Fingers Under the Door

01 - In a Portapotty? Seriously?

The smell of human waste wakes me from my love-coma.

Am I REALLY going to lose my virginity in a dirty portapotty at a construction site in the middle of the night? Is this the story I'l be telling 5 years from now? A tail of hurried lust and the stench of shit...

What am I doing?

One thing I do know is that this is the type of situation a bad girl might find herself in, but me? I'm not a slut. Really, I'm not.

I shift under his weight. It's hard to breathe with someone's tongue in your mouth -- this is all new information to me, ot that I ever thought any of this would be easy but..

It has been tough, but trust me, present situation excluded, I have always worked hard to be the good girl. I never did it for my parents -- they made it obvious early-on that they don't care about me or what I do with my life. Not for any kind of god because that's just not my thing. Not for my country or some book I read or a teacher or a movie that inspired me. Not for any of those reasons.

No, I do the right thing because it just makes sense. Normally, that is...

So then, why is my ass numb right now? Why is some guy I barely know straddling me (both fully clothed, mind you, don't be perverted, jeeze...). He's pushing my butt and legs deeper into the blue plastic craphole of the portalet as he noms on my face. Trust me, at first, I was enjoying this, but now? Every time he moves, the acrid stench of fresh poopwater hits me in the nose and I nearly barf in his mouth.

What is this, then? What am I doing? How is it not blatantly obvious to him that I'm totally out of the moment?

This is not romantic or exciting, as it may have seemed earlier. Now I am looking at it and it's just dumb... and kinda pathetic and I realize that I'm living proof that you can be the good girl for sixteen years straight and then a couple stupid decisions later end up in a plastic crapper with your legs falling asleep.

My wits return, no longer blocked by Joel's coal-black hair and his quiet emerald eyes, half hidden by the bit that cascades over his face. I put both hands on his chest, which is toned and sturdy. I'm about to stop kissing in protest and suggest we leave when, as if he's read my mind, he unlatches from my lips and stares at the portalet door.

I'm squinting because the only source of light is Joel's cell phone, which he placed face up on the flat end of a loose roll of toilet paper. I guess you can call it mood lighting--

What's he looking at?

"Joel, what--"

"Hold it, Autumn!" He whispers harshly and puts a finger to my lips. "I heard something..."

I slowly rise up to my feet to join him (and unkink the veins around my ass). This is tough because there is hardly enough room in the portalet for us to stand next to one another and face the door. I shake my head. The portalet had felt so large and cavernous and safe just a moment ago and now it feels small, like it's shrinking and the air's being sucked out. My breath gets shallow.

What did he hear?

Waiting.

After a few seconds of silence, I hear it too and we both jump.

"It sounded like someone yawning." I whisper in his ear and I know he can tell I'm scared from the way my voice is shaking.

Joel nods. "Yeah," he whispers. Then he double checks the lock on the portopotty door and tilts his head a bit to the side, squints his eyes as if it is making him hear better.

"What do we do?" I whisper.

He stops the tilty squint and bites his lower lip. Thinking. Holding his breath. Then it all comes out in a rush and stirs my hair. It smells like peppermint. "I'll have to go check it out. I'm sure it's nothing. People don't just show up at places like this."

"Maybe we should leave?" I frown a bit, nodding -- widening my eyes to express my fear, to show him I feel vulnerable.

As I'm watching him react to my plea, I can see that part that lives in every male, the primitive part that plans very quickly. It is convincing him that this situation hasn't been ruined yet. That he can still pull this off.

"No it's cool," he smiles confidently. "It's fine, let me have a look around and make sure we're safe and I'll be right back. Autumn?"

I melt when he says my name directly. "Yes?"

"Keep the door locked while I'm gone, OK?"

At that moment a cloud moved, the moonlight snuck through the portalet's upper vents and framed his face in a latticed, pale gold. That was enough to push it all to the back of my mind, momentarily: how frightened I would be when he left, sitting in a portalet, in the middle of nowhere, entirely alone.

And so I nod, under the spell, I nod. He pulls out his pocket knife and slowly creaks the door open.

"Be careful." I whisper.

And with that he is gone. I quickly lock the door behind him and sit down. "It's probably nothing," I whisper to myself and then nod to agree with myself.

The moment my ass touches plastic, the portalet ceases to feel like a safe haven. Now it just feels shoddy and weak and vulnerable -- creaky and smelly, like it is just going to fall apart on top of me, now that Joel is gone.

Worst of all, I can't see what ' around me because he took the phone with him, so all I have is this grated slice of moonlight and the damn crickets and the occasional rustle and the constant wooshing of wind through a half-built bank to keep me company.

Is time even passing? I feel like I can't breathe all of a sudden, so I turn and face the vent at the top of the portalet where the fresh air comes from. I gulp down some deep breaths, but then my imagination gets the best of me. I imagine a creepy face pop up behind the vent, a dark, scarecrow wormfaced killer, like I'm in some slasher movie. silly, i know, but t's enough to make me turn back around and face the door. I'd rather deal with shit smell than a wormfaced killer any day.

Since I can't see what is around me, I just get quiet, everything except my heart, and I shrink and begin to IMAGINE what is around me. I imagine the worst possible things, they flicker though my head like a horror slideshow. Wearwolves and killer vampires and creepy old dudes with hooks for hands and bears and mutants and backwoods canniblas and-- they are all stalking me out there. I can feel them. They are circling the the portapotty like hunters.

In my fear I think I hear a scuffle and I almost scream. Was that feet? Or was it the wind? Or the flapping of the tarps on the building? I stand up again. It sounded like someone falling down didn't it? A person falling? Or did I just imagine that? Did someone grunt? Should I leave the portalet? Joel said not to, but what if that was him falling? That sound was louder than the others, wasn't it? It stuck out. It was significant, right?

I am still and quiet, shivering. Rigid. I won't sit now. I'm suffocating between two choices. Stay or go and I am not sure which to do. My elbows and knees are rusted in place. My ear is against the green portalet door, listening hard. Pushing out the white noise.

I want more from this silence. It hurts me. It's turning my ears to glass -- brittle glass filled with water, and rippling, thumped into patterns by the pumping of my own heart. Nearly breaking in a painful, rigid absence of sound -- and the only thing worse would be to hear something...

Where is he, damnit!! It's been what? Twenty minutes now? Or ten? My hand instinctively goes to my pocket for my phone, until I remember that I left it in Joel's car.

That's it. I'm going out.

I have my hand on the lock and I am priming myself to step out when I hear something. It's small at first, but rythmic, repetitive and it is raising in volume slowly. Footsteps. Fast ones. Someone is running toward the portalet! I panic. My whole body burns with the chemicals of fear and acid shoots up the back of my throat.

I move instictually, brace my arms for impact against the door and hold my breath so I don't scream as the footsteps get louder and faster...