I was pretty sure that she'd done meth with him a few times, but… that didn't mean she was doing it every day or anything.
“Do you think someone can do meth occasionally, but not be a junkie? Not have, like, a daily habit or anything?” I asked Beast.
“Why do you ask?” he replied.
I shook my head.
“You want an answer just on that? Oof. Okay. I mostly saw junkies, because they were the ones who would come out to bumfuck nowhere to get drugs. But, but, but, I met a bunch of people when I wasn't around here who mentioned trying meth a few times and deciding it wasn't for them. I think you can take meth occasionally, yes, but it's a stupid idea.”
I nodded slowly.
“It's not like some '90's PSA where you try meth once and suddenly you're blowing guys for drugs. It's… gradual. It's when you think that meth is the best thing in your life that there's a problem, because then you'll do anything to get it.”
He sighed.
“Someone like me? I shouldn't ever have meth again. It would end really badly. I don't think I could stop, you know? Someone else, probably different.”
“That makes sense,” I said, quietly.
“Why do you ask?” he asked.
“I think Kandy has done it a few times, but I don't think she's a junkie.”
Beast shook his head.
“I don't either,” he said. “I mean, I'm not gonna say she's, like, the most stand-up teetotaler there is or anything, but I don't think she's strung out either.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Mothers are hard,” he said. “They have a hard job. Suddenly, when they have a kid, everyone expects them to be amazing.”
“I guess,” I said.
“I mean, yeah, dabbling in crystal meth is not, like, the best thing ever for a parent to do… but if a dad did it, people wouldn't freak out nearly so much. Mothers are supposed to suddenly put their kids first all the time, and give up their lives. Even if they were crappy lives full of shit they shouldn't be doing, it was their choice and suddenly it wasn't any more.”
He blinked.
“Did that make sense?”
“I think so, but I don't want to commit to it,” I said.
“That's totally fair,” he said, running his hand through my hair.
“My mother was amazing,” I said, shutting my eyes again.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Really, really great. I loved ruffles, so she sewed them on all my dresses, even the store-bought ones. My father said she spoiled me, but she said that ruffles were a pretty small way to make my life sunnier, and as long as I was a good, polite girl, and did my homework, she'd sew ruffles on my underpants if it made me happy.”
“Did she?”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling, my eyes still shut. “Little ruffles at the top. I cried the first time after she died I got new underwear and they didn't have ruffles any more.”
“That's really, really cute,” he said. “Were they pink?”
“I think they had princesses or something on them. Most little-girl underwear does.”
“I mean, the ruffles,” he said. “Were they pink or sparkly or anything?”
“Depended on the ruffle,” I said. “Most of them were pale pink or white. She had two bolts of cotton she bought when I was four, she'd tear strips off and gather them up into ruffles, every size.”
“I bet you were the ruffliest girl in first grade,” he said.
“Damn straight,” I said. “She put notes in my lunchbox, too. Home cooked meals, nice notes. She was… really nice. Everything was pretty good when she was around.”
“It sounds like it,” he said.
“What about your mother?” I asked.
“Well, I wasn't the ruffles-on-my-underwear type,” he said, very seriously, and I opened my eyes to glare at him.
“I bet you liked something stupid like that, though,” I accused.
“Hot Wheels,” he said immediately. “I wouldn't go to sleep unless my favorite Hot Wheels were lined up next to me, and then I'd wake up and cry because rolling over on a little metal car hurts.”
I laughed out loud.
“Kids are ridiculous,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Karla spent six months carrying around an empty thing of cocoa instead of a teddy bear. She hugged it and loved it and tucked it into bed. It was her favorite thing ever.”
“How did you guys get her to stop?”
I looked away.
“It disappeared one day. I figure my father threw it away. It's the sort of petty thing he'd do, you know?”
"Yeah, no one's doubting that," he said. "Let's not talk about him, though. What else can you say about your mother?"
"I mean, she was nice. I miss her. Every day."
"Can I ask... how did she die?"
I looked away from him again.
"Cancer," I said, quietly. "It was pretty fast. Breast cancer. She went to chemo all the time, she lost her hair, she got sicker and sicker. Her skin was so soft, like an old lady's. Then... she died."
"Oh, man," he said. "That's so unfair. I'm so sorry to hear that."
"It's okay," I said. "I never doubted whether or not she wanted me, you know? If she'd lived longer, maybe they would have divorced and he could have gotten custody. He looks good on paper."
"Hopefully not for long," Beast said, grimly.
He hesitated.
A long pause.
"Tabitha, will you testify against your father?" he asked.
"I... I don't know," I said, soft and hesitating.
"Better than no," he said, with a small smile. "Progress."
"Yeah," I said. "I just... I just don't know. What if I testified, and then he didn't get put away for long enough? What if he was out on bail when I was supposed to be testifying? What if... He'd be so mad, Beast. He'd hurt me. Even if it sent him to jail. He thinks of me as his property, I'm not supposed to defy him."
He stroked my hair out of my eyes.
"I'd protect you," he said.
"I know, but... you can't be everywhere, can you?" I asked.
He grinned.
"I sort of can. I don't have anything better to do than be with you," he said.
"That's not the point," I said, shaking my head absentmindedly. "I need to be able to leave the house without you, don't I?"
"Yeah, you do. You're right," he said.
"I'm sorry," I said, a note of shame creeping into my voice. "I'm so sick of looking over my shoulder."
"I don't blame you," he said, with a small smile, stroking my cheek. "I don't want you to have to. Not now, not ever. You deserve so much better than that."
"Hey, Tabitha?" he asked.
"Hey, Beast?" I asked. He sounded so formal and serious, I teased him back a little, trying to make that smile I loved appear on his face.
"You know my name isn't Beast, right?" he asked.
I shrugged.
"Yeah, Cory. Cory Pittman. You said a while back. I wouldn't forget."
"Okay, good," he said. "Do you mind calling me Cory? At least sometimes? It's been a long time."
"Sure," I said. "No problem, Cory. Why?"
It was his turn to look away, avoiding my eyes.
"Cory is the teenager my mom made this quilt for. Beast is the asshole who cooked meth. I miss being Cory."
He hesitated.
"You make me feel like I could be Cory again."
It was the nicest thing that anyone had ever said to me.
I swallowed.
"Cory, honey," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "Thank you."
"For what?" he asked, a puzzled frown creasing his face.
"For, I don't know. Having faith in me. For thinking I could make you good. You're already good. No matter what I call you. But you sound like you think I make you better, and that's ridiculous, but it's really, really sweet."
He smiled at me, his eyes softening.
"I think I understood that," he said, and I rolled my e
yes. "And you make me better in every way, every day. You make me want to be a better man."
There was a long pause.
I tried to figure out something good enough to say in reply.
"You make me feel like someday I could be brave," I said. "You make me feel safe."
He smiled at me, eyes still soft and full of love.
Maybe he heard where my thoughts were going.
"I love you, Tabitha," he said. "So much."
"I love you, too, Cory," I said.
I almost, almost said Beast, but caught myself just in time. I was rewarded with his smile, the light in his eyes, the look of joy and pride.
He laughed a little, nervously.
"I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that," he said. "I was so afraid that you didn't feel the same way."
"You're the one that keeps stopping us," I said.
"Yeah, well, I didn't want anyone to regret it. Mostly you. I didn't think there was any way I could regret it. I was afraid that you had Stockholm Syndrome or something, trapped in this cabin with me."
I shook my head.
"No way," I said. "I mean, I haven't always been some crazy shut-in. I went to high school. I knew guys there, and I liked some of them. No one as much as you, though. Not ever."
"Yeah?" he asked. "I'm glad. Wouldn't want to date some crazy shut-in, would I? Like someone who had lived in a mountain cabin alone for years after an insurance payout?"
I sat up and whirled on him, pointing a finger indignantly at his chest.
"I didn't say anything like that," I said. "I didn't say it and you know it. I didn't have you in mind at all. It's not my fault that I say "crazy shut-in" and you leapt to yourself."
He was laughing, laughing in my face, and I didn't know if I wanted to smack him or hug him.
"Tabitha?" he asked.
"Yeah?"
"May I kiss you?"
"Yeah."
It was only what I'd been dreaming about for weeks. Months. My whole life.
He leaned in close and brushed his lips gently against my cheek, my forehead, my hair.
"Not quite what I had in mind," I said, softly, grabbing a hold of his shirt and pulling him gently closer, so that I could find his lips with my own.
He pulled away for a minute. "I like what you have in mind."
"Then stop squirming away and let me kiss you," I grumbled.
He did.
He kissed me, leaning forward to make contact with me without putting his arms around me. I could feel his body heat, see his broad shoulders quivering as he took a deep breath between kisses.
I shivered in reply.
I could feel my body waking up to him, waking up to the idea of being touched. I found myself wanting him to pull me into his arms and claim me in a harder kiss.
I wanted him so badly.
"Oh, Tabitha," he said, pulling away and resting his forehead against mine. "The things you do to me."
"Yeah?" I asked.
It was apparently all I could say for a while.
"Yeah," he said, with a small smile. "You make me so happy. You make me want to touch you so badly."
"I want to touch you, too," I said, softly.
"Yeah?" he asked.
I laughed.
"Can we say anything but "Yeah"? Or are we doomed to yeah-ing our way through every conversation?"
"It's not my fault that you're smart enough to agree with me so often. I'm brilliant, and you're brilliant for recognizing it," he said, pulling away from me to puff up his chest and preen.
"You're ridiculous," I said.
"You like someone ridiculous. What does that make you?"
"Pretty ridiculous," I admitted.
"Damn straight," he said.
He cleared his throat, all trace of humor vanishing from his face.
"Look, there's no good time to say this, but if we're gonna start smooching, it's gotta be said."
I looked at him, a question in my eyes.
"I know that you've been hurt a lot. In the past. Sexually. I mean, I know that you've done a lot of things you didn't want to. You were raped."
I looked away.
"We don't ever have to have sex. I've jerked off plenty, I'm happy to jerk off for the rest of my life if I get to be with you, okay? Shit, I can't say this right."
He took a deep breath and kept going, speaking very slowly and carefully. Every word, he pronounced precisely.
"I love you. I'm afraid that if we ever have sex, it will hurt or frighten you. I don't want you to think that if we never have sex, I'll be unsatisfied. I am very good at satisfying myself, and it's not your job to have sex with me because we're dating. I don't want to hurt you or scare you. I would rather masturbate forever than hurt you once. Sex is completely optional in a relationship."
I nodded.
"I'm serious. I don't care if we're fooling around and we're both naked and lying next to each other and almost fucking, if you don't want to go any further than that, then we'll stop. Instantly. I won't get mad and call you a tease or anything. I mean, I might be a little disappointed, but then I'll jerk off in the shower and be fine."
I nodded.
"Is that okay?" he asked. "Some people don't think it's okay to jerk off if you're in a relationship. They think it's cheating. We haven't talked about it. We should talk about it."
"I think we're talking about it," I said.
"Yeah. Yeah. So we are."
He ran his fingers through his hair, which he seemed to always do when he was nervous.
I reached out and rested my hand on his arm, stroking his bicep.
"I like your body," I said. "I like touching you. I... I don't know a lot more than that yet. Can we play it by ear?"
He smiled at me.
"That's a good plan."
Leaning in for a kiss, I felt my heart leap as we connected again.
Before I was ready, he pulled away. "Seriously, Tabitha. Do you think jerking off is cheating? Now I've gotta know."
I laughed out loud.
"No," I said. "Not cheating. You need another person there for that."
"What about porn?" he asked.
"Beast. Cory. I know you look at porn. I caught you once, remember?"
"Yeah, well, things have changed."
I hesitated.
"I think I'd be pretty uncomfortable if I found you looking at weird porn, or porn where people hurt each other," I admitted. "Just blowjobs and sex and stuff, though, no. Look at all the naked ladies you want."
"Okay," he said. "I wouldn't if it made you unhappy, I promise. Sorry to keep asking, I was just suddenly really afraid that we'd forget to talk about it and then you'd catch me watching porn with my dick in my hand and you'd be really hurt or pissed."
"Dude. No. Enough. I get it. You're a guy. You jerk off. It's fine."
"Right."
"We can stop talking about it. Really. I promise. You don't need to shout it to the world."
I saw the teasing light come into his eyes as his lips twitched.
He stood up and marched to the window, which he threw open dramatically.
"Hello, world," he called into the open air.
"Oh, come on," I groaned.
"I jerk off," he called. "I beat my meat. I maaaaasturbate."
"You're ridiculous," I yelled from the sofa, throwing a cushion at him.
It bounced off his broad back as he turned to face me, a broad grin splitting his face. He picked up the pillow and took slow, measured steps over to me, raising it over his head.
“No,” I yelled, giggling so hard I almost fell over. “Leave me alone!”
“You cast the first stone! Pillow! Whatever!” he yelled back, advancing dramatically, pillow still raised. “You will taste my fluffy vengeance!”
Before I could escape from the sofa, he tossed the pillow at my shoulder, dealing me a glancing blow.
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