Push(34)

I know from the lyrics that it’s “Creep,” but the music is faster and far more incensed than Radiohead’s original. Caleb’s voice sounds sinister and, yes, creepy. By the time they reach the middle of the song, David’s head is raised, and he’s giving them the finger. With both hands. I don’t think they can see him, though, because of the stage lights, but David keeps his hands up anyway. A minute or so later, he drops them and wraps his arm around my shoulders.
“Assholes,” he mutters again.
“You want me to kick the shit out of them?” I tease. “’Cause I’ll go up on that stage right now and take those boys down.”
He grins with pride and says, “Atta girl.”
We stay for the rest of the show, drinking and watching. When they are done, and the DJ clambers back up onto the stage, David tells me it’s time to go. On our way out, I stop to use the ladies room. I’m decently drunk, and when I open my cell phone to check the time, I see that it’s nearly four o’clock in the morning. Fucking hell.
When I am done, I go back out to David. He pulls me out the door, down the steps, and to the car. All without saying a word. My ears are ringing, and I am exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. David starts the car and drives. But he isn’t headed toward home. At least not in the direction I recognize as home. He switches on the radio and turns it up loud. I don’t know where we are going, nor do I care. I open my window and stick my head out, breathing in deep pulses of air. After a few minutes, I pull my head back in and lean over, laying my head down on his lap. I twist myself around so I am face up. He looks down at me in surprise, and I smile up at him.
When his eyes return to the road, I look up at the birds. He is holding the steering wheel, and I run my index finger from his wrist up to his underarm, tracing the outlines of their bodies, touching their feathers, feeling David’s skin. In my drunken haze, the birds seem even more vivid, more alive. The dash lights cast shadows on his arm, but I can see that the bird closest to his right underarm is a raven. It is larger than the rest, and its black feathers stand out against all the colors. I trace the raven, pushing the pad of my finger softly against David’s skin.
“I like this one the best,” I tell him as I move my finger down the raven’s back.
“Oh, yeah? Why that one?”
“Because ravens are clever and self-assured. And peculiar.”
“Huh,” he says. Then after a pause, he adds, “Sounds like you.”
“And you.”
“Like I said, we’re two of the same, Emma.”
“Indeed.”
He pulls the car off the road and down a steep, narrow gravel lane. From his lap, I can see the lights from a bridge above us. David parks the car off to the side of a small parking lot and turns off the engine. When I sit up, I see that we are facing the river, not far from the shore. He gets out and walks over to my side of the car. He sticks his face into my open window, clasps my head between his hands, and kisses me. I close my eyes, enjoying the way his tongue caresses mine.
His kiss twists my mind into a flurry of want, curls my body into a gnarled-up ball of need. My breath is heavy, and it is taking everything in me not to leap out of the car and throw myself at him. Instead, I climb up on to my knees and push my upper body out the window. My hands are on the sill, holding me up like a couple of shaky sticks. Before they give way and cause me to collapse like a moronic, redheaded marionette, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me out of the car. Thank God.
I’m standing in front of him, looking straight at his remarkable face. I feel like a fool on fire.
“Thanks for the good time,” I say, my insides turning to liquid.
“You’re welcome.” We stand there looking at each other for a few seconds, and it’s pretty clear that we both know what is going to happen next.
“So, you’re a creep, huh?” I ask. He shrugs and puts his hands into his pockets.
“According to some.” He doesn’t look amused, but he doesn’t look angry either.
I lift my shirt up over my head, kick off my shoes, and step over to him.
“Okay,” I say dismissively. Then I kiss him again, pushing my tongue between his lips and feeling the softness of his mouth. Complete happiness bubbles up into my chest, and my veins fill with a rush of endorphins. The high I get from David is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s like a surge of perfection and clarity and power pumping straight through me. It’s bliss in its purest, most craze-inducing form. I press myself into him, hoping my happiness will form a perfect circle around both of us. He pulls his hands from his pockets, unbuttons my jeans, and slips his palms down the back, sliding across my panties and squeezing my behind. He drags my jeans down off my legs. Before I know it, he has my back up against the car. The metal is cold against my skin, and David is grinding himself against me, rubbing the front of his jeans roughly into my skin. The force and purpose in his movements make it clear that he feels the same happiness and perfection and clarity that I do. And the power. It’s there, too. Ringing through him like a motherf*cking freight train.
We kiss like this for a long time. As we do, his hands move with certainty—they move over the back of my neck and my shoulders and across to the front of my collarbone. His arms wrap around my waist, and he begins to step backwards, pulling us around to the front of the car. He sits me up on the hood. I tilt my head back and lie down, feeling his hands move up my thighs and pull down my panties. There is a ping of ecstasy in every brush of his fingertips, in every tiny connection. He begins swirling his thumb against me, and the pings turn into punches, jolting me with pleasure and burning my insides. I prop my feet up on the bumper and hold my stomach in an attempt to control myself. David grabs both of my wrists with his left hand. His strength surprises me, and my eyes fly to his. The skin on his scalp creeps back, and his lips curl into a slight smile. I see the power in his eyes, and it excites me to know that I am the one giving it to him. He holds me there, squeezing my wrists tightly together, his right hand continuing to circle over me. Despite the heady mix of emotions whipping through me, or maybe because of it, I beg him not to stop. I beg him to go faster, to put his fingers inside me, to make me come quickly. And he does—but when I am right there, at the verge, he stops. He pulls his right hand away and uses it to turn my body. I am now lying sideways across the hood of the car with him still gripping my wrists and my mind swimming in a pool of lust and want and frustration. David uses his free hand to unbutton his jeans and pull down his zipper. He pushes himself into my mouth. He holds the back of my head, forcing me toward him every time he pushes his hips forward. I am reeling, but not because of what he is doing. I am reeling because I want him to touch me again, to bring me back to where I was. I want to feel the swell of pleasure wash over me again. I want more punches.