Chapter 12

We were allowed to stand at the sides of the classrooms and put our notebooks on lecterns during class. I was unspeakably grateful that the punishment was considered over, and that the school did not feel it necessary to inflict further pain.

Grant was in two of my three classes that day. I found it funny, and fascinating, that several students approached Grant before and after class—tentatively, nervously, as if they were approaching a panther of uncertain disposition and feeding history—to ask him about the new training technique.

Amber, for one, asked, “How long did it take you before those moves felt natural?”

Grant shrugged. “I really don’t remember. It was a long time ago. But I know there wasn’t just one day where I said, Oh, okay, I don’t have to think about it anymore. It’s a gradual thing, like any other hanging technique.”

Behind Amber, Stacia asked, “Did you learn it on the neck trainer?”

“Not exactly the same equipment, but something similar. Same idea, anyway.”

Grant was, again, giving me those just-for-an-instant looks, like the ones at the meeting earlier. I wondered if I should ask the others to back off: Grant might be able to take only so much of this at any one time. I decided to see how things went, on the assumption that Grant probably had enough determination to survive at least one day of it.

I was startled to see Jackie standing in front of me, leaning toward me with her elbows casually resting on the front of the lectern. In a low voice that wouldn’t carry to where Grant was standing, she asked, “Is this for real?”

I shrugged. “I’m pretty sure it is. I can’t promise. I’ve been wrong before.”

Jackie watched as another student approached Grant. “What’d you threaten him with?”

“It wasn’t like that. Exactly. We did have a long talk. Thanks for last night, by the way.”

“Welcome. Maybe I should have whaled on your butt, though. What you did for him was nuts.”

“So I’ve heard. But...” I stopped watching Grant, turned my head to look at Jackie directly, and covered Jackie’s hand with my own. “Give him a chance, okay? I already owe you a lot, but could you do this one more thing for me?”

Jackie looked puzzled. “How would that be something I’m doing for you?”

“I still need to share a room with him.”

Jackie sighed. “Even more nuts. But okay. Can’t wait to collect on this debt. Maybe I’ll have you do something for me you don’t like.” She twitched her eyebrows playfully and smiled.

I grinned. “If you’re talking about sex, there’s not much I don’t like, unless you can turn yourself into my brother. Deal’s off if you manage that.”

Jackie choked back a laugh. “Okay, something short of that, then. We’ll talk later.”

I breathed slowly and deeply as I stood on the platform with my wrists crossed behind me, both to prepare my body and to try to keep my mind calm. I jumped slightly as Grant started wrapping the rope around my wrists. It’s okay, I told myself, it’s okay. There’s no way now he’d do anything like last night.

“You don’t want to use the neck trainer? I could rig it up in a few minutes.”

I shook my head. “I’ll start that tomorrow. I want the rope tonight.”

Grant dropped the noose down over my head and tightened it around my neck. I could see Grant biting his lip. Haltingly, he asked, “Do you ... want somebody to watch?”

I smiled and shook my head. Showing any lack of trust in Grant now would undo everything that I had seen happening in Grant today. Grant indeed seemed to have incorporated a spirit of cooperation with others into his quest to be the “best Noosemeister ever,” but I didn’t doubt that getting through today was the hardest thing Grant had ever done in pursuit of that goal. I hoped I’d been right in telling Grant it would grow more natural to him as time went on. Even Grant’s single-minded determination to do whatever it took was not entirely sufficient. The looks Grant had been shooting me at times of greatest stress gave me the strong impression that Grant found himself needing to draw strength from me—the Amy who believed Grant could do it.

Standing there, waiting for Grant to hang me, it was impossible to banish the nervous feeling completely. I couldn’t separate myself at this moment from all of the emotions of last night. I struggled to control my breathing, and at last, as the platform began sinking, my training took over.

As I lost contact with the platform, I realized that I had been blocking conscious consideration of my greatest worry—that I would be overcome by a new fear of hanging, making me unable to do what I loved the most. I felt a rush of joy as I wriggled above the floor, suspended by my neck, and felt closer than ever before to Miranda, certain now, as I had not been for the last twenty-four hours, that my life would end with the same triumph that Miranda’s had.

I wanted to stay aloft forever, and was frustrated when the first signs of hypoxia told me I had to come down. I felt a momentary tremor of worry that Grant would, again, fail to respond to my down-signal, but knew in my heart that last night would forever remain in the past.

In fact, Grant lunged at the lever almost convulsively when I waggled my foot. He looked like he wished he could hurry the platform’s timed rise to where I could stand on it again.

Grant was looking at his watch, still seeming nervous for some reason. “Six minutes.”

I was pleased with the time: it represented a new personal best. But I wished I knew what was up with Grant right now. I decided to let it go—Grant had been through enough upheaval in the last twenty-four hours to account for any amount of uncharacteristic behavior.

It didn’t seem to affect his performance once he was airborne for his own practice session. I suspected that Grant, like me, felt so much at home swinging from a noose that any distractions going on in his personal life were somehow set aside once he was hanging.

I felt the same reactions flooding my consciousness that always came as I watched Grant up close. After last night I’d wondered whether that would be the same as well, but the tingling between my legs, the trickle of juices almost spurting from my pussy to dribble down my thigh—it was all back, with its customary force.

Grant was improving on something he’d been trying out lately: raising his legs behind him so he could catch hold of his toes with his fingers, which helped him spread his legs apart a little farther, while rocking his hips back and forth, looking more than ever as if he were being fucked in mid-air by an unseen lover. He really did it only briefly, for all he seemed to do it forever, before letting go of his toes and letting his legs swing free again. Desperate-seeming leg kicking was an indispensible part of any hanging show.

I almost couldn’t breathe, and nearly started rubbing my pussy, even though I had resolved to save that for the privacy of the bathroom afterwards. I wondered who would feel the arousal more intensely—an audience member unfamiliar with Grant’s special moves, seeing them for the first time, or me, watching Grant in privacy, so close I could touch him, having always to restrain myself from doing exactly that. It was, of course, no help at all that I felt such a helpless physical attraction to Grant even when he wasn’t hanging.

I was barely able to think of anything other than my need for sexual release by the time Grant finally waggled his foot. It was lucky for Grant that my reflexes were so nearly automatic. After that first time, I had trained myself to untie Grant’s wrists before making a dash to relieve my needs. I’d untied Grant and was halfway to the bathroom when Grant rasped out, “Amy, wait!”

Irritated, I turned and said, “It’ll only take...” but stopped when I saw Grant’s face. I’d seen several new emotions in Grant in the last day, but now his face looked as tense as I’d ever seen it. “Grant, what’s wrong? Do you need to see the nurse?”