Page 2 of Our Little Dove

Like a science experiment, we mix our drinks. Clinking our glasses when we finish our concoction. We both take a sip, expecting a magical taste in our drunken folly, but disgust morphs our features instead.

The two of us nearly barf and laugh at each other as we hurry to the fridge in search of something to chase away the horrid taste.

After our failed attempt at making cocktails, we grab blankets off the couch and head out on Molly’s balcony, looking up at the stars that dot the night sky with a cold, half-drunk bottle of vodka.

“What’s your most dangerous fantasy?” Molly blurts out, and the corners of her mouth tilt into a curious grin.

I think for a second, raking my fingers through my hair. “Getting buried alive…”

Her eyes widen as her mouth pops open in surprise. “Um… what?! You want to be buried alive?” She whisper-yells, slurring her words as she unscrews the bottle’s cap and takes a large swig without breaking eye contact with me. I huff out a breathy giggle.

“You said dangerous fantasy,” I shrug. “I have always wondered what it would be like to get buried alive. What’s yours?”

She takes another sip and hands me the bottle. “Damn, Lexi, I knew you were twisted, but that’s some dark shit,” she laughs before clearing her throat. “I meant sexual fantasies. I don’t fantasize about my death, you weirdo!” She jokes and nudges my knee as I gulp down two big sips from the bottle.

“Oh, shut up. You love my crazy ass!” I tease and poke out my tongue, revealing the silver stud that hugs it perfectly. I hand the bottle back to her and lean back on my elbows.

“Yes, I do!” she laughs and drinks again. “Tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine,” she eggs me on, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Well, I had a pretty interesting daydream earlier today. You ruined it,” I tease and grab the vodka from her hand before she empties the bottle by herself.

“What? How did I ruin your fantasy daydream? I didn’t do shit!” she scoffs.

“You called… I told you to text me when you got home,” I laugh as she rolls her eyes and waits for me to tell her what she so rudely interrupted in my twisted imagination. “I was daydreaming about being kidnapped. The thought of it made me feel alive, you know. The idea that someone would snatch me from my daily life and keep me as their captive. No stress. No responsibilities. That sounds like a dream come true, right?”

“What?!” she slurs as she places the now-empty vodka bottle on the floor beside me.

“You know, kidnapped and taken. Bound and gagged—to be used for my captor’s pleasure and not having to ask for something new like I had to with my ex. He was too safe. Too boring. I want someone to dominate me and take full control while also indulging in my curiosities and darker kinks,” I explain, shrugging my shoulders as I take a deep breath and wait for the judgment or, worse, laughter.

“Seriously?” she asks in a confused but calm tone.

“Seriously,” I brush my hair behind my ear and move my tongue from side to side in my mouth. The piercing makes a satisfying ticking sound against my teeth, easing some of the awkwardness I feel in my stomach.

“Why?” she asks in a whisper. I hesitate, so she continues. “I mean, you’re not the type of person who would want to be taken away like that. You're… different."

“Different?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I mean, you’re the kind of person who is happy just chilling with her friends, eating pizza, and watching movies. You’re the type who’d have a steady, normal boyfriend who’s easy-going but strong-willed. I can’t imagine you being held captive without putting up one hell of a fight to stop it from happening,” she says.

“So… I’m boring and stubborn.”

She laughs. “No. You’re not boring. Stubborn? Um, hell yeah. You just… don’t seem like the type to go looking for that kind of trouble,” she says, fidgeting with her hands as if she feels guilty for saying it.

I smile and take her hands. “You’re right. But I want trouble. I want to be taken away, completely out of control, and feel the excitement and danger that come with it. I’m tired of normal. Normal is fucking boring.”

She is quiet for a moment, then smiles and clears her throat. “Okay, my turn.”

“What is it?” I ask, pushing down the drunken annoyance at her sudden subject change from my fantasy to hers.

“I want Joel,” she confesses. Her cheeks immediately grow red as she waits for my reaction.

I chuckle. “Joel? Really? You still have a crush on that idiot?”

Molly rolls her eyes, “Shut up, Lexi. I know he’s not the best guy out there, and he can have any girl he wants, but something about him drives me wild.” I nod, understanding the feeling alltoo well. There have been a few men in my life who have made me feel that way.

Joel is objectively a good-looking man. His sandy brown hair and hazel eyes, coupled with his cocky smile, have always made girls swoon. I suppose it is an added bonus that he is successful and 5'8".

“He is my cousin, so excuse my cringy expression. I’m afraid to ask, but what’s the fantasy?” I ask, hoping I don’t vomit at her confession.

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