in all probability, was the longest toilet queue in the history of clenched bladders. I had the last laugh, though, when my brain caught up with the fact that I’d already been.

Simon’s disembodied head loomed in front of mine. “Where the fuck is the rest of you?” I almost shrieked, but it was all there, just slow in arriving. God, I was spannered. He grinned, showing off a gold pre-molar. He smelled of beer, smoke, and CK One but then, so did everybody else. His skin possessed a greasy olive hue; up close I could see that his lips were rugose and discolored. His rubberized partner, I guessed, was being trampolined elsewhere.

“Highayemsimon,” he said. “Hooeyoo?”

“Me no speaka your language,” I replied, suddenly cottoning on to his flighty Scots burr. I barked laughter and slapped him on the arm. “Sorry. I thought… I thought… oh, cocks to it. I’m Shhhhhuh… Sean. Benj told me you were Simon but it’s good to have it confirmed.”

“Hoowazatlassyacuminwi?”

“Her name’s Louise.” I came right back with that one, getting into the swing of it.

“Shizaspankinlassamtellinyi.”

“Too right.” I sensed he was waiting for me to continue. “She’s not with me, if that’s what you’re wondering.” If I’d had my brains in properly, I’d have asked him to be tame on her; she wasn’t ready for some fast talking shagmeister bundling her into his bed. Talking about Louise reminded me that she was here. I caught sight of her standing on the edge of an intense circle, watching the interplay. She looked—God, strange word to use but it summed up her appearance—she looked ripe. Her face was jutting and beautiful, her eyes hungry on everyone. Having finally divested herself of the coat, her breasts hugged the deep collar of her blouse like loaves in an oven besting their tins. No longer the ingénue I’d staggered into adulthood alongside, she appeared confident and armed with secrets, like a soldier returned from a killing field.

But that could have just been the alcohol, twatting around with my head.

I started toward her, eager to let loose some of the thoughts with which I’d been so circumspect that afternoon. I wanted to draw her into the crook of my arm and tell her I’d missed her. Tell her I was sorry.

But then Simon was locked on to her, their bodies flush with each other as they traded words. I watched them flirt, dipping heads against ears so that lips brushed lobes. Yoked together, I watched the tethered jewel at Louise’s throat move with each undulation they created. Violence spread through me. I wish I could have let it come. Louise’s capitulation and Benjie’s hand on my shoulder prevented me. In that moment, Simon was condemned.

Black out.

I surfaced from a terrible dream in which I’d been kissing a woman whose lips were sticky, whose tongue, whenever it emerged to roil against mine, was coated in a clear membrane. She worked my mouth with spidery endeavor, knitting it closed with her adhesive spit. Black eyes burning into mine. When she wrestled with her clothing, to reveal that yawning part of her which would dissolve and ingest me, I lurched away, opening my eyes to dawn as it drizzled the curtains. Bodies were sprawled around me. I hauled myself upright, shuddering with cold and the mother and father of all hangovers. The Fear unzipped its dark little bag and teased me with its contents but I couldn’t remember anything beyond Benjie, me, and a bottle of vodka. My jeans felt stiff against my legs. There was a smear of lipstick on the back of my hand.