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blanket wrapped around us while the night storm showers outside.
    I come back to her eyes.
    “You like it here?” I ask.
    “This apartment, or this town?”
    “Both.”
    “Well, I’ve made this my home, I suppose. I feel comfortable here.” I sense a cringe when she speaks optimistically. She’s lying to herself.
    “Why do you stay?”
    She holds her gaze on me, losing the facade of happiness, dropping like a curtain before her. She bites into her lower lip while her eyes well. I take my hand away from the bandage and place it against the side of her face. I rub my thumb against her cheek bone. She turns into it.
    “Wes,” she whispers into my palm. “Do you feel like you have to flee all the time?”
    “No,” I answer, but I’m not sure it’s true. I think of the sensation of the wind rushing against my face while I race my bike down the open road and wonder if I’ve ever thought of a more perfect ideal than that of a street that doesn’t end. She turns her face softly in my palm, looks at me with questioning eyes. “Do you?”
    She shakes her head, the smoothness of her cheek rubs against my fingers. “No. I feel caged.” A sardonic smile breaks out on her face. “But isn’t that cliche? The caged stripper. Poor girl, taking her clothes off for all the drooling men, caught in the trap of their lust, when all she wants, Wes, all she wants is to fly…” she lifts her hands into the air in a mocking gesture, “...to some beautiful paradise for all the birdies.”
    “Don’t you think you deserve something better?”
    She sighs. “Do you?”
    I’m not sure.
    “Truth is,” she says, “I don’t hate it. Sure, it has its fair share of shit, but the worst hasn’t happened. And what’s running going to bring me? Will escape really set me free?”
    “Depends,” I say.
    “On what?” She takes my hand from her cheek and holds it in her lap. I feel the soft cotton panties against my knuckles, the warmth of her thighs radiating.
    “You,” I reply.
    “You took that road,” she says. “You’re away, but are you free?” She looks to my side, where the red dot rests in the center of a white bandage. She sighs, turning her head to the side. “I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t even know who you are…”
    “Auna,” I say. She turns her head back to me. “Yes you do.” I lift my hand from her lap, open it and place it against her chest. I can feel her heart beat beneath it. Steady. Ache. She reaches her hand out and places it against my pec, grappling.
    She squints, grins. “Do you know me, Rage?” She slides one leg over me, straddling. I hold one hand against her chest while the other ventures up her thigh to grip her ass. “How well?” Both of her hands grab my pecs as she leans forward. She whispers, “Tell me what I want right now.”
    I take my hand from her chest and wrap it around her nape to pull her face into mine. She gasps as her mouth slams into mine, her eager tongue lashing immediately at mine, reciprocating. I feel her lower body undulate, shifting to grind herself against me, the heat of her igniting my own. God, Auna. You feel amazing against me. She rubs herself up and down along my growing erection, bulging my jeans. The taste of her is intoxicating, truly. Each time our lips break and her breath spills onto my chin and neck, I feel craving, for more, for everything harder.
    She lifts herself from me and pulls her shirt over her head, and her pointed breasts show above her ribs, olive skin smooth and tight over her body. She drops onto me, and I feel her breasts against my pecs, soft rubbing on hard, nipples gliding over me while she kisses, wantonly. I wrap my hands around her ass, feel her heat as it rises and falls on me, more intense, riding.
    I sit up, holding her close to me, pulling my lips away to listen to her gasp. I throw my legs over the side of the couch and stand, lifting her in the center of the living room, holding her body