Crazy Sexy Notion

by Sarah Darlington

  Really. By this point, I was seething. The blood in my body pumped hard, fast, and hot. I wanted to physically hurt this man, this man I hadn’t seen in years. He represented so many terrible things in my life, all rolled up into one handsome package.

  Mickey obliged. He left the car, too, slamming his door behind him so it was only him and me standing on the gravelly side of the road. Cars zoom passed on the interstate beside us. Crickets and other insects buzzed insanely loud in the woods to our right. Samantha’s curious eyes watched us from inside of the car. And yet, I really did have to use the bathroom. So before anything could be said, I unzipped my jeans, pulled them down to my ankles, and squatted right there next to Mickey.

  He gasped and turned around. “You have no fucking filter. I've seen more of your ass in the last twenty-four hours then my last girlfriend would ever let me see. It’s a very nice ass, I might add, but do you even care about the cars passing?”

  Slightly, yes. Mostly, not. I probably could have walked into the woods, but getting a raise out of Mickey was more fun. Until I realized, that once again I'd shown Mickey a less than flattering image of myself. I didn't mean in a physical beauty type of way, I meant in a pedigree type of way.

  One wintery night in New York City, the furthest I'd ever been away from Kansas—the only time I'd ever been away from Kansas, actually—came rushing into my memories. A shiver ran right through me as I remembered the feeling I felt that day—the coldness, the failure, the heartache, but mostly the hopelessness. That single moment was possibly the lowest I'd ever felt in my life. I promised myself that night that if I ever actually saw Mickey again in my lifetime then I'd show him... I'd show him... Well...I still wasn't exactly sure what I wanted to show him. Whatever it was it sure as hell wasn't this.

  I quickly shimmied up my pants, zipping them back into place, without ever going to the bathroom. Not going was downright painful, but I decided I could hold it a little while longer. “You're right—I have stage fright here. Too many perverts watching as they drive by. Including you. Maybe we can stop at the next McDonald's. Maybe I can get a milkshake there too. I’m pretty damn hungry,” I said casually, trying to make a joke out of the situation at hand. In actuality, I was now kicking myself on the inside for behaving like a moron in front of him.

  “Seriously,” he groaned. “Did you have something you wanted to say to me? Because you should say whatever you need to say now while we have a semi-private moment. Otherwise we are wasting valuable driving time.”

  I dropped my sarcasm instantly. “Yes, I have something to say—what the fuck, Mickey?”

  “Stop calling me Mickey. It’s Mick.”

  “I'll call you whatever I want. Yesterday I wasn't sober. You took advantage of that, and basically kidnapped me and my daughter. And now I wake up in the middle of—” I glanced up at the tall trees lining the side of the road. I didn't have the first clue what state we were in. “In the middle of God knows where! In some rundown—” I pointed at the car. “Volkswagen Bug from 1980. Where are you even taking us?”

  “Maine. To my home.”

  I knew he lived in Maine now. I’d always known that.

  “Why!”

  “I told you yesterday.”

  “Refresh my memory.”

  He cleared his throat, narrowing his eyes at me. “You’re my friend. I wanted to make sure you were okay in life. Obviously, you’re not…given your profession. So, I’m taking you home. You can stay with me for a while until you figure things out, until you get back on your feet.”

  We were standing entirely too close to one another, so I took a couple steps backward. A safe distance from this man was best. “And you do realize how creepy all of that sounds, right?” Sheesh. We weren’t friends. We hadn’t been friends in a very long time. The man was only a small step above complete stranger.

  “I’m aware.” He shoved his hands in his jean pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. I didn’t know him enough to know if this form of fidgeting meant he was nervous or just annoyed with me. “Look,” he added. “If you want me to turn around and take you back to Pecan then I will. We’re somewhere in Pennsylvania now, an hour or so past the halfway point, but we could go back. If that’s what you really want then fuck it—fine—I’ll take you home. Maybe this whole notion of mine really was batshit crazy after all.”

  A wave of something awful hit my stomach. I wasn’t sure why. Mickey was absolutely accurate—he was batshit crazy. What sort of person decides, out of the blue, to look up an old friend and randomly try to help them out? Not a sane person, that’s who. But the nausea I suddenly felt, the small amount of terror at the idea of turning back around and heading home, told me that I didn’t want to go.

  I kicked at the gravel below my feet, avoiding his eyes, thinking this through.

  It boiled down to Samantha. I'd been saving money for years, planning my escape from Pecan on my own anyway, and now suddenly that wish had fallen into my lap. Maybe I could go with Mickey, see this thing out for a few days, and then decide what to do. The only question I had to ask myself was this: was Samantha in more danger in Pecan or in more danger with Mickey and the random driver guy?

  “Who's the other guy in the car?” I asked, nodding toward it. I might have guessed this other man to be his boyfriend or something. But if Mickey were gay, he never showed any expression of that when we were kids, and the other guy was a touch too young for him.

  Mickey’s face was even and unreadable as he said, “My brother. Nick.”

  He had a brother? Wow. Mick and Nick? Weird but whatever. I never knew this about him. Nick must be his half-brother, obviously. And a simple reminder that I knew absolutely nothing about present day Mickey... or ‘Mick’ as I probably should start thinking of him as. Maybe if I started thinking of him as ‘Mick’ I could separate him from ‘Mickey’—the person who left me behind, my one and only shield, who removed himself from the equation and left me at the mercy or this cruel and nasty world.

  “Alright Mick, I'll go with you to Maine. I'll give you week. But I swear to God, if you try to touch my daughter, or me for that matter, then I will gut like a fucking fish.” For added effect, I pulled the switchblade knife I always carried from my pocket. Opening the blade, I took a step toward him in one dramatic motion—a motion meant to intimidate, a motion that over the last few years I'd practice in the mirror about a million times. I'd never actually used my knife on anyone, but I would if it meant protecting myself or my daughter.

  “Shit,” he swore, his hands automatically raising up in a defensive position. “Can you stop acting like a rabid animal for thirty seconds? I’m not about to touch your daughter.”

  “Or me?” I added for clarification.

  “Or you. Lord have mercy. Never.”

  I let out a breath, collapsing the knife, and quickly returned it to my pocket. His word was good enough for now. “Okay then.” I started walking around the car, heading back for the door I’d climbed out of. “We’re burning daylight hours, and I’ve got to pee. Let’s not waste any more time out here twiddling our thumbs—get in the car Mickey.” When he didn’t respond or even move, I added, “Or Mick? Do you seriously care which name I call you?”

  His eyes stared, hesitant, across mint green Volkswagen at me. “At this point I don’t give a shit. Call me whatever you want.”

  I laughed. I had that effect on people sometimes. “You’re regretting coming to Pecan to find me, aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “No. I’m not. I promise I made the right decision.”

  I laughed again. There was no chance in hell he wasn’t regretting coming for me.

  CHAPTER 4:

  MICK

  Could we go back in time to when Raven was sound asleep and drooling? The woman, awake now, was like a child. Worse. In fact her daughter seemed more mature than she. In the next couple hours that followed, she had us stop five separate times. One, for the bathrooms, two, t
o stretch, three, to eat, four, because there was some random Civil War battlefield she suddenly needed to see, and then five, for the bathrooms again.

  I wanted to explode at her. Was she purposely trying to fuck with me? I believe she was. But now it was getting dark. We still had hours left to drive. I had a meeting and workout session scheduled tomorrow at seven in the morning, and a game later in the evening, none of which I could miss. But at this point it looked as if we’d need to check into a hotel soon. Nick was exhausted, I could tell, even though I’d long since relieved him of his driving duty. And Samantha, as good of a sport as she'd been all day, seemed restless and fidgety in the backseat. We couldn't go on much longer. Then when Raven requested the bathroom yet again, I decided to hell with this.

  I pulled into the first crappy motel I could find.

  This would have to do. And we’d still have to wake up at four in the morning just so I could be home in time.

  “This looks like the location to every horror movie ever made,” Raven commented.

  I’d quickly learned today that she had a sly comment for just about everything, and I watched her grimace in the rearview mirror.

  “You want me to drive the last leg?” she offered. “Maybe we should just keep powering through and get there rather than worrying about bedbugs at this place.”

  “Hell no, you’re not driving,” I told her, cutting the engine. I wasn't entirely sure I trusted her at the wheel. I wasn’t entirely sure all the alcohol she’d consumed the day before had left her system. “And this place looks perfectly fine to me. I’m going to go see if they have any rooms.” I pushed open my door. “Stay in the car everyone.”

  I left the others and went to find the front desk. Crickets chirped loudly as my feet crunched on gravel. There were no street lights, and I had to use the flashlight on my phone just to see where I was going. A strange inhuman noise came from somewhere off in the distance. Raven was right—this place would make an excellent setting for a horror movie. Part of me wanted to turn around, but fuck if I’d let her even think she was right.

  I entered into the main building, where I found the front desk and a white haired man sitting behind the counter. “Two rooms,” I told him as I approached.

  “Sorry there, sonny,” his rough voice exclaimed as he glanced up from the Steven King novel he’d previously been engrossed in, “but we only have one vacancy left.”

  “You have got to be kidding me?”

  “No, sir. I never kid.”

  I let out an exhausted, frustrated breath. “How many beds?”

  “Two doubles.”

  “Fine. I'll take it.” I paid the man. Then after a very thorough explanation on where to find my room, the old man handed over my room key. With the key now in hand, I left him to go tell the others the most excellent news—we'd all be sharing.

  Surprisingly, no one else but me seemed to care. Maybe they were all too tired to care. We grabbed our stuff and piled into one very small, very dated room. It smelled like bleach and stale cigarette smoke.

  Raven immediately dropper her stuff, approached the closest bed, and peeled away the covers. She bent over and started inspected the corners at the bottom meticulously. Samantha sat on the bed next to her, quiet and watching.

  “Find anything?” I asked, plopping on top of the opposite bed. I let my head hit the pillow. Frankly, at this point, I didn’t give a damn in there were bedbugs. I’d never been so tired in entire my life. But it was kind of fun to watch her search—and her ass looked especially good in her jeans, bent over, doing all her inspecting. I hadn’t had too many opportunities to study her today. And part of me had been dying to do just that, dying to figure out this annoying, infuriating, sexy woman.

  Nick dropped his stuff beside me and headed for the bathroom. His eyes met mine briefly before he disappeared behind the door. He’d barely spoke much in the last twenty-four hours. I knew that had everything to do with Raven. I couldn’t even begin to guess what he thought of her. Or what he had to be thinking of me for dragging him into all of this.

  “Nothing,” Raven declared, finishing her search, bringing my focus back to her.

  I grinned. “You sure you don’t want to search some more.”

  “No. There wasn’t anything.” She didn’t get what I really meant.

  I sighed. “I guess my choice in motels wasn’t so bad after all.”

  She made a face at me, a face that told me she’d wanted to find bedbugs just to spite me. Figured. It seemed I couldn’t do anything right with her.

  “Mom,” Samantha interrupted, “I’m scared. This place scares me. Do we have to stay here?”

  I sat up in bed. All in all, Samantha had been very calm and very brave about each aspect of this trip. She’d happily gone along with everything all day. This sudden declaration of her fear surprised me. And this kid’s fear immediately had me by the throat. I’d sleep with bedbugs just to spite Raven right back—but if her kid was scared then we needed to go.

  But before I could even suggest anything, Raven stepped in and showed off a side to herself I would have bet money didn't exist—a motherly side. She stopped her bedbug hunt, and moved to sit beside her daughter on the bed. “Don’t be scared, sweetie,” she told her in a soft, comforting voice, and she wrapped an arm around her daughter's shoulder. “What do I always tell you?—that we’re on an adventure. Yes, this motel is a little gross, but gross doesn’t bother us. We’re Malone Girls, and Malone Girls can handle anything. Tomorrow we’re going to wake up, finish driving all the way to Maine, and we'll get to see the ocean. Mickey will take us.”

  I would?

  “Aren't you excited to see it?” Raven asked.

  Samantha snuggled into her. “Yes. But what about bad guys getting us here?” the little girl whispered. Which made me immediately wonder if she thought of me as a bad guy.

  The next thing Raven said shocked me to my very core. She kept doing that—shocking me. “We have Mickey,” she said. “Mickey will not let anyone or anything hurt you, I promise. And neither will I.”

  Raven's words echoed words I used to say to her all the time when we were young. I swear on the Cherry Hill Playground, I won't let anyone or anything hurt you. Promises I used to make to Raven we were kids. And Samantha, sitting there now, with her blonde hair and big eyes, reminded me so much of Raven as a girl that it nearly took my breath away.

  I flopped back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with my heart racing harder than it should have.

  I absolutely could not believe Raven had spoken anything even remotely nice about me. All she’d shown me so far was hate. These newfound kind words were probably only spoken as a means to ease her daughter’s fears, but they did something else. The eased my own fears as well. The Raven I knew as a kid, the one I'd spent the last twenty-four hours thinking had long since disappeared, was still in there. And this batshit crazy notion of mine...well, maybe it wasn't so batshit crazy after all.

  * * *

  I couldn’t sleep. Usually I could sleep anywhere, at any time, no problem. In fact, in college I was famous for my ability to crash on whosever’s couch or bed or floor—whatever—was available. Not tonight. Not a wink. Hours had passed, everyone else had fallen asleep long ago, but I was still laying there with my eyes wide open. I wasn’t really sure where this insomnia was coming from. Perhaps it came from the fear that we’d all sleep through my alarm, making me late for my morning practice tomorrow. Or perhaps it was the bleach smell burning my nostrils. Or Nick’s snoring. Or the sound of the air conditioning kicking on and off every ten minutes.

  Or perhaps, if I stopped bullshitting myself for thirty seconds, I’d realize that the real reason I couldn’t sleep had everything to do with the woman three feet away from me in the opposite bed. How could someone like Raven ever end up selling her body for money?

  She was stubborn, proud, and fierce. So seriously, what the fuck?

  Was it insecurities? Or an easy way to score money for drugs
? Or her only means for survival? It brought new light on a few details from my past. My mother would have random men over sometimes. I’d always sneak away to Raven’s trailer when it happened. And I hadn’t really realized it before this moment, but I knew now with certainty that she’d been prostituting herself as well. So was this just a common part of life in Pecan?

  These questions were driving me mad.

  Breathing out, aggravated with my spinning mind, I flopped over on my other side. Which may or may not have been a mistake. Because I saw that Raven was awake too. Drenched in darkness, her emerald eyes met mine across the open space between our beds. Her arms curled under her pillow, her dark hair contrasted against the white fabric, and the moment my eyes found hers she looked down into the sheets, burying her face. Had she previously had been watching me and I'd just caught her staring? A moment passed, where I wondered if I’d only imaged her watching me in the darkness, before her eyes flickered up to meet mine once more proving that I hadn’t imagined anything.

  I swallowed hard.

  No annoyance or anger crossed her face. She only stared across the small distance. For a long time, I simply stared back—thinking, remembering, watching her watch me—as I steadily breathed in and out.

  The effect her simple stare had on me was…unexpected, to say the least.

  The nerves throughout my body were lit as memories seeped from the past into my consciousness. Hours spent hiding under covers, telling jokes, laughing, playing, and running through the tall grass fields that surrounded the trailer parker—played in my mind like an old movie.

  At some point I must have drifted off to sleep. Because the next thing I knew, the alarm on my phone started buzzing, pulling me from the thought/dream mixture I’d currently been trapped in.

  Reality and the motel room came back into focus.

  I sat up in bed with one God-awful headache now plaguing me.

  Nick groaned, tossing around beside me, as if he were trapped in a dream of his own. “No,” he pleaded. “No! Please, no!”