Chapter 3: Dangerous Confessions
The smell of ammonia and lavender was too strong. Donna sat in the vinyl chair, her cape snapped tight around her neck, and watched Brenda’s reflection in the mirror as she worked on her highlights. The salon was quiet for a Tuesday morning. Just the low hum of a dryer in the corner and the gentle snip-snip of shears two stations down.
“So,” Brenda said, her voice a casual drawl as she painted a section of Donna’s hair with practiced ease. “How was the big anniversary? You looked pretty sparkly at dinner.”
Donna’s fingers tightened on the armrests. She’d been holding the words in for three days, a secret pressure cooker in her chest. It bubbled up, a hot, frantic spill.
“It was insane,” she whispered, leaning forward so her voice wouldn’t carry. The cape rustled. “Clark. Jesus, Brenda. He was like a machine. Twice. And then again the next morning he woke me up and it was like… like he was made of iron. I’m not kidding.”
Brenda’s hands paused. In the mirror, her eyebrows lifted, a flicker of professional interest. “Okay, well, happy anniversary to you. Viagra’s a hell of a drug.”
“It’s not Viagra.”
The words hung there. Brenda carefully placed her brush down on the tint bowl. She met Donna’s eyes in the mirror. “What do you mean, it’s not Viagra?”
Donna looked away, at the lineup of hairspray cans. “I… I got him something else. A gel. You rub it on. It’s supposed to be, like, a enhancement thing. Herbal, I guess.”
“A gel.” Brenda’s voice was flat. She unhooked the cape, her movements suddenly sharp. “Come with me. My eleven-thirty cancelled.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just turned and walked toward the back of the salon, past the shampoo sinks, to a tiny, cluttered break room with a coffee maker and two folding chairs.
Donna followed, the cape still bunched around her. Brenda shut the door and leaned against it, crossing her arms over her chest. Her red hair was a vivid shock against the drab beige wall.
“Tell me exactly what it’s called. Where you got it.”
“It’s called ‘Zephyr.’ I ordered it online. It came in a plain white box. It was expensive.” Donna’s words tumbled out. “You know how it’s been. How I’ve felt. I was just so tired of feeling… disconnected. I wanted a spark. I wanted him to want me like that again, to not have to orchestrate everything. It was supposed to just… help a little.”
Brenda’s face had lost all its humor. She looked pale under her freckles. “Zephyr.” She said the word like it was a taste of something rotten. “Oh, Donna. No.”
“What? What is it?”
“It’s not herbal. It’s a research chemical. A synthetic androgen cocktail mixed with a vasodilator so potent it could give a dead man a boner.” Brenda pushed off the door, pacing the small space. “It’s black market. It’s like what guys in underground bodybuilding forums use when they’re willing to trade their liver for veins that pop. I dated a pharmacist who got mixed up in that scene. He talked about this stuff. They call it ‘Liquid Confidence.’ But it’s not for fun.”
Brenda stopped pacing and turned, her eyes locking onto Donna’s with a frightening intensity. “It doesn’t just make an erection last, Donna. That’s the surface. The androgen base? It promotes tissue growth. With repeated use, it can actually… increase size. Permanently.”
Donna blinked, the information landing but not connecting. Brenda’s voice grew lower, ticking off points on her fingers. “It hyper-sensitizes the nerve endings. Everything feels more intense. It causes spontaneous, unpredictable erections—like, walking-the-dog level spontaneous. It jackhammers the libido into overdrive. Other side effects?” Brenda gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “We’re talking aggression shifts, potential organ stress, hormonal chaos that could make his hair fall out or his skin break out like a teenager. It’s chemical Russian Roulette.”
The words swirled around Donna, but they were just noise, static. All she could see was Clark’s face that morning, glowing with satisfied wonder. All she could feel was the phantom ache of her own body, thoroughly used and smiling about it. Tissue growth. Increased sensitivity. A libido in overdrive. Each phrase Brenda uttered sounded less like a warning and more like a list of forbidden features on a luxury car she’d just gotten to test drive.
“He seemed fine,” Donna heard herself say, her voice distant. “Better than fine. He was happy.”
“Of course he was happy!” Brenda snapped, throwing her hands up. “He’s flooded with synthetic hormones and god-knows-what. He feels like a superhero. That’s the point of the stuff. The crash, the damage—that comes later.”
Donna nodded slowly, a perfect pantomime of concern. She picked at a thread on the ugly vinyl chair. Brenda was describing a problem, but Donna was only hearing the solution she’d been craving for years. Spontaneous erections. The idea of Clark wanting her, just because, without her careful planning and staged hints, sent a warm thrill through her gut. The memory of his newfound stamina, the sheer physical confidence of him, was a narcotic.
“I understand,” Donna said, her tone convincingly grave. “I had no idea. It was so discreetly packaged.”
“You need to throw it out.” Brenda knelt in front of her, trying to catch her downcast eye. “Promise me.”
“I will,” Donna said, the lie forming as easily as a breath.
The relief on Brenda’s face was immediate. She stood, her knees popping, and pulled Donna into a quick, lavender-scented hug. “It’s okay. You didn’t know. Just… no more internet experiments, yeah? Talk to the man. Or a therapist. Not a chemist in a basement.”
Donna held her friend tightly, nodding against her shoulder. Her mind was already elsewhere, calculating. The plain white box was hidden in her knitting bag, tucked behind a half-finished scarf at the back of the bedroom closet. There was still so much left in the tube.
Clark had a late meeting Thursday. He’d be tired, maybe a little stressed. It would be the perfect time to see if the effects could be replicated, to see if that glorious, connected feeling was a one-time anomaly or something she could touch again.
“Let’s get you rinsed,” Brenda said, pulling back, her professional smile returning. “You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
Donna followed her back to the shampoo sinks, the tiled floor cool under her feet. She laid back, closing her eyes as the warm water streamed over her hair, washing away the bleach. Brenda’s fingers massaged her scalp, but Donna barely felt it.
All she could think about was the gel, cool and slick in her palm. All she could hear was the headboard slamming against the wall, a rhythm that had finally, after so long, sounded like want.