The weed edibles were still going strong in her system when she made it home. She'd endured sneers, snide jokes, even gropings as she'd bussed back from her hate-fuck with Warren Hayes.
She replayed it over and over in her mind; being pressed up against the cold glass of a motel window, displaying her naked body with only a Batwoman mask to save her from total exposure. She felt equal parts furious and ashamed of her intense orgasm whilst she'd been ravished by a man old enough to be her father, who despised everything about her politics and considered her an inferior species because of them.
The worst part was that she was aroused thinking of it. She wished he'd gone further, that he'd made her feel utterly bereft of self-respect and pride. The feeling did not leave her when she sat disheveled and demoralized on the bus. She was too subdued to fight back when strange men groped her body as she made her way home. Each one of them had Warren's smirk, whispered with his voice, pinched her with his strong fingers.
She managed to keep her dignity for about ten minutes when she re-entered her home. Then she promptly stripped naked, lay on her bed, and took out her strongest vibrator. She had writhed on the bed in the grips of a hazy lust that always accompanied her when she was high. She cursed Warren Hayes, the random men who objectified her on a daily basis, and herself most of all for this paradoxical and hypocritical desire for such negative treatment.
It always happens this way, Brynn thought after her third orgasm. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her body was slick with sweat, and she felt more spent than she'd felt in a long time.
Slowly, she sat up to look at herself in the mirror. She looked as dirty and disheveled as she felt. She couldn't tell if there was more anger or disgust in the look on her face. A fire smouldered in her eyes, and she forgot how long she stared before the phone rang.
She was still high, and instantly frantic at the notion of someone finding out what she'd done. She quickly picked up the phone and tried to sound as normal as possible. "Yeah?"
There was a low voice on the other end. It had always irked her to hear it, but now she shuddered, unable to comprehend the mess of emotions running through her.
"Still thinking about it?"
"Fuck you," she whispered. "How did you get my number?"
Warren laughed. "You don't remember giving it to me? How fucking high are you?"
Brynn tried to recall when that had been during their tryst, but her recollection was already hazy.
"By the way," he added smugly, "you forgot your panties in the motel room. Or didn't you notice that either?"
Brynn blushed deeply, wondering where her panties were now. She wondered what he was going to do with them. The thought that he might show them to her mother filled her with sudden panic.
"You must be used to leaving panties behind if you don't notice. Or is just 'cause you're a stoned bimbo?"
Brynn made a choked noise, caught between an indignant exclamation and a cry of stupefaction. Forcing herself to calm down, she spoke in a whisper, as if she might be overheard. "What do you want?"
For a moment, she heard nothing. Then, his bemused answer came back in a regular, measured tone. "There's a lot of ways to answer that, Brynn."
"Don't call me by my name!"
His amusement returned. "No? You don't like that? Too personal, is it? Just admit that you want to be talked down to."
"Fuck you!"
"Tell me, is it something in your ideology that leaves you unsatisfied? Or is it some instinct deep in your bones? I guess that would explain how South Africa came to be, right?"
She knew what he was saying, and she hated it. But beneath her rage, there was awe at his audacity, and - much to her renewed fury - a stirring within her at such taboo topics.
"You want to punish me, then? You want to blackmail me?"
A short guffaw sounded out. "Jesus Christ, you're paranoid. You think I'm some kind of degenerate like Bill Clinton? I don't need to get my kicks on a tropical island."
Brynn rolled her eyes. "So what do you want, then?"
"As if I'd bother telling you that," Warren gloated. "You can stew over that one for a while. See you at the debate."
Oh fuck, Brynn thought to herself. She had forgotten about the first debate.
"My best to your mother, by the way," Warren added mockingly. "Tell Anne-least that she raised a great slut."
Brynn nearly threw her own phone across the room for that comment. Instead, she resigned herself to hanging up abruptly and brooding in bed until she fell asleep.
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Annelies was not happy when Brynn finally phoned her back the next morning. She only said that she'd gone out to the Comic Con event with her friends.
Annelies was not content with that explanation. "Did you get high again?"
Brynn rolled her eyes. "So what if I did? It's legal, isn't it?"
"Don't talk to me about legal. I am in the middle of the campaign! You can't be so irresponsible! I don't care if you were out with friends. I need your help!"
Brynn resented this lecture, but she bore it silently. She was too ashamed of herself to admit the truth. As angry as Annelies was now, Brynn didn't want to imagine her reaction to the news that Brynn had allowed herself to get fucked by the man who threatened everything she'd spent decades working for.
In another political race, the incumbent party might have enjoyed an advantage or two. But the NDP were still reeling from the scandals they'd gone through with Claude Waggoner. Brynn wasted little time getting to her mother's office.
"Hey, Brynn." It was Azam Hafiz, volunteering for another day on Annelies' campaign.
"Morning," Brynn said quietly. They'd become friends in university, until he admitted that he had strong feelings for her. They'd been able to grow past the awkwardness and rekindle their friendship, but now he was the last person she wanted to see.
Azam handed her a cup of coffee, just as she always took it. "Are you okay?"
"No," Brynn admitted. "I didn't sleep well last night."
"Well, whatever it is, it was better than this girl," Azam pointed to his computer screen. "Some woman flashed the expressway at the Millgate last night."
Brynn almost gasped with shock. It was a small article, and thankfully there was no picture to go along with it, but she still felt her skin break into goosebumps as she stared at the screen, unable to read the letters.
"Crazy, huh?" Azam was oblivious to her mortification as he reread the article. "She was smart enough to wear a mask. Cops want to charge her for indecent exposure."
"Pigs," Brynn snapped scathingly. "Like they don't have anything better to do?"
Azam shrugged. "I mean, makes sense. Girl was wearing a Batman mask. Can't blame cops for taking down vigilantes." He smirked pompously, as if he'd made a great joke.
Brynn excused herself and stepped inside her mother's office, hoping that she didn't look as frazzled as she felt.
"About time," her mother declared impatiently. Brynn was about to snap at her mother, until she realised that Annelies was on the phone.
"Don't take that attitude with me! You were the one pushing for this ridiculous debate! It's a by-election, for God's sake!"
Brynn sat down, waiting for her mother to finish. She could guess what this was all about.
The Liberal candidate, Patricia Rossi, was determined to have a debate at town hall. The other candidates had agreed, including Warren Hayes. Annelies had been the only one against it, but she'd had no choice but to agree; her party was fighting enough of an uphill battle as it was without the others calling her a coward for avoiding debates.
"Fine, but whether it happens or not, I'm not rescheduling! Let's just get this over with. Good day." Annelies hung up with a huff.
"Bad news?" Brynn asked her quietly in Afrikaans. It was a chance for them to speak frankly in case they were overheard.
"Patricia wanted cameras at the debate," Annelies remarked in the same language. "What an idiot. She thinks she can pull herself out of third place to challenge me?" She shook her head and muttered a curse under her breath.
Brynn didn't dispute Annelies' claim, but she didn't have to; they both knew that it was a very close race between the NDP, Liberals, and the galvanised PPC. There was a genuine risk that the Liberals would cause a split vote and give Warren the election. 'Getting in the way of real progress as always,' Brynn thought sourly.
After a long sip of coffee, Annelies regarded her daughter and spoke again. "It's not all bad news. Your fundraiser worked out really well for us."
Brynn smiled and gave a modest shrug; truthfully, she knew how instrumental she'd been. She had been the one who suggested her mother take part in a local charity event, then follow it up with a fundraiser of her own. It had been her first serious boost in the race.
"I don't know what I'd do without you," Annelies admitted as she lifted her cup for another sip.
She began talking strategy for the upcoming debate, but Brynn was having a hard time focusing. A fear had been growing inside of her ever since Azam had shown her that article. It had been mortifying to find out at first, but now Brynn began to wonder if the police would figure out who she was. She had been masked the entire time, and she hadn't needed to show any ID to the motel staff. But Warren would be much more easily identified, surely? He wouldn't hesitate to hand her over to the authorities to save his skin.
She forced herself to wait until lunch, when she could leave the building to avoid being overheard. This wasn't a conversation that she was going to preserve with texts. She dialed back the number which had called her the night before.
The phone rang twice before he picked up, and it was immediately clear that he knew who she was.
