Tableau V: The Reckoning

The storm outside had reduced the city to a grey blur. Inside, the bedroom was a sanctuary, but the air was charged with nervous energy.

They moved to the bed. It wasn’t graceful. Knees bumped; the linen bunched awkwardly. Without the script of a man leading the scene, they were hesitant, three bodies unlearning a lifetime of performance. Laura laughed nervously, a sharp, jagged sound, then stopped.

“Just breathe,” Flora whispered.

Flora held the device. It hummed against her palm, a living thing. She moved closer to Laura, who was lying back, her eyes squeezed shut, her hands gripping the sheets.

Flora pressed the cool silicone against the curve of Laura’s inner thigh.

Laura flinched. The cold was shocking. But then the heat of her skin transferred to the stone, and the hum took over. It wasn’t a buzz. It was a throb that traveled through the mattress and into their ribs.

Laura didn’t moan. Her breath hitched, catching hard in her throat. Her legs stiffened, her toes curling into the duvet. This wasn’t the ‘wellness’ they had bought in SoHo. This was a demand.

“Too much?” Flora asked, pulling back slightly.

“No,” Laura gasped, her voice ragged. “Don’t stop.”

Maud watched, her eyes wide, mesmerized by the flush rising on Laura’s neck. Slowly, Maud reached out, her hand trembling, and placed it on Laura’s stomach, feeling the muscles contract.

The intellect was gone. There was no ‘archive.’ There was only the smell of rain, the salt of sweat, and the deep, relentless thrum of the device.

When the climax came, it wasn’t pretty. Laura arched off the mattress, a guttural sound tearing from her throat, her body shaking with a violence that frightened and thrilled them. It was messy. It was real. It was entirely hers.

Minutes later, the room was silent except for the rain. The device sat on the nightstand, the white LED still pulsing like a heartbeat.

Laura lay tangled in the sheets, her hair damp with sweat. Maud was curled beside her, eyes closed. Flora sat at the foot of the bed, looking at the window. The Manhattan skyline was still there, but the “circuit board” looked different now. It was just lights.

“I feel like we just pulled them out,” Maud whispered into the dark.

“Who?” Laura croaked, her voice wrecked.

“The women from the book. Flora, Laura, Maud,” she said. “I feel like if they could see us right now—no shame, no ‘Hell’ section—they’d finally be able to sleep.”

Flora smiled. She reached out and turned off the lamp, plunging them into darkness.

“They aren’t in Hell anymore,” Flora said. “They’re right here.”

They didn’t fall into a “lustful slumber.” They crashed. It was the heavy, dreamless sleep of exhaustion, three women breathing in sync, the door locked, the world shut out.

THE END