Six Hot Summer Nights

She didn’t come. That wasn’t what this dream was about. And though she was definitely worked up, she wanted to touch him. So she eventually returned to her knees in front of him.

She stroked his penis, loving the velvet feel of his skin, the thick pulse she imagined in her hand, and the wet slide of moisture at his tip. She could see the sunshine where she touched him. A light that seemed to come from inside him, but flowed hot and hungry into her. It was desire, she realized. Hot, wicked hunger for her. And maybe some love, too. There was some emotion there that went beyond sex. She was sure of it even if she didn’t examine it too closely. Whatever it was, she wanted more, and so she bent her head and took him in.

She played with him then, however she wanted. Stroking his penis with her tongue, caressing his ass with her hands. Soon, his body was shaking. She knew he was close and she wanted it all. Right now. Sunshine and desire, all mixed together in this dream, and she demanded every iota of what he had to give.

She felt him erupt.

Bliss!

She drank it all and felt filled with light.

CHRISTY WOKE with a cry that quickly changed into a gasp of pain. After such lightness of heart and body, it was a cruel trick to dump her back into her real body. She tried to move, feeling how stiff every joint was, and wincing as both knees crackled.

She glanced at her wristwatch. Barely 2:00 a.m. She grabbed the glass of water and pills she’d left on the nightstand and swallowed them as fast as possible. She was pushing the dosage. She’d hoped to sleep through until morning. But she hadn’t, and no way could she last until morning awake. So she took the pills and lay like a corpse in her bed. Sometimes, if she didn’t move at all, the pain eased enough for her to sleep.

Or other times—and apparently this was one of them—the pressure to move built up and she knew she’d have to go for option two. It was a ridiculous thing to do. She knew that. Her father hated it and her mother usually hid in the bedroom when she did it. But every doctor she’d spoken to about it had shrugged and encouraged her to pursue whatever worked. She had tried to wait it out. Sometimes that worked. But not tonight. She was too keyed up after the day—and the dream—spent with Jason.

So, option two. She supported herself and managed to get out of bed, stabilizing her swollen feet beneath her, and hobbled as carefully as she could to the bathroom. She tried not to bend too much as she walked, keeping her knees to a very easy angle and her spine stiff with almost no rotation. It wasn’t so much the bright flashes of pain. Those happened intermittently, and she’d long since learned to accept them. It was the gnawing ache of every step, every breath, every movement.

Her joints were swollen and they didn’t want to move. Predictably, the worst was in her knees. After all the biking, she knew that might happen. But there was pain in her ankles, which led to swollen feet and the like. If she let it continue, the ache would tighten up her shoulders which would lead to a raging headache. Option two was designed to head that off at the pass.

She made it to the bathroom and plugged the tub. She ran the cold water then hobbled her way to the kitchen. She’d already made the ice just in case. It was the first thing she did when coming to a new place, and so she had plenty of ice cubes stored up.

It took a few minutes, but soon she was dumping the ice bucket into the water and waiting while the tub finished filling. And then, her ice bath was ready.

She stripped out of her nightgown, tossing it aside. Then she stretched herself across the tub, lifting a leg, poising herself for the drop. It was always best to submerge fast. Inch by inch never worked.

She took a few deep breaths, the pressure to act building in her mind. There was something that clicked deep inside her when it finally reached a certain level. Pain, pressure or just neuroses, it didn’t matter. It was time.

She dropped herself into the ice water.

She gasped, her mind going white in shock. Her entire body seemed to seize up, drawing tight to her spine. Even her breath shrunk to nothing as her diaphragm froze.

Cold. Mind-numbing cold rolled into her consciousness. As if her whole body were lost to one long scream of agony. But if she waited long enough the scream faded. It grew distant, like a train whistle shrinking into the background. And with it went all sensation. What remained was silence. And blessed numbness. She felt nothing but the lingering impression of pain somewhere so removed from her blanked mind as to be completely unimportant.

Silent.

Cold.

Done.

CHRISTY BLINKED BACK to awareness, realizing that her teeth were chattering and her fingertips were blue. She didn’t have a clock nearby, but she knew it had probably been ten minutes or less since she submerged. Either way, it was time to get out.

The lower half of her body was numb—which was the point—so she had to maneuver with weak and trembling arms. At home she had special railings installed so she could drag herself out safely. But this was temporary quarters on base. She could still manage it, but it was harder than she thought. Her legs were heavy and barely responsive and the sides of the tub were slick. She managed to haul herself out, but when her right foot was supposed to take her weight, it didn’t. She half slid, half fell, her arms going every which way and the—

Ow! Her head impacted hard with the toilet and she cried out. Then she was on the floor, still stunned, one arm pinned beneath her, and a throbbing just behind her eye.

Ow. Ow. Ow.

She lay on the floor panting, annoyed that all the work of having a pain-free lower half had just been destroyed by a throbbing headache. And now sensation was returning to her lower body. Hell.

Then she heard it. Jason calling her name. Had he been banging on the door? She didn’t know.

“Christy!”

Definitely Jason. She tried to call back, tell him she was fine. Her voice came out as a croak. And then it was too late.

The door crashed open and he was there, his face going white as a sheet as he looked at her: naked, bloody, and half sprawled on the floor of the bathroom.

Shit.

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