COMPLEMENTARY [GxG]

Chapter 18 | Three Virgins in a Room

This is what performing an autopsy must feel like. But my subject is living, breathing fast, eyes moving rapidly under closed lids. Since she's so scantily clad, it isn't hard to see everything I need to see.

I start with her face. Her cheeks. Then underneath her bangs along her forehead and her brow. Her skin is hot to the touch, and it only warms as I continue. I trace her nose and her chin, visualizing the angles, and then measure her proportions with my ruler, committing the numbers to memory.

She opens her eyes and stares right at me. "This is the gayest moment of my entire life."

I trace down the curve of her neck. "I don't understand how you can say that when you've had sex with a girl."

She immediately sits up, putting a stop to my osteological study. "Who says I've had sex?"

"...haven't you?"

"No! That's like... way too intimate. And I'm Catholic."

"So you won't have sex until marriage?"

"Uh... I guess."

"And you think the Catholic God would approve of you having a wife?"

"I mean... why not? God isn't homophobic—all the problematic stuff in the Bible is man-made... but I'm not getting married anyway. I wouldn't wanna put anyone through that with the type of life I have."

"Right."

I don't know why it's so shocking to me that she's a virgin. I've been judging her all these years for her skimpy clothes and her egregious displays of PDA. Did any of her little girlfriends try anything with her? Did she stop them? Is that why none of them seem to last?

She frowns. "You really thought I was just some cheap slut, huh?"

"Well, somewhat, yes."

And then she slaps me. My head jerks to the side, and I slowly bring it back and stare her down.

"Are you trying to instigate a fight, Eris?" I ask.

"You have no idea how badly I want to do that right now instead of having you stick your ruler in my face."

Her death glare is borderline nostalgic, paralleling the utter disdain she's directed at me all these years. We're fifteen, sixteen, seventeen again, her giving me the middle finger from across the classroom, her whispering insults while passing me in the halls. Peace, actual peace between us is impossible; any kindness we build up shatters with the smallest push, fragile like one of my mother's old nice plates she never used anyway.

"I'm sorry," I say to appease her. "I shouldn't have made assumptions about you."

"You shouldn't be such a judgmental, slut-shaming bitch."

"Stop calling me that."

"What's the word in French for it? Or German? Or... you know any other languages, Ef? Would've expected you to know ten by now with how smart you say you are."

I used to speak fluent Kreyòl, and nothing fills me with more dread than how much I've forgotten, but I'm definitely not telling her that.

I place my hands on her shoulders and gently push her back to the floor. "Be quiet and let me measure you."

She bares her teeth at me. "Need to see the inside of my mouth, too, pendeja?"

Her teeth are white and—other than her front gap—perfectly straight as a result of the braces she used until junior year. With my hand under her chin, I shut her mouth closed and let my hand trail to her collarbone. I press her skin like it's clay and feel every edge and contour, already making mental corrections for the painting.