Page 6 of Beneath Her Skin

Time slips away until the sun hangs high in the sky, mercilessly shining down on the shadeless dirt corral. Our swine is naked as the day he came, his tattered clothes scattered around the arena. Sweat pours down his reddened, blotched skin. Deep lashes from a riding crop I’ve wrapped in barbed wire lacerate his back. The cuts continue to flay open with repeated strikes of the crop, and fresh and old blood mix in with all the dust he has been kicking up, forming a crust around each wound. At first, he galloped in steady circles as I followed on horseback. Now, he slowly trots as I walk behind, making it a few feet before falling to his knees again. He’s silent, save for the occasional whimper or sniffle.Broken. I thought it would take longer with this one, but by the third hour, he’d lost the will to fight.

As he stumbles, I crack the crop across his back again. I’ve used it so many times, I have to massage my wrist after. A frown creases my face, and I sigh. From the wooden stands, Cat rolls her eyes and sips at her bottle of beer. “I think he’s about broken,” she laughs. The swine falls face down in the dirt, showing no signs of standing. “Let’s take him back in and clean up. Save some for the show tonight, huh?”

“Fine,” I huff. I clear my throat and coat my voice with a sickening sweetness. “You hear that, little piggy? You’re gonna get a little rest.” He shifts against the ground but makes no attempt to reply or get up. I kick my boot into the pig’s ribs. He only shudders, lying motionless as I attach a rope around historso. “Have it your way,” I scoff, climbing into the saddle atop Jasper’s back. Time to drag this little piggy all the way home.

6

Catalina sits cross-legged on the threadbare carpet of the living room. At one point, a rug covered it, but after a mishap with one of our first piggies, it had to be burned. I thought the stained rug gave the old carpet character, but Cat firmly disagreed. Livestock is no longer allowed in the house.

A round palette with several colors of face paint sits in front of her. She takes a round brush and coats her face in a thick layer of white paint, taking care to blend it down her neck. It’s a ritual we have before every rodeo: we sit and turn ourselves into the characters hiding inside our darkest crevices, only appearing when we use them to put on a good show.

I love the eccentricity of old school rodeo clowns. Cat says it’s the nostalgia from rodeos Pop used to take me to, but there’s nothing about that man I care to remember fondly. I think it’s simpler than all that. There’s just something about a painted smile that fits nicely with a face full of spattered blood.

She pats the spot next to her, and I sit. Our thighs stick together from the day’s heat still lingering in the room—our old window unit can only do so much against the brutal summers. Ichoose a brush and start on my face. The oily scent of paint fills my nostrils with each stroke.

Cat uses the same method each time—blue triangles framing her eyes, a black nose, and bright red lips that smear across her cheeks in an unending grimace. I prefer to paint what I feel in the moment. Tonight, I give myself vivid pink cheeks, lines of neon green slashing through each eye, a red nose, and a black outline around my mouth that makes a slit from ear to ear. “How do I look?” I ask. My voice is sing-song, and I bat my eyelashes, heavy with mascara.

“Like a clown,” she jokes, holding up the mirror and pointing at my reflection. I press my lips into a firm line, suppressing a laugh before cackling and leaping into her lap. She rolls back, letting my body press hers into the carpet. My mouth stops just a hair away from hers.

“I prefer insane,” I trill with the high-pitched voice of the character I’m playing tonight. “Do I look…insane?” I widen my eyes to the point of bulging and pull my lips back until my teeth take up half my face. I use both thumbs to press the corners of my mouth even further, dragging them out to my ears. The greasy paint smears under my fingers as they slide against it.

“Beautifully insane,” she whispers, her eyes roaming my body as I sit on top of her. Our breathing picks up, and I lean down again, letting our breasts brush together on each inhale. The friction sends lightning bolts straight to my pussy, gradually intensifying as Cat bucks her hips under me. My balance wavers, sending my face crashing into hers. She uses the opportunity to suck my bottom lip into her waiting mouth, biting it once it’s between her teeth. My tongue forces past her lips, searching for hers. When it finds its match, they intertwine, and we both fight to take the lead. My hands roam the curves of her muscular body, and she moans as our hips continue to roll into each other.

We’re all tongues and teeth for a few blissful minutes until my blood lust becomes louder than the throbbing between my legs. “The red paint looks good mixed with the black,” I say, smiling down at her. “It’ll look even better with piggy paint.”

Cat sighs and tries to tempt me with another wiggle, but I press my hands to my knees and stand. “Alright, Sadie,” she groans, yielding to my stubbornness. “Let’s take the little piggy to market.”

7

The arena lights shine through the wooden slats of the barn, illuminating the area in an ominous pattern. The stink of piss and vomit is noxious, but the blood gives it the metallic kick I crave, making it bearable. Our little piggy is waiting for us again, standing close to the bars of his enclosure in silence. The buzzing in my head escalates to the blasting of a siren.

Fuck. The shackles.Why can’t I remember something as simple as the fucking shackles?

There’s a sinking feeling in my chest, like I’ve swallowed a lead brick. A nagging sensation coils in my stomach, like a snake ready to strike. Normally trembling with anticipation, I shake from the nervous energy crackling around me. Hair raises on my arms and across the back of my neck.

Something is off.

I shake my head. It’s the shackles–it must be. I’ve thrown off my routine, that’s all.

A wave of nausea hits me, and I swallow against the sour taste in my mouth. I dry my sweaty hands on my tank top, leaving dirty streaks down the white cotton. This is my favoriteshirt, with large red pom-poms stitched down the center and brown stains I refuse to bleach—prizes from past rodeos. My red shorts wrap around my hips like a second skin, pushing my ass cheeks out of the bottom. Cat has a top similar to mine but with blue poms. As much as I’d love to see her in a matching set of shorts, she prefers to wear jeans. She doesn’t like the way her ass sticks to the saddle.

“You got this?” I ask Catalina as I open Jasper’s stall door and start to saddle him up. I hoist myself onto his back and turn to look at Cat. She’s still standing in the middle of the barn. I shift my hips, trying to ease the discomfort in my body and the tension from her silence. Can she feel it too? “Cat?”

Cat’s gaze stays on the cage. I reach over to Jasper’s feed trough and grab a handful of hay to toss at her, calling her name again. The hay lazily drifts through the air and disperses long before it reaches her, but it still gets her attention. She shivers then nods her head. “I’m good. He’s just so quiet. You musta’ really took the fight outta him today.” She picks up her own handful of hay, grins, and throws it back in my direction.

“Almost takes all the fun out of it, doesn’t it?” I say, frowning as I ride towards the opening to the corral. The lights bathe the arena and the empty stands in a haunting shade of yellow. The crowd in my mind filters in, chattering loudly as the scent of popcorn and cigarettes saturates the light evening breeze. There might even be a hint of cotton candy. An announcer’s booming voice comes across imaginary speakers.

Welcome, folks, to another night of Blood Chute! Take your seats! Little Miss Sadie Rae is all saddled up!

“I’ll rile ‘em up a bit before I send him to the chute,” Cat laughs, but her tone is flat. Jasper trots us away from the barn, and I turn to look over my shoulder one last time. I catch her just before she exits my line of sight, heading towards the cage. I silently plead for her to remember to grab the cattle prod beforeopening the door. Even a broken down piggy will still feel the primal urge to fight against slaughter.

Jasper and I stand in our usual position at the other side of the corral, waiting for the right moment to make our grand entrance. Other than the cicada screams, the arena is quiet, and the snake coils in my stomach again.

Looks like there is a little delay tonight, folks.

A feminine shout breaks the silence, followed by chaotic shuffling and the slamming of a door. “Cat!” I cry, already guiding Jasper away from the arena and towards the front of the barn.

Stay in your seats, folks! The way Sadie Rae took off, I’m thinkin’ this isn’t planned.

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