Chapter 7: The Dépouillement Game
Three days after the massage, the key turned in the lock before noon.
Leo looked up from his laptop, a prickle of unease moving through him. Maya’s shift at The Steaming Cup didn’t end until three. The door opened and she stood there, still in her street clothes—a faded band t-shirt and jeans—her apron missing. Her face was a closed door.“They closed,” she said, her voice flat as pavement. She didn’t step all the way in.“Owner came in this morning.Rent’s tripled. He’s locking up tonight.”
“Shit, Maya.”
“Yeah.” She finally moved, kicking the door shut with her heel. She walked past him, a ghost trailing the scent of damp spring air, and went straight to the fridge. She stared inside for a long moment before pulling out a jar of pickles. She unscrewed the lid, fished one out with her fingers, and took a loud, crunchy bite.The vinegar bit the air.He closed his laptop. “What did he say about your last check?”
“He’ll mail it. If he doesn’t, I’ll egg his car.” She leaned against the counter, eating the pickle like it was a mission. Her eyes were fixed on a crack in the linoleum.
The next seventy-two hours unfolded in a slow, grim spiral.
Leo took on two extra logo designs he didn’t want, working late into the blue glow of his screen.He paid the rent in full, bought groceries without comment. Maya filled out applications online for the first day, her clicks on the keyboard sharp and rapid. The second day, she baked a complicated soufflé that collapsed the moment she peered into the oven, and she spent an hour scrubbing the dishes with a furious, silent intensity. The third day, she didn’t get out of bed until two in the afternoon.
He found her then, and now, on the faded floral armchair. She was wearing the same gray tank top and black sweatpants she’d worn for two days. A faint, sour smell of sleep and inertia clung to her. Her hair was a tangled cloud around her sharp cheekbones, and the shadows under her eyes looked painted on.A tower of empty green tea bottles stood sentinel on the floor beside her. She was scrolling through her phone, her thumb moving with a numb, repetitive jerk.
“Hey,” he said, leaning in the doorway.She grunted.
“You got any leads from those applications?”
“No.”
“You wanna work on your portfolio?I can mock up a website for your desserts. We could do photos.”
“Later.” The word was a stone dropped into a well.
He pushed off the doorframe and walked over. He stood in front of her, blocking the streaked sunlight from the window.“Maya. You need to take a shower.”
“Why?”
“Because you smell like a hockey bag left in a swamp. And because it’ll make you feel better.”
“Doubt it.” She didn’t look up from the phone. The screen’s glow lit her face in a sickly blue.A slow-burning frustration tightened in his chest. This wasn’t grief, not exactly. It was the defeat that came after, the hollowed-out aftermath he recognized in his own bones from years ago. He saw the empty bottles, the dust motes dancing in the air she hadn’t stirred, the crumpled blanket at her feet. He acted before he thought.His hand shot out and plucked the phone from her grip.
“Hey!” Her eyes finally flashed up to his, alive with annoyance.
He tossed the phone onto the couch behind him.“You’re festering. It’s unattractive.”
“Fuck off, Leo.”
“Nope.” He bent down, grabbed the hem of her tank top, and pulled it up over her head in one swift motion. It was easy; she was listless, taken by surprise. The stale air hit her bare skin and she gasped, crossing her arms over her chest not in modesty but in sudden, angry exposure.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Laundry day.” His voice was light, a counterweight to the grim set of his jaw. He balled up the tank top and tossed it toward the hallway to the bathroom. Before she could unfold, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her sweatpants.“These are coming too. They’re biohazards.”
She gripped the armchair, a laugh of pure disbelief bursting out of her.“You’re insane!Stop it!”
He tugged. The sweatpants, loose on her, slid down over her hips. She kicked, a half-hearted struggle, her laughter growing as she wriggled.“Leo! I swear to god!”
He pulled them free, yanking them over her feet. She sat in the armchair now, wearing only her plain cotton underwear, her skin pale in the dusty light, her body shaking with involuntary giggles born from shock and the absurdity of it.He stood back, holding the filthy sweatpants aloft like a trophy.
She was still laughing, but there were tears in her eyes too, a messy mix of frustration and release.“You’re a bastard,” she wheezed.
“You were mossy.” He dropped the pants on top of the shirt.“Now.Shower. Or I’ll carry you in there.”
She wiped her eyes, the laughter subsiding into hiccups. She looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in days. She saw the concern etched beside his mouth, the determined set of his shoulders. Her own shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her, leaving something raw and tired behind.
“I don’t want to,” she said, her voice small.“I know. Do it anyway.”
A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator.Then she nodded, a tiny, defeated motion. She pushed herself up from the chair, standing naked and vulnerable in the middle of their chaotic living room. She didn’t cover herself.She just started walking toward the bathroom.
At the hallway, she paused, her back to him. “You’re paying for the hot water.”
“Deal.”
She disappeared. A moment later, he heard the shower curtain rings scrape and the rain-like patter of water hitting the tub.Leo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He gathered the dirty clothes, the empty bottles. He opened a window, letting in a rush of cool, clean air to chase out the stagnation. As the steam began to fog the bathroom door down the hall, he went to the hall closet and pulled out the old Nintendo 64 they’d found at a thrift store.He blew dust off the cartridge of Mario Kart 64 and slotted it in.
He had the system hooked up and two controllers in hand by the time she emerged. She was swaddled in a clean, oversized towel, her hair a dark, damp weight down her back. She smelled of his lemongrass soap and steam.
She eyed the TV screen, the pixelated rainbow road waiting.“What’s this?”
“Motivation,” he said, handing her a controller. “First to three races loses.”
A flicker of her old slyness returned to her eyes. “Loser gets tickled?”
“Standard rules.” He shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. “Unless you’re scared you’ll lose. In which case, you can go put on some clothes.”
She dropped the towel.It pooled at her feet. She picked up the controller, settling cross-legged on the floor in front of the screen, her bare back to him, still glistening with a few beads of water.“You’re on, Hartfield. Prepare to be utterly destroyed and then mercilessly tortured.”
He won the first race, Toad zipping across the finish line on Yoshi Valley.
“Beginner’s luck,” Maya muttered, fingers flying on her controller. She peeled off her sock and tossed it at him, a damp projectile that landed on his knee.
The second race, on Rainbow Road, was a dizzying sprint of reckless boosts and shortcuts. Leo slid off the edge twice, the pixelated boop of his kart falling into space a taunt. Maya’s Yoshi crossed the line first. She grinned, wide and real, the first genuine smile he’d seen in days.“Told you,” she said, her voice edged with triumphant focus. She shimmied her other sock off without looking away from the screen.
He lost the next one on Royal Raceway, a clumsy spin-out on the final turn. With a dramatic sigh, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and threw it aside. The apartment’s cool air raised goosebumps on his arms.
Maya won again on Choco Mountain, her victory a quiet, focused yes hissed between her teeth. He stood, unbuckled his jeans, and stepped out of them, leaving him in just his grey boxer briefs.The dynamic had shifted. Her earlier inertia was gone, replaced by a fierce, competitive gleam. She was in her element, commanding the screen, commanding the room.
“Getting chilly?” she asked, her eyes flicking to him for a millisecond.“Nope.Just getting started.”
The next race was Kalimari Desert. He played defensively, blocking her lines, holding back a red shell until the very last stretch. He crossed the line a hair’s breadth ahead. A whoop escaped him, sharp and sudden in the quiet room.Maya’s controller clattered onto the rug. She sat back, naked and unconcerned, and spread her hands.“No clothes left to lose. I’m already in my birthday suit.” She eyed his wiggling fingers as he advanced on his knees across the floor.“Wait,” she said, holding up a palm.Leo paused, hands hovering. “No mercy clauses. The rules are the rules.”
“One more race,” she proposed, her voice quickening.“A tie-breaker.Winner’s choice of punishment. Full tickle… or,” a mischievous glint lit her eyes, “tickle and spanking. Your pick if you win.Mine if I win.”
He considered her. The moping stranger from the armchair was gone, fully replaced by the Maya he knew—calculating, playful, pushing boundaries.“Deal,” he said. He retreated to his controller, the air between them now electrically focused.They both selected Yoshi.The track was Wario Stadium.It was brutal. They traded the lead a dozen times, shells and bananas flying, their bodies tense on the floor, knees almost touching.The final lap was a blur of dirt and jumps. They hit the last ramp neck-and-neck.Leo’s Yoshi nosed forward, just barely, crossing the line first.
Silence descended, broken only by their panting breaths. The pixelated celebration on screen felt distant and irrelevant.Maya looked at him, then slowly placed her controller down. “Okay,” she said, the word a soft exhale.“Okay.Winner’s choice. What’s it gonna be?”
He didn’t hesitate.“Both. You know the drill.”
She nodded, a flush spreading from her chest to her throat. She wasn’t embarrassed; it was the adrenaline, the surrender.“Rules,” she said, her voice steadier now.“Ten seconds. No digging in with nails.And for the… other thing.Five. Not too hard, but not a love tap either. I have to actually feel it.”
“Agreed.”
“Okay.” She shifted on the rug, the coarse fibers against her skin. Without another word, she moved onto her hands and knees, then settled fully, lying face down on the patterned rug. She turned her head to the side, her cheek pressed against the wool, her arms tucked loosely beside her. Her damp hair fanned out around her head. She took a deep, visible breath, her back rising and falling, every vertebra distinct under her skin in the afternoon light. The curve of her spine led down to the gentle swell of her hips, the defenseless backs of her thighs.
Leo knelt beside her, the victor. The reality of the moment, her total submission to their ritual, hit him with a quiet, profound force.The trust was absolute, a stark, living thing between them on the dusty floor. He raised his hands, fingers poised above the delicate ridge of her ribs.
He let his hands hover for a heartbeat longer, feeling the warmth rise from her skin. Then he shifted his position, moving to kneel beside her hips instead.This was the agreed-upon order.His palm was warm and dry.
The first spank landed with a sharp, clean crack that split the quiet room.
Maya jolted forward, a sharp gasp punching out of her.Her fingers scrabbled briefly against the rug. The sound echoed, strangely intimate and final. The skin of her ass cheek bloomed a immediate, hot pink.He waited, his own breath held. “Okay?”
“Yes,” she breathed out, the word tight.“Again.Do it.”
The second was harder, a mirror on the other side. She grunted, her shoulders tensing. The third, fourth, and fifth came in steady succession, each a deliberate, measured impact that rocked her body slightly against the floor.The color deepened. She was breathing hard through her nose, her eyes squeezed shut.
When the fifth faded into silence, he immediately flattened his warm palm over the heated skin, rubbing in slow, gentle circles. “Maya? Talk to me.”
“I’m good,” she said, her voice muffled against the rug.“It stings.It’s supposed to. Now the other part, come on.” She shifted, relaxing her clenched muscles, offering herself again. The trust was absolute, a stark, living thing between them on the dusty floor.His fingers changed their intent. They drifted from the soothing circles, lightening their touch into something skittering and predatory. He started high, where her arm met her torso. He didn’t dig, just spider-walked his fingertips into the vulnerable hollow of her armpit.
She shrieked, a shocked, crystalline sound, and clamped her arm down, trapping his hand. Her whole body bucked in a helpless convulsion of laughter.“No! Not there first, you cheat!”
“You didn’t specify an order,” he said, his voice low and playful as he wrestled his hand free. He went back in, and her laughter turned breathless, uncontrollable. It wasn’t a gentle giggle but a deep, wheezing heave that shook the floor. She thrashed her head side to side, tears immediately springing to her eyes.
He moved on, skirting down the ladder of her ribs.Each touch was feather-light and relentless, tracing every intercostal space. Her laughter pitched higher, becoming frantic.She arched her back, trying to escape, but the position was hopeless. “Leo—stop—oh my god—” she begged between gasps.
He ignored her, painting invisible, ticklish patterns across the small of her back before dancing over the heated, sensitized skin of her ass. She yelped, the sensation different now, a mix of the lingering sting and the new, unbearable tingling.Her legs kicked involuntarily.
He gave her a three-second respite, just long enough for her to suck in a ragged, desperate breath. Then he seized her ankle, his grip firm but not painful.He lifted her foot slightly.
His thumbs found the arch of her sole.The reaction was instantaneous and volcanic. She screamed with laughter, a raw, unhinged sound. Her body went into a wild, twisting spasm, trying to yank her foot from his iron grasp.“NO!NO, PLEASE! NOT THE FEET!”
He was merciless.He worked up from the sole, tracing her Achilles, then the delicate tendons behind her knee. Each new area was a fresh betrayal. Her pleas dissolved into incoherent, wet-sounding shrieks.He switched legs, repeating the torture up her calf, behind the knee again.
Then his fingers journeyed higher, along the inner seam of her thigh.That’s when she broke. “UNCLE!” she screamed, the word shredded and breathless. “UNCLE, UNCLE, UNCLE!”
He stopped, his hands stilling on her trembling skin. Her entire body was shuddering, slick with a fine sheen of sweat, her face wet with tears and pressed into the rug.She was panting, each inhale a hiccuping sob of residual laughter and overwhelm.
“You yield?” he asked, his own voice rough.
“I yield, I yield, just stop, oh my god…” she moaned, limp as a ragdoll.
He didn’t get up.He leaned down, his mouth close to her ear. “I’ll stop for good.But only if you promise me something. Right now.”
“Anything, just no more.”
“You get up.You go to your laptop. You update your resume, the real one, not that half-assed thing from Tuesday. And you let me sit next to you and help until it’s done.No complaining.No getting distracted. We do it right now.”
She was silent, her ragged breaths slowly starting to even. She turned her head, one eye peeking at him from the rug.She looked wrecked and furious and utterly surrendered. “You’re a tyrant.”
“I’m your friend.Promise.”
She swallowed, nodded against the wool.“Okay. Okay, I promise.Resume.Help. Right now.”
He finally relented, removing his hands completely.He sat back on his heels, watching as she gingerly pushed herself up. Her skin was flushed, marked, alive.She wobbled slightly, then stood on unsteady legs. Without a word, she walked naked to the small desk in the corner where her laptop sat, still closed, a monument to her avoidance.
She opened it, the screen lighting her determined, tear-streaked face in its blue glow. Leo stood, pulled on his boxer briefs, and fetched her the oversized towel from the floor.He draped it over her shoulders. Then he pulled a chair beside hers, sat down, and waited.