Theophagy

The music is louder now—maybe because the alcohol’s finally kicked in, or maybe because my heartbeat’s pounding in my ears like a war drum.

I throw my leg over Daniel’s lap on that wicker couch out back, twisting just enough to keep my nipple at his mouth between our breathless, biting kisses. My chest arches toward him, feeding it to him like an offering. His fingers press into my inner thigh, tracing circles that make my hips jerk forward.

We’re a sideshow, sure—people pass by, watching for a moment before returning to their blunts and beer pong—but to us, it’s church. Our bodies are temples, and we are the filthy sinners seeking redemption at the altar.

My top’s askew, and he’s sucking the hell out of me—hard, greedy—fingers brushing under my shorts.

He drags his knuckles along my sweaty fold and I forget where I am for a second. The air is thick with weed smoke and desert heat, and suddenly I feel like I’m floating above it all—watching the scene from somewhere just outside myself.

“Yo—take that shit inside!” TJ’s voice cuts through the haze like a thunderclap to shoo us toward Cho’s room.

I blink, dazed. Daniel’s mouth is still hot on my skin. Jess giggles behind us, slurring something about “damn teenagers," even though none of us are.

We stumble in, tongues wrestling between laughter and gasps. I pull my shirt off, push him back onto the mattress, and climb on top. His mouth is all tongue and worship. My breasts hang over his face, heavy and slick with heat. He groans into me, lips trailing my ribs like he’s mapping a constellation.

"You’re a fucking goddess," he moans.

"Oh yeah?"

"Fuck yeah," he slurs.

I laugh with a sigh. “Then get on your knees, priest.”

His obedience is immaculate.

He yanks my shorts down and buries his face between my legs like he’s praying in reverse. Like I’m salvation and he’s been denied it for years. His tongue moves with purpose—tracing sacred geometry. My thighs tremble, my fingers clawing at the sheets. I choke on a moan that sounds more like grief than pleasure.

I close my eyes and fall inward.

I’m 14 again, staring at the ceiling in Chris’s car while headlights bounce off the trees.

A sensation brings me back to the present, the party still roaring on the other side of the wall. His fingers are inside me. Thumb pressing just enough to make me whimper. I roll my hips and let the friction drag me back into my body.

He lies back, eyes glazed, mouth glistening. “Climb on,” he whispers. “Take me to heaven—or ride me to hell.”

I straddle him and take him hard, slow—dragging him through every version of me. The me that was broken. The me that still believed in salvation. The me that climbed into a drug dealer’s car because she thought it was fate.

He grabs my hips and groans, “Ruin me. Fucking ruin me.”

“Careful what you wish for.”

I take him deep—so deep my head tips back, mouth open—and for a second, I feel divine. But the feeling’s paper-thin. Nothing’s real except the way he’s speaking to every inch of my soul. I dig my nails into his chest to try to keep myself anchored.

And I’m slipping again. Thoughts spiraling toward that abyss—about the First Descent, how creation itself was a mistake born of longing. Maybe this is what it means to be trapped in flesh: divine essence wrapped in dirty sheets.

He flips me over and enters me from behind, my cheek pressed to the mattress. The sound of our bodies echoes like drums in a cathedral.

I lose myself. In the pain. The fullness. The surrender.

He calls my name like a prayer. I'm surprised he remembered it.

And when he finishes, it’s not release. It’s an exorcism. The stillness enshrouds us like a tomb.

Desert sunlight leaks through the blinds, striping the sheets and painting Daniel’s bare back gold. My thighs are sticky. My mouth is dry. Everything smells like tequila and incense and sweat. He stirs, mutters something, and presses a kiss to my shoulder like we’ve been waking up like this for years.

But the spell is broken.

He checks his phone and bolts upright. “Shit—I was supposed to be home hours ago. I gotta call a cab.”

I watch him pull his pants on backward the first time, then fix it with a sheepish smile. We exchange numbers. He leaves without asking if I’m okay, but I can tell he wants to. There's something in the way he looks back one last time at the door.

I hear the front door shut.

And then… the silence creeps in. As do the shadows.

Later that day, Cho walks in with his usual plastic bag of tacos and a short temper. The smell of a freshly burned blunt hits first, then his voice.

"You fuck that guy last night?" he says flatly, like he already knows the answer.

I’m sitting on the floor, smoking a cigarette with a cold cup of coffee between my knees. I say nothing.

He scoffs. “Real nice. Real fuckin’ classy.”

That’s when I look up. “Oh, you wanna talk about classy? You’ve had me sleeping on your couch since I got here. Since day one.”

“You're damn right,” he snaps. “I didn’t bring you out here to be a whore for the homies. You could've kept doing that back at Loc's house.”

“No—you flew me out here because you wanted me,” I hiss. “Or at least that’s what you made it seem like. Back in NC, you looked me in the eyes and told me you saw something in me.”

He throws his hands up. “I was in town for a funeral, girl. Jesus. I didn’t fly your ass out here to date you. I flew you out to help you get better. What the fuck did you think this was?”

I stand, fists clenched. “You didn’t help me. You fed me scraps of affection and then made me sleep on the goddamn couch while you fucked three different girls in the room next door.”

“I told you I came out west to start over,” he says, voice rising. “You were supposed to do the same. Not show up and act like some sloppy, pathetic mess. You embarrassed me last night.”

I blink hard. “I didn’t ask you to save me.”

“Yeah? Well maybe I should’ve just left your dumbass where I found you.”

That does it. I lunge forward, push him hard in the chest. He barely stumbles, but it’s enough.

“Fuck you!” I shout. “You act like I betrayed you, but you don’t own me. You used me! You made me believe I mattered and then tethered me here in isolation like some stray dog!”

He laughs and it’s the one of the worst sound I’ve ever heard.

“You’re stupid as fuck,” he sneers. “That dude? Daniel? He’s got a girlfriend, dumbass. You're just another notch in another belt.”

My stomach sinks.

The words hit—but don’t kill me.