Body Surfing

giving her what she wanted. What she deserved.
    “Jarhead?”
    Jasper tried to answer but couldn’t. Despite the fact that he’d mentally reset Jarhead’s broken wrist a day ago, now he couldn’t even make his host’s erection go down. It felt like it was going to rip through his pants.
    Sandra puffed at her cigarette. She was obviously confused, but seemed to think her boyfriend’s roommate was just a little drunker than usual. Smiling nervously, she turned toward the bedroom.
    “Lemme drag Eddie out so you—”
    In a flash he was on her. She seemed to weigh nothing as he threw her the couch.
    “Jarhead! What the fuck?”
    Sandra’s voice grated in his ears. His name was Jasper. Jasper . He clapped one hand over her mouth, went straight for her panties with the other. Sandra gnawed at his fingers even as she drove her cigarette into his cheek. Jasper heard the sizzle, smelled the burning flesh. He knew it hurt but it didn’t matter. He shut the nerves down and the pain disappeared. Let her burn his host’s face off. He would get what he needed.
    The panties ripped away like a sheet of tissue, and he pulled sohard at his host’s zipper he broke it. He could hear Sandra’s gagged pleading in Jarhead’s souped-up ears, but only at a remove. All his attention was focused on the space between her legs. On the release that would be his, Jarhead’s and Jasper’s both. There was a nagging voice at the back of his brain— this didn’t work before —but he ignored it. He would do it right this time. He would find the way out.
    As he reached for his dick, a chair smashed into his back. His forehead knocked into Sandra’s, and she went slack in his grip. Jasper was amazed he hadn’t heard Edwin coming—then realized he had, but had chosen to ignore it. To focus on the task at hand. Now he looked up, just in time to catch a second blow in the face. Two legs broke off the chair and a thick gash opened up on Jarhead’s forehead. Jasper blinked, one slow-willed opening and closing of his host’s eyes as he fought to make sense of what was happening.
    “What the fuck, man?” Edwin’s pimply face was a mixture of rage and fear and confusion. “Have you totally lost your fucking mind?”
    The words came to him through a fog. The fog wasn’t just Jarhead. It was him. Not Jasper—not the Jasper he’d been anyway, but the thing he’d become. This insatiable, irresistible need for release. The only thing that distracted him was the pain in his head. He almost wanted to tell Edwin to hit him again. To find Sandra’s cigarette and burn out both his eyes.
    “Edwin?”
    “Don’t even , man! Just get the fuck out!”
    Jasper climbed off Sandra’s body gingerly. Without thinking about it, he checked her vitals. He didn’t have to touch her. Just listened. Her pulse was steady, her breathing even. Aside from the bump on her forehead, she was okay.
    “I don’t know what to say, man. I’m really sorry.”
    “I said get out!”
    “I, um, yeah. I just have to do something in the bedroom.”
    As he made his way around one end of the couch Edwin looped around the other. Jasper could hear Edwin’s heart too, pounding against his ribs, and he knew the skinny boy was too scared to attack again.
    “I’ll just be a minute. I really am sorry—”
    “Fuck! Off!” Edwin screamed, then dropped the broken chair, and knelt down next to Sandra. “Sandy? Baby? You okay?”
    Jasper closed the bedroom door behind him, and when he turned around, he caught Jarhead’s face in the mirror across the room. He was glad it wasn’t his face, because he didn’t know how he could’ve stood the sight of himself. Jesus Christ, what had happened out there? He’d almost raped a woman. If Edwin hadn’t clocked him he would’ve done it without a second thought.
    But the worst part was, he knew it could happen again. Knew it would happen again, unless he found a way to control himself. The desire was still there. The need. Just thinking about it turned it up again. He could feel Sandra’s crotch beneath his. He could just go out there, throw Edwin through the window—
    He punched himself in the face so hard he staggered backwards against the wall. In his confusion, it took him ten minutes to find the charger. But he felt himself calming down as he sifted through dozens of mismatched, cheesy socks, discarded pairs of skidmarked underwear, T-shirts whose armpits were crusty with deodorant. Every item of clothing seemed to