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Nettle sank into the couch. She slipped lower, passing through the seat. Deeper and deeper she went, until she lay floating on her back, hair spreading bouyantly atop the warm pool. Her torpid body remained above her, still in the couch, while darkness surrounded. Fuck that’s good.
She exhaled. Smoke drifted up to her body and passed through her lips. “Fuck that’s good,” her body echoed.
“Pass it over.”
The voices were distant and dim. Attenuated like she was beneath water. She was beneath, but not water.
“Hey, —,” Lexi said, waving a hand in front of her body. “I think your weed killed —.”
I’m not —.
“I’m not —.”
I’m nettle.
“I’m Nettle.”
Lexi gently wrested the bong from Nettle’s hand. “You’re gourdless is what you are, —.”
Nettle’s finger poked her.
“What was that?”
“I stung you.”
Lexi rolled her eyes and took a hit.
Nettle watched impassively from below. Her body responded mechanistically to the situation, providing practiced responses as needed from the dialog tree she has built over years of pretending and failing to fit in. That is how she ended up here, keeping company with the stoners and weirdos. She was more the latter. A theater kid. Not acting—she did that every day but was still terrible at it. Theater tech. Lighting, props, scenery, costuming.
That is how they got her. Costuming. Nettle had accidentally revealed her interest to Lexi. She had been sketching in class, was not careful enough, and Lexi saw it. Lexi kept talking to her until she finally showed the sketches so Lexi would stop. She did not stop.
By the time Nettle got to the costume photos on her phone, she was doomed. Lexi dragged her to lunch with friends—a novel experience for her. They all convinced her to come to drama after lunch. By the end of the day, she had dropped her computer class and enrolled in drama.
It was nice. Lexi did most of the speaking for her. Lexi asked her for help with makeup at the first dress rehearsal and suddenly that was another task she was trusted with. As far as Nettle knew, Lexi had never told anyone about the photos she was not supposed to see.
There was a reason why Lexi asked her for help with makeup. Why she was good at it. Why Lexi introduced her to the drama students. The stoners. The queers.
Most of the costumes she made were loose, draping, covered the face. Creatures. Outfits she could hide behind. Outfits she could wear around other people. Outfits that let nobody see who she was.
Sometimes, when she was alone, she wore another kind of costume. Dress, wig, makeup. Outfits that let her real self come out.
But she couldn’t come out to other people. Lexi had been an accident. A happy, friendly accident that changed her life.
For the better? Well, she was here with Lexi and Lexi’s friends getting stoned for the first time ever. So… maybe.
Nettle began to sink deeper.
Above, Lexi took the bong from Nettle again. “Jesus fuck. I think he was plenty stoned with that first hit. Why’d you give it to…”
Lexi’s voice faded as the sub-surface swallowed Nettle. Her body above grew smaller, becoming a single pinprick of light before disappearing. Darkness surrounded her now.
Mired in the depth, her movements became slow. Her thoughts became slow. The black liquid clung to her, covered her like a sea bird caught in an oil spill, but blacker. There was no sheen. There was no light to reflect on an oily surface. There was dark and there was heat.
Nettle reached out, grasping for something, anything. There was nothing. The thick goop hung from her, running slowly down and dripping.
She brushed at it, flinging it off, but it replenished itself. She scrubbed, looking for the flesh beneath and finding only more of the same. She pressed her finger against her wrist to test its depth, but it was infinitely deep and her finger sunk so far it disappeared.
She pulled it out and shook her hands, flinging off specks of ooze. It was so thick she could barely make out the shape of her hands. She grasped her left wrist and pulled down against her hand. It—something—came off. She remembered she had left her body above.
Here, there was only darkness and heat.
She pressed a hand against her chest and it passed through. There was no hand and no chest. She floated in a sea of nothingness. She was the nothingness.
Gradually, the heat faded. As she cooled, she became more solid. She touched herself, and she was there. She brushed again at the darkness and, while it still clung to her, it came off in globs, returning form to her.
But she was still warm, still malleable. She pressed an indent into her palm and it stayed there until she smoothed it out. She wiped the prickles off her face. She molded her chest.
Another thing to fix—she ran her hands down from her chest, past her stomach, to her crotch. The thing there had—once she understood what it was—antagonized her. She began to smooth it.
The darkness seized her, holding her fast. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t fix what was wrong with her body.
Distant words touched her perception, drawing nearer.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that was going to happen. I swear. Please don’t be mad at me. Hey, —, say something. I’m so sorry. Jesus fuck.”
She knew those words.
But that wasn’t her name.
“Hey, —, wake up. Can you hear me? Shit. Please say you can hear me. Hey… Nettle. Open your eyes.”
Nettle. That’s her. She opened her eyes.
Lexi was there. They held hands. “Oh thank god.” They weren’t in Lexi’s friend’s place. They were in the back seat of Lexi’s car. Still where they had parked on the street by the apartment. “Can you say something?” Lexi’s eyes were a dark, beautiful brown. “—?”
Nettle slipped her hand free and poked Lexi gently in the chest. “Nettle stings.”
“Hah.” Lexi smiled. She laughed. “Okay I guess you’re still high.”
Nettle closed her eyes.
“Or tripping. I don’t know what they put in there. You got twice as much as I did. And you’re such a lightweight.”
Nettle zoned out the noise. She reached for the darkness, but it was gone. Even its memory was fading. She clung to what she could. That feeling. That dissolution.
She yearned.
Buildings moved by slowly outside the window. When did I open my eyes? She remembered Lexi asking her to buckle in. She checked. She had.
“Here.” From the front seat, Lexi held out a colorful boba tea in a clear plastic cup to her.
It was sweet. It was cold. Nettle wanted warmth, heat. She wanted to be malleable again.
“You want what?”
Had she said that? “Nothing.”
“The caffeine should help wake you up.”
When had she last slept? She didn’t sleep. Why was she so tired? She wanted to sleep. She drank the boba. She finished the boba. “That was weed?”
“I don’t know what that was. That was like a brief, intense trip.” After a moment, she added, “And weed.” Then, “I probably shouldn’t be driving. But I wasn’t going to stay there. We’re just going to park here a little while.”
Nettle nodded. Her shirt was uncomfortable. She adjusted the seatbelt strap and tugged on her hoodie to loosen everything up.
“I’m sorry. By the time I realized what was happening, you had already taken a second hit. I’m glad you were there though. I’m not sure what he would have done if you weren’t. God this sucks. [I’m so upset right now. I need to chill.]”. Lexi turned on the radio and started surfing channels.
Nettle’s shirt was still uncomfortable. She reached up under her hoodie, under her shirt, and adjusted her breasts. The breasts she had formed in the darkness. The breasts she didn’t have this morning. Small, perky, hers.