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She grabbed the yellow crayon and drew circles on the white paper in front of her. Yellow circles within circles, a gyre of sunshine. The scent of pot drifted her way and she blinked at the sting of the smoke in her eyes. She would have told him to stop smoking it, to put it out, but it scented the air nicely, and cut into her own anxiety like a gentle, calming knife, slicing out the bad images and leaving only quiet circles of thought behind.

The calm of a cut still called to her sometimes, but she grabbed a blue crayon instead, adding a swirl in the middle of the yellow, a life-giving river in the middle of the spiral. Water, blue, shining, drawing her in to drink and wash herself clean.

"Why're you playing with the kids' toys," he asks from the couch behind her, and she can smell the beer and pot on his breath breezing over her shoulder.

"Drawing a passage to God," she murmurs, reaching for green, because God always likes the green things best, spring and summer are full of it.

"It's a pretty drawin', darlin'," he says it softly, in that voice that she knows means she's still crazy.

"If we don't follow the spiral, he'll never be able to reach us."

"I'll swim in that spiral with ya later, little darlin'." The lust in his voice is distracting, and she reaches for the red crayon. "I'll show you all about swimming in a spiral."

She's wet now, but she touches the edge of the red crayon just at the center of the spiral and makes a small dot. God's got some lust in him all right, but he's not strongly partial to it. Or so she thinks until she finds herself drawing a thick red line all around the inside of the spiral and draping it out to the end.

"Mmm, now that's right pretty. Put some black around the edges and it looks like your sweet hole."

She blinks at her drawing and closes her eyes. She still smells the pot, the beer, but now there's a damp smell of sex, too. And, yeah, she still feels God just sitting there in her chest, right under her heartbeat, waiting for her go into the spiral, dive into it, and join him.

She keeps her eyes closed as he drops onto the floor next to her, his hand already climbing up under t-shirt, down to where she's only wearing panties. And then his fingers are touching her and she shifts to lean against him.

Deep breaths, and then shallow ones, and she feels herself tightening, his fingers moving and moving, and he's right, they've entered the spiral and up ahead she feels the draw, the intense need, the striving, and then she moves into it, bursting into God's presence with a shuddering cry.

"That's the way, little darlin'. That's the way now." She hears his words in her ear and shivers, feeling God already receding from her grasp.

He takes his hand away from her clitoris, and brings it sticky and sweet-smelling up to her lips. "Taste that honey pot, baby doll. Taste your spiral to God."

She sucks his fingers, spreading her legs, motioning him in.

 

THE END