FSE

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_ "DID YOU KNOW ABOUT THIS?!" _

Caleb, shocked by the sudden blast of anger directed at him, spun around in his computer chair so quickly that he almost fell off. At the sight of his girlfriend Abigail standing just inside the doorway, her tail straight out, her body and whiskers taut with rage and anger, he almost wished he had. He could see she was holding something in one hand, outthrust at him, but from where he was seated he couldn't make it out.

"Ah asked you a question, Caleb Matterson! Did you know about this?"

"A-a-about what?" Fear had frozen him to his chair.

"About this!" A step or two brought her close enough for her to flourish the paper she held right in front of his face, and when he looked at it his heart went into free-fall. Most of the page was an image, barely at all imperfect, of a couple having sex in a student dorm room: the camera was positioned so that the top of the nearer bed was clearly visible through its full length and it provided an excellent view of the young male tiger as he rode the slender cheetah who lay on her back, one leg spread wide and the other lifted up upon on his shoulder and their position allowed it to be clearly visible that he was inside her. Although his face was partly obscured, hers was not, turned fully towards the camera and scrunched in a fit of feline ecstasy. At the bottom of the single-sided sheet, printed roughly in colour on cheap paper, was the address www.sexynewenglandclamchowder.net and a time.

Oh, my Gods, Caleb thought. That's the time she's always here... She must think --- "Abigail, if you think I had anything to do with this ---"

"DID YOU?!" Fury sparked from her eyes, and now that she was closer he could see the profound hurt there as well. "Did you?!"

"No, I ---"

"For weeks, Caleb, for weeks, people have been laughin' as Ah walked down the halls, pointin' and laughin' and makin' obscene comments. Laughin' at me, Caleb Matterson! At first Ah thought it was just jealousy, or maybe those dickwads Jeremy or Asubo tryin' to get their own back, a jock tryin' to fix his injured pride! An' then this mornin' Ah found this in my mailbox, and suddenly everythin' made perfect sense! They'd been watchin' us fuck! List'nin' to everythin' you and Ah did and said, purty much since the very first time, like they was right there in the room with us. Watchin' me teachin' you how to pleasure a girl, how to pleasure me, watchin' me suckin' you off and you lickin' mah box --- watchin' us fuckin', and me fuckin' fallin' in love with you!

"Go on, Caleb, go on! Take a look! See jes' how good you really are! 'cause y'all can relive it for posterity, now!" The anger in her voice had shaded to bitter sarcasm.

"Abigail, honestly, I d-d-don't... I didn't do it. I couldn't!"

"Ah said look, mister! Ah did, so y'all can, too!" She grabbed the mouse and opened a new browser page with a couple of skillful clicks, typed in the web address and hit Enter. After a few moments a website appeared, offering 'Archive Footage' and 'Fresh Action Weekly'. Another click brought up the 'Archive Footage' page, and there in a simple table was a long string of videos, all timestamped, all dates when he'd asked his roommate to give him the room for a few hours. A final click on one of the videos and it opened up into a player: in seconds, the room filled with their impassioned moaning, the grunts and mewls and snarls of their lovemaking, the images moving, showing her pushing him gently back from her - "Roll on your back, honey," she whispers - and he does, smiling, average-sized erection pointing skywards and glistening with their juices as she moves to straddle him, knees settling either side of his waist before she sinks down upon him and he groans - "Abigail..." - "Caleb..."

My webcam... that bastard must've hacked it, Caleb thought sadly. Past the point of anger. Past the point of self-reproach for not thinking about it.

Sound and motion stopped with an abrupt click. "Well, there y'all are. Ev'ry one of our little romantic trysts. Ain't that just purty?"

"Abigail, please --- please, you have to believe me, I didn't do this! I couldn't do this! I don't know how!"

"Ain't y'all a computer scientist? Don't y'all know about computers?"

"Yes, but I don't know about how to write a webpage! I can't do that kind of stuff!"

"Y'all don't need to. Y'all can jes' record us fuckin' and give it to a friend. Simplest thing in the world."

"But Ah didn't! I ---" Caleb's eyes went wide as he realised how he'd just spoken. Her accent had crept up on him, little by little, over the weeks and months they'd spent together, not merely in this room but also on dates and times just spent being together, talking, exploring lives and falling, little by little, in love. And he'd just used her inflection now, for the first time, without even thinking about it: it had just slipped out, as it had been threatening to do for so long. And now it had. He watched her expression change back, the slight chink of openness vanishing in a moment, replaced by the unmitigated rage of the female scorned and, he thought, bitterly triumphant justification.

"Well." The rage had gone from Abigail's voice, and she spoke simply, almost unemotionally. "Well, now we see just what you truly think of me. Mock me, would you?" She leaned down to bring her face in front of his; despite his own hurt, his fear, he couldn't look away, couldn't not stare into those beautiful eyes now closed to him and filled with gall. "You all just think about what you've done, Caleb Matterson. Jes' think about it. And then when you're done thinkin'... y'all ask yourself if any other girl shall ever trust you again, as long as you live. For as sure as God made little green apples, y'all may be certain that Ah shall not."

She held the gaze for a long moment, letting her words sink in. Then she straightened up, arched her back in a stretch, turned on her heel and left, dropping the flyer flutteringly to the ground as she went. It was only as he watched her go, slamming the door behind her, that he realised the door to the hallway had been open all the time they had been arguing. Oh... oh no... they heard everything, he thought. He swivelled his chair around again automatically and his gaze lit upon the video still open on the browse. For a long time he stared at it dumbly, mutely; then, in a sudden fit of his own rage, stood, reached for the webcam mounted on top of the monitor and yanked, the monitor toppling forward to land clattering upon his keyboard as the camera's cable simply gave up and broke. A scream tore itself from his lungs and he flung the head across the room where it shattered on the far wall, leaving a small dent in the paintwork and scattering plastic fragments across the floor. All his instincts telling him to expiate his rage on the computer, all his common sense telling him the opposite, he stood now, trembling, turning back and forth in indecision, finally to turn towards his bed and pound his fists over and over again into the unfeeling mattress. He snatched up his pillow and beat it bodily against the floor, the wall, the door, the clothes in his closet, the books in his bookcase, all the while roaring out his anger and hurt, his pain and frustration and fury and grief.

As the surge of red finally subsided, he looked around at his half of the room that lay in tatters, order and tidiness gone, clothes sprawled on books scattered across floor and chairs; his school papers, kept tidy by force of habit, had been cast about in an academic blizzard, subjects mixed together, pages torn. And there, still, on the floor where she had dropped it, the flyer: a half-sheet of paper, simply printed; in all of the chaos and carnage, somehow visible. He walked over and bent to pick it up, tossing his pillow back on his bed as he went, and looked down at it. One corner was creased; thoughtlessly he straightened it.

_"... Caleb... oh Caleb, fuck me... yes... fuck... yes... oh yes..."

"Abby... God... squeeze around me... unngh... God... fucking you..."

"Yes... fuck me..."

"Oh... oh... oh Abigail... love you..."

"Love you too, kitten... ahfuck... fuuuck..."_

Without warning, his vision blurred and his eyes stung, and it was hard to breathe. The paper once more fluttered to the ground, dropped from limp fingers. Caleb turned and stumbled blindly for the bed, falling upon it and curling up. Grief surged up through him, childlike and potent; unable to contain it, unwanting to stop it, he yielded to its course, burying his face into a pillow to muffle his cries, a pillow which still smelled so richly, so potently, so alluringly of them both.