Moxyland

Toby

Sweet K is unexpectedly bold. She pulls into me even before I’m anticipating reaching for her. It’s a little annoying, kids, cos where’s the fun in that? I think about blocking her, but reconsider and kiss her back, hard, devouring, so that she winces from the wound on her mouth. I don’t care.

By the time we make it to the bedroom, her legs are pretzelled round my waist and she’s whimpering for the want of it. The third time, I don’t even get to the condoms. ‘It’s coke,’ she whispers, looking at me with those pale, pale green eyes. ‘The nano’ll kill anything you got.’

‘Did it say so in the contract?’ She laughs and bites my neck and we fuck until I’m raw and aching and glazed from the exertion. Or that could be the virus kicking in. I’m woken by K’s fingers gripping my shoulder in a vice.

‘They found us,’ she hisses.

‘Mmmggh.’ I try to shrug her free and roll over, cos I’m still mostly unconscious, but she won’t let go ‘The chem spray. They tracked us.’ She’s breathing in small rabbity panicky breaths.

‘Go back to sleep. You’re just paranoid.’

‘They’re right outside. Toby!’

‘It’s the sugar. You’re not used to it.’

Only then there’s a noise, a scratch at the door.

She makes a small choked-off sound.

‘It’s just the VIM, baby.’ I pry her fingers loose from my shoulder. ‘You need to drink something.’ I feel around for the glass of water I keep by the bed, but it’s not there, cos my little cleaning friend is too particular in its habits. Grudgingly, I peel back the covers, which are sticky with an alchemy of juices. How did I end up in the wet spot?

As soon as I stand up, though, inky spots swarm in my head and a jazz beat of pain kicks off behind my eye sockets. I stagger, mostly blind, in the general direction of the kitchen. Credit to the girl, she comes after me, naked and armed with a book off my bedside – the collected works of Curtis Malebi, whose prose is dense enough to kill anyone, or at least cause a concussion, if your aim was good. I haven’t opened it in months, but the high-gloss cover makes for a perfect rolling surface.

While I’m focused on getting to the kitchen and a glass of water, she sneaks towards the front door, trading the book for a steel vase, which holds the calcified remains of a chronoorchid. Not as unkillable as the product blurb would have you believe.

‘Hey. Do you want to get your own water? Cos I was quite happy in bed.’

She shoots me a look so tortured, I almost laugh.

‘Baby. It’s okay. It’s just the drugs. There’s nothing out there.’

She’s so sweetly lost, I can’t resist her. I go over and wrap my arms around her, and she’s shaking, wired on the adrenalin. But also very soft and curvy, which stirs something up all over again. Feebly, admittedly, but it does stir.

‘I can tell, Toby. I can feel it,’ she whispers.

‘Shhh. It’s okay.’ I keep my voice as low as hers. ‘Come back to bed.’

I lure her back into the warmth, but she’s not up for anything else. And the truth is, kids, sorry to say, neither am I.