Mayhem at Prescott High

by Stunich, C. M.

  The sound of Vic’s Harley pulling up alongside us registers with me, but I can’t pull away. Instead, my arms tangle around Aaron’s neck as we fall into each other. The shadowy laughter from the other cars, the faint smell of fries and chili, it all just blends into a blur of particles that mean nothing to me.

  “He can’t keep us apart again; I won’t let him.” I lick Aaron’s lower lip, sucking it into my mouth as he groans and leans his head briefly against the already fogged-up windows.

  “Fuck, I can’t wait. I need to be inside you,” Aaron pants, and I nod yet again, sitting up and crawling from his lap on all fours the way he seems to want. “Bare, Bernadette. This time, no condom.”

  “No condom,” I agree, breathless, my lips nearly touching the window’s glass. I’m thankful for the spotty and inconsistent lighting of South Prescott, the clouds over the moon, and the condensation of our own breath. We should be fairly invisible in here. “No need.”

  I’ve been taking the birth control pills that Oscar gave me, so for once, I’m actually not being an irresponsible twat. Even if I weren’t, I’d probably do it anyway, and you know what? I know why, too. Because it was never about babies or responsibility or any of that. I just want to be close to my boys.

  “You’re the only queen I would ever serve,” Aaron whispers, leaning over me. I can feel his cock pressing up against the seam in my sweatpants, teasing me. He’s probably getting pre-ejac all over them, but I don’t care. This moment is worth everything to me. “And I never really served a king; I’ve tolerated him. For you.” Aaron reaches around to undo the tie on the front of the pants, kissing my ear and grinding against me. His right hand slides under my shirt and up my bare belly, finding my breast and squeezing it with great tenderness. Each press of his fingertips into my skin scalds me, stealing away any resistance or dignity I had left.

  “You’re supposed to be the nice one,” I groan as he kneads my flesh, the slow undulations of his hips driving me insane. “Stop teasing me.”

  Aaron chuckles, and the feel of his breath stirring my hair makes me squirm even more.

  “What we do in the bedroom together has nothing to do with nice, Bernie.” Aaron reaches up and grabs my waistband, yanking the sweats over my ass and exposing my wet heat. I can’t exactly spread my legs because of them. Doesn’t matter, I guess, since the bench seat we’re on is only so wide.

  There isn’t a lot of room in there, so Aaron and I are pressed up nice and close, jammed between the two back doors so he has plenty to push off, and I have plenty to push up against. There’s going to be a lot of friction in here soon.

  A hard knock on the window makes Aaron growl in frustration, and my heart leaps with fear in thinking that it’s Vic. If they come head-to-head in a clash, what am I going to do? I can’t choose between them; it’s impossible.

  “Shakes and food are on the roof, fucking horny ass kids,” the waitress grumbles, and I can hear the whir of her skates as she moves away. Like I said, South Prescott, raunchy shit, terrible people, we know, we know.

  My fingers splay out against the glass as I sigh in relief, but it’s a short-lived expression because I can feel the heat of Aaron’s cock rubbing against me. He repositions himself slightly and then drives all the way into me, making me bite my lip as overwhelming sensation crashes through me.

  My legs are squeezed so tightly together, and Aaron’s so damn big, I end up with my face pressed to the glass because I just don’t have the energy or willpower to hold myself up anymore. What is it about Aaron that makes me want to submit?

  It’s because you know he loves you enough to always pull back, if you need it. That’s why. You can let go with him; you forget worrying about literally anything.

  Aaron cracks a hand against my ass and then squeezes the flesh with his hot fingers. On his arm, he bears a tattoo with my name, a fact that I can’t stop thinking about as he drives me into me hard and fast. The car creaks with our movements, helping to hide the wet sound of our bodies joining together.

  “So fucking pretty, Bernie,” he purrs, sliding his hand up and under my shirt again. He pinches my nipple, tweaking it and yanking on it until I cry out in ecstasy. “So pretty.” Aaron pulls back slightly and then cracks my ass with his hand again; he groans as my body clenches around his. “Do you like getting spanked?” he asks me, slowing his movements, so he can lean forward and put his palm on the window, right over the top of mine. With his other hand, he kneads my breast again. “Do you, Bernie?”

  “Only when you do it,” I murmur back, because I cannot for the life of me imagine any of the other guys doing this without me going into a rage. “Only you.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” Aaron responds, voice thick with heat and need. He kisses down the side of my neck, his body pressed up against the length of mine, fingers still flicking and twisting my nipple. With my left hand, I keep myself propped up, but with my right, I reach back and grab at him, yanking on his chestnut hair.

  Those lips of his, I take great pleasure in knowing they only belong to me, that they have always only belonged to me. He saved himself, I think, but before I get a chance to think he’s too nice of a boy, he spanks me again and then bites my neck so hard that I see stars.

  “Tell me you’d choose me, Bernie, even if it’s a lie,” Aaron breathes, and I’m helpless to resist his pull. No … no, that’s not it. I’m not helpless. I have never been helpless. I want to give into him because I love him. That’s the long and short of it, really. Maybe it’s wrong, maybe our relationships are all toxic, but I feel like what we have here is significantly less toxic than the world at large.

  “I’d choose you,” I tell him as he fucks me into an early climax, and then uses the pulsing of my body to find his own. When Aaron moans and fills me with his cum, it’s a glorious moment. If anyone were going to get a baby from me, it’d be him.

  We stay joined together for far longer than is really necessary, neither of us wanting to move and break the spell of the moment. He’s the one who actually finds his head first.

  Aaron does his best to untangle himself from me, collapsing into the opposite corner as I struggle to turn around, pants wrapped around my legs. We stare at each other from across the seat, breathing hard and soaked in sweat. He puts his hand to his face, elbow resting on the door, tatted fingers digging into his hair. The smile he gives me is all good-boy-turned-bad, and I’m living for it.

  “Bernie,” he says, and then he just starts to laugh. I push up from where I’m sitting and crawl over to him, falling into his arms. Aaron bands his right arm around my waist and hugs me close, putting his lips to my hair as his body shakes with more laughter.

  “Aaron …” I start, burying my face against the side of his neck. And then I start to laugh, too. Because this is where we were always meant to end up, me and him. Fucking in the backseat of an old car at a drive-in while our shakes melt and our fries get cold. This, right here, is everything to me.

  Me and Aaron.

  “You were well worth the wait,” he whispers against my hair, and I snort.

  “I could say the same to you,” I murmur as he wraps his fingers in my hair and encourages me to pull my head back for a kiss. Our mouths meet, and I swear to god, he tastes like happy endings and heartbreak both at the same time. “Don’t you dare leave me again, Aaron Fadler,” I warn him, touching the side of his face as he turns to press his lips against my palm. “I mean it.”

  “If I have any control over my fate, Bernadette Blackbird, I promise that I’ll never leave you again.”

  Aaron and I take our time smoking a joint and eating our food. We even put in another order for dessert, and our bitchy ass waitress brings over two sundaes shoved into plastic cups and covered in molten hot fudge.

  “I think I burned my tongue off,” Aaron tells me, glancing my way as he starts up the Bronco. I grin back at him as I dig at the bottom of my cup for the last few nibbles of peanuts and ice cream. “But it was worth it.”
>
  “So worth it,” I agree, trying to keep my face neutral. “And I don’t just mean the sundaes and the fudge. I’m in desperate need of a shower.” Aaron chuckles at me, his gaze sweeping over me as I glance back at him. We are not done tonight, not even close.

  Victor stays the whole time, sitting on one of the picnic tables in front of the spot where his bike is parked. Pretty sure he’s watching over us which, unsurprisingly, makes me like him more. He leaves me and Aaron alone; he keeps watch.

  That’s how Havoc is supposed to fucking work.

  We might actually be able to wing this thing, huh?

  Vic doesn’t bother to get on his bike and leave until he sees we’re doing the same.

  Aaron brings the Bronco to a stop at the edge of the parking lot and then pauses, turning his head to look left, out his partially cracked window.

  “What the actual fuck?” he asks as I crane my neck to see what he’s staring at. “Is that the Thing’s partner?” Aaron takes his time at the stop sign, and the other cars behind us wait their fucking turn.

  They know who the ‘96 Ford Bronco belongs to.

  I set my empty ice cream cup in the cup holder and then scoot forward for a better look.

  Sure enough, there’s Sara Young, unmistakable with her bright blond hair and petite white face. She’s sitting in a maroon-colored Subaru with the headlights off, eating a burger. She’s not looking at us right now, but I can’t imagine a cop who lives in the Fuller area of Springfield goes out of her way to visit the southside grease pit known as Wesley’s.

  Trust me.

  If a cop started frequenting this place, we would all know.

  “Do you think she’s following us?” I ask, but Aaron just turns back to the windshield with his lips pursed into a thin line. He says nothing as we very carefully pull out of the parking lot and onto the dirt road that cuts between two empty pieces of property. I saw the word property very loosely; these lots are nothing but shrubs, broken glass bottles, and graffiti proclaiming this to be Havoc territory.

  “I would say …” Aaron starts as we finally hit the paved road that leads back into the suburbs between Fuller and Prescott where his house is. Headlights turn behind us, keeping a careful distance. It’s the motherfucking Subaru. “Yes. Jesus fucking Christ. Call Vic.”

  I pull my phone out and dial up our fearless leader.

  He doesn’t answer on the first ring—probably because he’s on the Harley. But he calls me back less than a minute later.

  “Talk to me, baby,” he says, making my stomach muscles tighten in appreciation of that rumbling voice.

  “We need to untangle a mare’s nest,” I say carefully, unsure as to how much I should say here. There are plenty of ways for someone to pick up on our phone conversation if they really wanted to. “And we need to do it before we get home.” I’m hoping he catches the meaning in my words as I lick my lips. They still taste like Aaron, like cherry cola and teenage fucking dreams. “Anything you need from the store before we get there?”

  “Ah,” Vic says with a deep chuckle. It vibrates my body, even over the phone and separated as we are. “Tell Aaron he should take you mudding. Makes for a fun date. I’ll see you when you get here. Stay safe, princess.”

  He hangs up before I can metaphorically bite his dick off for calling me princess again.

  “He says you should take me mudding,” I tell Aaron, my voice clearly showing that I have no idea what this backup plan means. Aaron smiles tightly and nods, pulling into an empty parking lot to turn around. Within two minutes, Sara Young is behind us again.

  “I can’t wait for you to see this,” Aaron tells me, taking us through some seedy back areas of South Prescott—by seedy, I mean like prostitutes on every corner and people passed out with needles in their arms—and over to the racetrack. It hasn’t been in proper use since the late fifties, but the local kids keep it up and running all on their own. Sometimes Prescott guys come here to race classic cars.

  The most famous racer of all of them though is Scarlett Force, a girl who graduated just a year before the guys and I started at Prescott High. She’s made a legend of herself, as famous for her cars and her racing prowess as she was for seriously dating three men all at once.

  You go, girl.

  “Okay, this I can’t wait to see,” I say as Aaron flashes a grin that in any other school in the state would grant him the title King of the Cocky Assholes.

  “Put that seatbelt on, Bern, and I’ll fucking show you.” Aaron hits the gas, sending the Bronco through the gate (that’s really just an opening as the actual gate has been missing for years) and onto the property. There’s a small driveway to the right that cuts through what used to be the stands for the crowd.

  We blast through that and skid onto the track. Since it’s December, and it’s rainy as fuck in Oregon, the dirt track is filled with potholes and mud puddles. We don’t make it five seconds before we hit the first one and the windshield is spattered in mud.

  I lean forward and put my hands on the dash as Aaron takes us around the track, hitting every bump and sending the Bronco flying. My stomach ends up with wings, fluttering into my throat as we hop up and crash down like we’re on a rollercoaster. Aaron lets out a whoop and turns the music up; “Tears Don’t Fall” by Bullet For My Valentine is playing now, like a soundtrack for our quickie date.

  On the far side of the track, Aaron slows slightly and rolls down my window.

  “Do you see her?” he asks, the sharp sound of his words cutting through the music. This part of the racetrack dips much lower than the starting line where the stands are. It’s easy to see the parking lot from here, and to note that Sara Young’s car is, in fact, there with the lights off.

  “Yep,” I reply, wetting my suddenly dry lips. We need to lose her without, you know, letting her know that’s what we’re doing. Obviously, I’m sure she could find out where Aaron lived if she really wanted to, but she doesn’t need to know that I’m there tonight. Or that Vic’s there. Or that the other Havoc Boys aren’t.

  Best to just leave the cops with as little information as possible.

  “Fucking fantastic,” Aaron says, accelerating again and shooting us off the side of the track and into the woods. There’s a cleared path here, one that’s obviously been around for a long time. I’ve never been into the racing scene at Prescott High, so I didn’t know anything about it. Aaron turns his lights off and manages to weave us through the dark of the trees like he’s done this a million times before. Either that, or I guess he’s just a phenomenal driver. I remember him navigating through the dark woods to Principal Vaughn’s cabin; he didn’t use his lights then either.

  “What the hell is this?” I ask and Aaron laughs, rolling his head over to look at me with a saucy expression on his beautiful face.

  “This is where your grandparents probably came to fuck,” he says, and I make a face as the Bronco emerges from the woods and pulls into an old camping area buried in the woods. The signs are old as fuck and one of them clearly has a metal plaque attached that says Campground Closed. “This used to be the hookup spot before they expanded the Springfield suburban sprawl,” Aaron explains, turning left and snaking up a narrow single-lane road that connects to a neighborhood at the edge of the forest. “You could actually camp here and not see city lights.”

  I look out my window at the darkness of the trees as Aaron rolls slowly down the quiet street and turns left again, sending us deep into a pretty Fuller neighborhood. It’s funny to me, because I know the kids who live here, on the outskirts of the neighborhood, are considered the ‘poor’ ones at Fuller High.

  “That was fucking cool,” I tell Aaron as he holds out a palm, and I slap him a high-five. Even that small amount of contact makes my hand tingle, and I suck in a sharp breath. “Is that where you guys always go if someone’s following you?”

  “Not someone,” Aaron corrects, his eyes equally as focused on the rearview mirror as they are the windshield. He’s watching f
or Sara. I turn around to look, so he doesn’t have to. “Law enforcement. Most Prescott kids know about the road, so it doesn’t help much there.”

  “Well, it looks like it worked on Sara; I don’t see her anywhere.” I twist back around until I’m sitting properly in my seat.

  “We do have a rendezvous point around here though,” Aaron says, slowing the Bronco and rolling down my window, so he can point out the twenty-four-hour convenience store on the corner. “They have a bathroom with a steel door, and a lock. If you’re ever on the run, and you need somewhere to hide, try this place. Even if you don’t have access to your phone. If one of us goes missing, we always check here.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, feeling sassy as I lean back against the seat and look Aaron over. “And how often does one of you go missing?” Aaron just laughs and shrugs.

  “Never?” he offers up, which makes me feel at least a little bit better. I watch him shoot a text off on his phone, and figure he’s letting Vic know we’re okay. “But at least you know this is here now.” Aaron curls his hands around the steering wheel and stares out the window with hard eyes for a moment. “We have so many little rat traps and hidey-holes and burrows around the city; you deserve a tour.” He glances back at me with a half-smile, his wavy chestnut hair falling across his brow. “Let me show you around sometime?”

  “Are you asking me on another date, Aaron Fadler?” I ask, and he grins.

  “If I were, would you say yes?” he queries back, raising both brows.

  “Always,” I respond, and his grin turns into a smirk. Aaron hits the throttle, taking us the back way through the neighborhood until we pull into the driveway beside Vic’s Harley.

  When we get inside the house, we find Victor waiting in the dark living room, smoking a cigarette. He watches us as we walk in, his eyes reflecting the light like a cat’s.

  “Have fun?” he asks, but I can’t decide if he’s talking about us going mudding to escape from Sara Young, or about us fucking. Better be the former. It’s not like he wasn’t at the drive-in the whole time watching over us. Like I said, he’s a good actor when he needs to be. And right now, he’s being just as much a leader as he was when he told us to fire at motherfucking will.