New Animal by Ella Baxter (speed reading book .TXT) 📕

along her body, as she rocks between the two men. They run their hands over her skin as if polishing her, and I get the sense that she wouldn’t have tricky emotions that she needs to rehome. She looks like the kind of woman who has no problem making decisions based on what she likes rather than on what she doesn’t like. She would have a growth mindset.

The man positioned behind her pulls away and looks down at his penis, which has softened into a glutinous stub. He shakes it, which makes it shrink even more, while the audience gathered around the podium urge it up and out.

Shoulder to shoulder in a dense crowd, watching as a man shakes life into his own penis, I’m surprised to feel a little of the submarine loneliness from earlier. I turn to Leo and pull him into a full body hug, pressing my chest to his; I want to feel his heartbeat through his bones and skin, to know that I’m not alone, but all I can feel is the reverberating thump of music around us. Leo allows himself to be hugged but his focus is still on the three people on stage. I manoeuvre closer, until I can feel that our hearts are pushed right together.

‘Amelia, fuck’s sake—what is it? You don’t like it here? Do you need attention?’ He wriggles free and laughs, and in that moment my loneliness fades. Not by much, but it will do for now.

‘We could dance?’ Leo offers.

We begin shuffling in front of each other, moving slowly to the fast music. After a few minutes he lets go of the lead, shrugging and grinding his hips. He’s not much of a dancer but it doesn’t matter, because dancing is hard. I have to give him credit for really going for it, though, and I join in, feeling the lead of the collar lapping at my back as I throw in some moves of my own.

Leo clenches his fists and does a move not unlike shaking two maracas incredibly fast. He’s really carving out space for himself here, and I feel that I should try to match his energy. I meow out loud for effect before sauntering around in a languid circle. I flop over, and shimmy back up like a peacock on heat. I clap my hands twice, which distracts me because my skin under the strobe lights look unreal, almost painted. I kick sideways. I smile at the woman who has clapped once in response to my claps. I wink at her—I see you. She winks back and wags her tongue at me. I turn around and bounce a few steps in her direction, and we both laugh. Leo appears between us, smiling, but I shuffle off with a jazzy quickstep and he follows. The woman blows me a kiss and I bid her farewell with a wave.

I look down over my weaving body as it turns like ribbons of ink through water in this aerial ocean, in this arid party. I lift my eyes to the ceiling. It’s so hot in here. We are all sensual and amoebic. I feel like I am learning something important but I can’t put my finger on it. I want to know what I don’t; I want to be there in the centre of the unknown.

Leo pulls on the collar, drawing me towards him.

‘How are you liking it?’ he asks over the techno track that has just reached a pre-crescendo period, like a sound recording of someone sewing two lengths of foil together.

‘It’s a good distraction,’ I yell back.

‘Oh yeah, from what?’

I lift his arm to check the time on his watch, and see that it’s past midnight.

‘My mother’s funeral is today.’ My eyes water as I say it, and I blink a few times, trying to push all the feeling back into my face.

He gives me the blank look that people wear sometimes when they want to move past other people’s emotions.

‘Want me to take your mind off it?’ he asks.

‘Absolutely,’ I say.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Leo guides me towards a small stage and pushes me up the steps, but my feet tangle together and I stumble, falling onto my hands. I peek out from the corner of my eye to see whether anyone has noticed and am surprised to see a small crowd gathering.

‘You okay?’ Leo extends a hand to help me up, but I brush him away. I scramble to my feet and curtsy, and a few people clap half-heartedly in response.

‘Ready?’ Leo asks, wide-eyed and twitching. I can only imagine how wet his palms are now. He rubs his forehead with two fingers, up and down, up, down, which makes him seem manic. He stops suddenly, and holds eye contact with me, and I can see that his pupils are so dilated that his eyes look black.

‘Damn it, I forgot to get consent.’ His hands are in a prayer position in front of his chest. ‘Do you please consent to me using the bullwhip on you?’

‘I don’t know what that is.’

‘It’s just a short whip—look.’ He pulls a whip from his back pocket and unfurls it, threading his hand through the wrist loop and holding on to the wooden handle. The plaited leather is about as long as my body.

‘Sure,’ I say.

I glance around the club, reminding myself of how little people are wearing before I pull my t-shirt over my head and kick off my shoes. I unbutton my pants and pull them down over my hips, as Leo takes a step back and nods. Being nude might enable me to fit in more. I will be fully immersed in the experience then. I push my pants to my knees while doubled over, and then lift my feet one by one to push them down my calves. Being nude is totally fine in here; in fact, it’s the norm. Leo is watching me, even taking another step back to really drink in