Page 31 of You Weren’t Meant to Be Human

Twenty-One

Levi says, “There we go.”

He climbs down to the showroom floor and crouches beside Crane’s slumped body, cradling his temple.

“See how easy that was?” Levi says. “You did the right thing.”

It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like he wants to die.

“I keep saying, if you just do what we tell you, it’s gonna be so much better for all of us.”

Crane hiccups.

Sobs.

Jess was right: he’s spent all this time waiting for permission. Permission to transition, permission to be silent, permission to make it stop.

“Are you going to keep being good?” Levi asks.

Crane nods.

Levi puts Crane onto his back and shoves calloused hands under his shirt to feel his bulging stomach, then higher; to grope possessively at his tits, pinch his darkened nipples. They ache but Crane doesn’t push him away. Crane likes when it hurts.

“That’s what I thought.”

Levi is breathing hard now. Tugging Crane’s shirt up to expose his swollen breasts to the warm air. Strips Crane of his shoes, his jeans, his boxers. Nudges apart his knees to settle between them. The dog tags drag across Crane’s skin. The shotgun lies within arm’s reach.

Nobody is going to give him permission this time.

Crane tries to remember: What was it he said?

Well, not said. Bad choice of words. What was it he thought the night Jess arrived at the gas station, the night he was bent over the manager’s desk?

The sex is better when he doesn’t know if he agreed to it.

It’s better when it hurts and there’s a hand around his throat because it’s correct.

Because that’s where he’s supposed to be.

It’s different this time.

Levi’s taken out his cock and he’s nudging it against Crane’s cunt, lining it up, groaning that raspy “ fuck ” he does as soon as the tip slips in.

And Crane is being good. He spreads his legs so Levi can bury himself inside, even though it stings and he winces.

He doesn’t pull away. Instead he puts a hand over his belly as if to protect it, as if he’s some kind of mother.

“There you go,” Levi growls. He’s pulling Crane’s hips against him so he can get a better angle.

The other hand is holding him down by the throat.

The heel of his palm presses into the windpipe.

Crane didn’t realize he was moaning until he suddenly chokes.

His lungs struggle to inflate. “Just like that.”

Does he want this? The question isn’t does he like it , the question isn’t is it hot , it isn’t is he going to cum so hard he’ll be weak-kneed and shaky. That’s not what’s being asked. None of those are the same question. None of them have anything to do with each other.

The question is , would he have said yes? Right now, if Levi would really listen to the answer, would he have said no?

Or would he say please? Because that’s the only thing he can think right now. Because Crane can’t tell the difference between one question and the other, because this is the only thing that feels right. The boys in the locker room, the dog, the time Levi fucked his throat so hard he vomited.

Levi keeps talking as he thrusts into him, fucks Crane into the dusty floor.

About how wet his cunt feels. About how hot Crane sounds when he’s choking.

He rambles sex-slurred fantasies about what Crane must’ve looked like fucking Aspen and Birdie and calls him a slut, that the hive chose Crane because he’s a slut.

He says Crane would’ve let himself get knocked up by anything that’d have him.

He says Crane is perfect for this, Crane has always been a bitch in heat, Crane is being such a good girl.

And Crane can’t even be mad because Levi is right.

Levi pants like an animal and snarls when he calls Crane a whore, and Crane likes it, of course he likes it.

What’s the point of having sex with men if you don’t get to see the grunting, sweaty beast-thing they turn into when they fuck you?

Crane’s eyes flutter shut, lips parted, hand fumbling around his stomach for his clit because if this is going to happen he might as well get off too.

It feels good, doesn’t it? It feels good, it feels good, it feels—

How dare he get off on this. What the fuck is wrong with him. Disgusting motherfucker. Fucking whore.

They don’t finish at the same time, but it’s close.

Levi groans, releases Crane’s throat from his grip, slumps over to press his sweaty face to a bruised, blue-veined breast. His hips are still rolling, working through the aftershocks.

He’s still whispering. God knows what. And Crane shudders. His thighs shake.

“I know,” Levi whispers. He takes Crane’s left hand, pulls it from his belly, presses it against the floor. Readjusts his grip. Holds two fingers tight. “I know. Let’s just get this part over with.”

The fingers break easily. The wet crack sounds like a stick snapping in the mud. Crane screams.

He’ll do what he’s told. He’ll be everything the hive wants, give it every single shred of himself.

Every piece, every shard. Every damn thing in his womb.

He’ll be so perfect and so good, and when the baby’s finally born and the lockdown lifts and Levi slips for a second, when he’s distracted for just a second , Crane’s going to do it.

All he has to do is make it there. He’s not sure how.