Chasing Shadows Page 5

  Qasim is standing next to me looking sheepish. I put my hand on his upper arm to reassure him. He shifts to wrap that arm around my shoulders. I melt at the contact, like I do when I've been drinking. This is nice.

  “What do you want to eat?” He asks.

  I just said cheese sticks, I think to myself. The others are talking, but I can’t concentrate on anything they’re saying.

  “What’ve you got?” I ask, wrapping my arm around his waist. Its a good fit.

  Qasim laughs nervously, running his free hand through his hair.

  Ooo there’s the shadow. “Hi.” I whisper.

  “Hi.” Qasim answers with a grin, as he leads me to the door. He doesn’t know I wasn’t talking to him. Ha! Better not tell him. As Qasim opens the door, the shadow takes on a bird-like shape and flies down the stairwell. I poke my head around the corner to watch it go. Qasim laughs as he leads me out the threshold and closes the door behind us.

  “It’s just you and me now.” I say.

  Qasim smiles. He doesn’t know what I really mean. “Yeah.” he answers, running his hand over my hair.

  “Uh, sorry about that.”

  “What?” He squeaks.

  It’s getting sort of cute. “The hair. It’s all stiff, because Fin put this junk in it. She didn’t think I was cool enough to just come as myself, so she dressed me up like Rainbow Hooker Bright.”

  “She was nervous.” Qasim says.

  “Yeah I guess.” I nod. We’re going down the steps now and I’m grateful for Qasim keeping me upright. My hand has migrated down to his hip somehow. I bet I could get laid if I wanted to. This is the type of thought that normally puts the fear of God in me, but not tonight, thank you Heineken. “Have your balls dropped?” I ask as we reach the bottom landing.

  “What?”

  I meet his eyes. They look offended, and maybe confused. I reach up and grab his face in both my hands. “Sometimes I say things.” I tell him. “Don’t freak out.”

  His skin is sooo nice. I like his lips. His breath smells like beer and candy. I see him come to some conclusion. Now he’s leaning down.

  My body gets tingly. My nipples get hard. Oh my God, I think, what the fuck am I doing? Now Qasim's lips are on mine. His tongue presses into my mouth. We’re making those gross, mouth noises as he backs me up against the wall. I angle my hips up to him. He groans. That wasn’t so squeaky. And soon he’s got those long, long fingers on my hips. His right hand moves down my thigh and lifts it up. Oh God this feels good. I wrap my leg around him and he lifts me by my waist, moving his pelvis forward so that my area rests on his area. I let out a noise that’s something like a whimper as I run my hands through his hair. It’s silky and soft. Holy Fuck, what am I doing? His hands are under my shirt on my abdomen. My jacket feels way too bulky as I press my chest into him. My messenger bag is in the way of those hands. He’s hard, holy shit, he’s hard and big, I can feel it through my jeans. I rub up against him and open my eyes. I see the vomit and piss on the floor. I notice the fluorescent lights and the cigarette butts. He’s still all groping hands and slobbery kisses. I pull back which isn’t very effective as I’m up against the wall.

  “Dude.” I say around his tongue.

  “Uh.” He goes. His hands squeeze my sides then my thighs, as he thrusts his hips and his cock into me through our clothes.

  “Not here man.” I say.

  Qasim pulls back. “Where?”

  I shrug, and stroke his face, giving in to the moment. I guess I'm going to do this thing. “Your place?"

  He sighs, squeezing my hips and presses his erection into me again before putting me down. “You’re not gonna want to.” He squeaks. “I’ll take you there, and on the way we’ll talk, and you’ll sober up. You won’t want to. It’s my voice.”

  Hmm, perceptive, I look down at his mouth and back to his eyes. “That’s just a chance you’ll have to take, Qasim, because I’m not fucking you in this pissy stairwell by a glass door. Maybe we don’t talk much, huh? Maybe you keep your hands...” I stop, stretching my face up to get my tongue in his mouth. I move his left hand between my legs and press it there, hard. Qasim exhales. I move my mouth down to his neck and kiss it, knowing I'm being way too easy and not caring in the least. Now I run my teeth over his skin bearing down just a little. I leave his hand on my va-jay-jay, and move mine to his cock which is pressing firmly into his jeans. He sighs, moving his long, excellent fingers rhythmically over my sweet spot. There is a sound from above. The door is opening, “Fuck.” I giggle, pulling back. I open the glass door. “Let’s go.”

  Qasim grins and rushes out after me. He wraps his arms around me from behind. I feel him against my back. We walk awkwardly like that for a few paces, both of us giggling stupidly. Jesus, I think, what if he’s right? How awkward will that be if I get him home and don’t want to fuck him? “Hot damn, its cold.” I say.

  Qasim steps around to the side of me. He opens his mouth to reply but thinks better of it. Instead he nuzzles his face into my neck, trying to give me a hickey as we move forward. I giggle. It’s slow going to walk and make out at the same time, but its fun. Its also cold, damn cold. My nipples are painfully hard. Qasim notices. He grabs one.

  “Ow.” I’m looking out over the empty sidewalk. There’s the shadow! I watch it cross the street, while Qasim the squeaky lead singer of Condition, teases my left nipple and I almost fail to notice the yellow cab. Almost. “Hey!” I yell flailing my arm, “cab!”

  Qasim detaches himself from my neck as the cab pulls over. We run to meet it. I scramble in first and He folds his extra long body in after me. My God I want to grab his thighs, so I do. It’s blessedly warm in here.

  “Where to?” The cabbie says.

  Qasim leans forward to give the man an address, keeping his voice down, probably trying to minimize my hearing it. While they’re talking, I reach my drunken hand up the back of his shirt, enjoying the feel of skin. Are those ribs? Holy shit he’s skinny. What am I doing? The world spins. Now we’re moving and Qasim turns towards me, his hand on my thigh. He’s squeezing it, massaging it, sending tingles of pleasure up to my brain with those long, pretty, brown fingers. I might be moaning. The cabbie checks us out in the rearview. Is that embarrassment trying to crowd the party? My experience of life is getting a little disjointed now. I’m floating in a back seat sea of arms and legs. I close my eyes for a second. When I open them Qasim is helping me out of the cab.

  “Maybe you’re too drunk for this.” He whispers, disappointment on his face.

  I stroke his hair. “I like you.” I whisper back, but now I ruin it by snapping my head around to follow the flight of a black, shadow bird that Qasim clearly can’t see.

  Qasim cocks an eyebrow. Man he has great eyebrows! He shrugs, shakes his head, and draws me into his arms. “I’ll cook you something; you should eat.”

  I follow him up some steps I barely register, and wait in the cold while he fumbles with his key. He supports my weaving, drunk ass as I stumble into his apartment. We enter in the kitchen, and he sits me down at the table. Wordlessly Qasim goes to the fridge and opens the freezer compartment. He pulls out a box and shows it to me. Cheese sticks!

  “Awesome!” I say.

  Qasim smiles, dumps some out onto a plate, and sticks them in the microwave. He sits down next to me in the other kitchen chair. We’re not touching now which seems lonely to me. I reach for his knee.

  “You don’t really... I mean...” he’s whispering to hide the pitch of his voice. It’s irritating me.

  “Hey!” I say firmly. “Stop that.” With absolutely no grace, I stand up, move over, straddle the confused guy and sit in his lap facing him. I run my hands through his hair. “You don’t have to whisper.” I say.

  He just looks at me with an expression like ‘yeah sure’.

  “Really.” I slur. “So your voice is different. So fucking what? If you had a low voice you’d be totally intimidating, and I wouldn’t even be able to talk to you.”


  Qasim laughs but his hands are at his sides not touching me.

  Up with this, I will not put. I grab those long, lovely hands and place them on my thighs. “You changed your mind?” I ask. “After you were worried I’d change mine?”

  For an answer, Qasim lifts my shirt and buries his head in my boobs. I smile, that’s better. His voice comes out muffled and squeaky. “I know I’m gonna regret this, but you seem pretty cool, so I’m gonna say...” Here he pauses, brings his hands in under my shirt and uses them to squeeze my breasts to his face. I feel tongue and then the hot exhale of breath as he sighs. “We should wait until you’re sober and see what you think then.”

  Vague memories of my sobriety filter up through the fog. I sigh too, on purpose, and arch my back, shoving my boobs into his face. Can’t let a statement, like the one Qasim just made, go untested. His hands move down and squeeze my thighs. I wriggle my hips forward, grinding. The microwave beeps. Food?

  “Cheese sticks?” He squeaks through my boobs.

  I laugh. “Fuckin’ ay.” I say, grabbing his head and smothering him for a second before I dismount, nearly falling over the table in the process. He laughs with me as he gets up to get the food. “Marinara?” I ask

  “Nope, sorry.”

  I could get to like his weird little voice, I tell myself. I raise my arms to shoulder level, palms up. “So what do you dip them in?”

  Qasim snickers at the sight of me. “Ranch.” He says. “Hey.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I tell the guys we did it? It’s gonna suck admitting I let the chance pass me by.”

  I nod. “Yeah sure. I’ll say it was great, you’re huge, and I couldn’t walk in the morning...” I pause, my mind is racing, and my mouth is on autopilot. “Tell them I sucked you off after.” I laugh. “Ha! Tell them I swallow. That’s hilarious!”

  Qasim sets the food on the table with an incredulous smile. “Yeah, we’ll have to re-evaluate that in the morning.”

  I begin stuffing my face. “How old are you?” I ask through my food.

  “28.” He says

  I nod. “You’re fucking beautiful.” I confess. Too much perhaps? But I don’t let that stop me. “When you walked in, I couldn’t see anything but you. I was terrified. I just knew I’d make an ass of myself...” I pause to swallow and reflect. “Good thing that didn’t happen huh?” I laugh and Qasim laughs with me.

  “Then I opened my mouth.” He says.

  I nod. “And all my anxiety evaporated, leaving me free to be the suave, social genius I truly am.” I snort.

  Qasim reaches over and brushes my hair behind my ear. “You want to shower?”

  My eyes light up. “You joining me?”

  He grins: it’s amazing. “No, but you said you don’t like all that junk in your hair.”

  “Oh yeah.” I shrug. “I don’t know, I’m pretty woozy. What time is it?”

  “Just midnight.”

  “Really? Shit.”

  There’s a long pause in conversation while we both attack the cheese sticks.

  “You could sleep it off.” He says at last.

  “That sounds good.”

  Qasim leads me to the bedroom, where I remove my shirt and bra because I can. I lie down on the bed and he spoons up behind me, cupping my left breast in his hand. I’m having thoughts about how we’ll probably have sex when we wake up, and maybe more than that. Maybe we’ll be a couple, at least for a while. We could hang out, call each other, and have sex a lot. I could become friends with the other band chicks. I get the impression Qasim’s thinking the same kinds of thoughts because he sighs real sweet, and kisses my shoulder before I fall off to sleep.

  ***

  I wake in the dark and am disoriented. I’m not in my bed. I see light from a streetlamp falling through the window and on the floor. I see a shadow dart across it. I feel an arm wrapped around me. I lie still holding my breath. The sensation of the arm doesn’t go away, and now I remember Qasim. I exhale. I guess he’s awake because he asks, “What is it?”

  A shiver passes over me and I blurt out. “I’m not truly very cool Qasim. I’m actually kind of crazy, schizophrenic maybe.”

  He stiffens, removing his arm form around me. “You don’t need to make shit up, Meegan. I knew you wouldn’t be that into me sober.”

  Well, that made me angry. I sit up and face him. “Remember when we got out of the cab and I said I liked you and then my head jerked?”

  He nods, defensive but listening, which begs the question, why am I telling him this?

  “Well, I saw a shadow bird, and you didn’t see it, so I know I was hallucinating. It flew right by our heads.”

  Qasim narrows his gaze. He hasn’t decided if I’m telling the truth or not so I go on.

  “I see them all the time, all over the place, but mostly around my apartment, and they're not always birds. Sometimes they’re just orbs or blobs, like, floating. They used to be literally just moving shadows out of the corners of my eyes, but now sometimes they’re solid and I can see them straight on. They’re not always dark, sometimes they're light. Also I’ll get this feeling and then see someone standing behind me, over my shoulder. When I turn there’s no one there. Also...” I go on, I can’t stop now. “I feel things: taps on the shoulder, breath on my neck, hands on my back, I’ve been pinched. And there’s never anyone there.” I stop and catch my breath for a second. “I don’t know why I’m spilling my guts here. Maybe it’s because, if you want to hang out or whatever, more than just tonight, then I think you should know about it. Besides that, I’m just generally sick of pretending to be normal all the time.” Now I’m embarrassed so I turn my head away from him. “Don’t turn me into a psych ward. I’m not ready to be committed yet.” I say, sulking like a little kid.

  Qasim is silent for a long time. “Is everyone who sees things schizophrenic? Could you be seeing real things that the rest of us don’t?”

  “You’re just trying to be nice.”

  Qasim sits up. “No really, if you’re having a psychotic break then you need help, but what if you’re a medium or something?”

  “Oh Christ, you believe in that shit?”

  Qasim shrugs. “I don’t know. I believe lots of stuff and none of it. What if you tested it?”

  Now he has my full attention. “What do you mean?”

  “Have you ever asked them what they want? Tried to follow them? If it’s a ghost, maybe it’s trying to tell you something.”

  I hug my knees to my chest, thinking. “Huh... Maybe I could do that, and if they led me to nothing, and I end up traipsing through the sewers or some shit, I’ll snap out of it when the sun comes up, and cart my own ass off to the loony bin.” I’m nodding. This idea has merit. I’ve momentarily forgotten about Qasim. “Then I’d know. That’s what makes you nuts, not knowing if it’s real.” I look at him and smile, but he doesn’t return the smile.

  “Yeah,” he says, “I don’t think I want to see you, you know, like that.”

  I balk. “I told you I’m not making it up.”

  Qasim nods. “And I think I believe you. Look I know I sound funny, but I think I deserve to be with a girl who’s not crazy... Not that I’m saying you’re crazy, but there’s a good chance, and I’m really not like, committed to seeing you through therapy or anything.”

  I stare at him. “Whoa.” I say. “Okay, good call.” I stand up to gather my stuff. This is when I realize I’m topless. Great, rejected with the boobs out. Excellent moment. I’ll wanna remember this forever, wish I had my camera. Trying not to look pathetic or angry, I find my bra and shirt, get dressed, and get my boots on, jacket and bag, finally I’m ready. I look at him. “Gonna see me out?”

  Qasim nods, biting his lip humorlessly. “Yeah, I gotta lock up behind you.” He says. Awesome.

  Chapter Four

  A great wind blows through my apartment. My sheets fly up around my torso, as I sit bolt upright in bed. My lights are off, but I can see. Everything glows with a bl
ue-white light. It’s so hot, this wind. My hair whips at my face. I hear my cupboards banging on their hinges. Bang! Must be the fridge fell over. You have got to be kidding me, how will I ever get that back up? The wind begins to swirl, knocking pictures off the walls. I am overcome with a sense of great urgency. My heart beats so fast. It’s hot, hot, hot. I sweat, but the moisture is whisked away by the howling wind. I can't hear anything over that howl. I shake and fight the current to untangle myself from my sheets, to get up, to do anything. I feel tiny and powerless. Somehow I make it to my feet. Debris flies against me. Clothes and papers catch on my legs. Smaller items: lighters and my phone, thwack me about the head. I squint into the gale. The current sucks the moisture from my eyes. "What do you want?!" I scream. My voice is sucked into the wind. It’s turned to silence and I wake up.

  I sigh, glad it was just a dream. I see nothing in the darkness. My heart thuds. I feel around me on the bed. Where are my covers? My body quakes. My throat is so dry. My eyes sting. I get up and nearly fall over from my weak knees. Not even trying for nonchalance, I pitch myself across the room towards the lamp. I feel my hands hit the wall instead. Where's the lamp? I step back. Clang, my leg hits a metal post. The lamp? I sink to my knees, groping blindly with my hands. I find the post and follow it to its end, finding the knob. I turn it and yelp. The room looks like a hurricane hit.

  "My God." I gasp. I see my blankets piled up against the far wall. My pictures: landscapes and cheap prints of Van Gogh, are scattered around the room. I raise a hand to my head and, in so doing, feel that my hair is sticking straight up. Jesus, I think, this is too real. I use the wall for support as I stand. I'm about to go and check the damage in the other room when I feel hands, warm and dry, on my shoulders. I look at my shoulders without moving my head, nothing, no one. I take a shaky breath and bravely close my eyes. "What do you want?" I say softly.

  I wake up. Oh my God. It's dark, pitch black. I'm going to have to re-think the foil over my windows. I feel around the bed, find my blanket with my hand, and breathe a sigh of relief. Strangely, I'm not really scared. At least that's what I tell my self, until I stand up and my legs are shaking. I walk slowly to the doorway from memory. I find the lamp, right where it should be. I twist it on. Ca-click, I shudder. All's well. Everything is in its place. Why does that bother me more?