Miles

by H. J. Bellus

  “Well, from down here it looks like you got me right where you want me.”

  “Quit trying to be funny. This is serious shit, Willow.”

  “I know it is, but we’ll deal with it as it comes. Can we just enjoy this trip together? I’ve never been on a road trip with my boyfriend.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine. Oh, that was real convincing there, Captain Obvious. Let your worries go for the week, baby. I don’t care what your house looks like or how awful your mom is, I love you. And I’ll probably even love all of that because it’s who and what has made you. Without it, I wouldn’t know the Miles I love today. Now pep up your step and get happy. We’re about to play the first round of road trip challenges.

  “Road trip challenges, uh?” he replies with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yep. We’re going to go in this truck stop and buy the most hideous piece of clothing for each other, and we have to wear whatever the other buys at all the other stops.”

  “You’re not joking, are you?”

  “No, you have to wear it and no chickens.”

  “No, I mean you’re not kidding about sticking by my side.”

  “Absolutely not. You’ve stuck by mine the last couple months, and I fell in love with you for it.”

  “Say it again.”

  “I love you, Miles.”

  “Thank you,” he whispers.

  Miles leans over and gropes both of my boobs in a very vulgar, non-romantic way, and says, “We have some shopping to do.”

  Chapter 11

  Home Sweet Home

  Willow

  Miles decided to drive through the night. He finally admitted to me that if we stopped and stayed the night at a hotel, he would probably turn around and take me back home.

  I woke from the dead about two hours ago when I felt the car come to a stop. My tummy turned with dread and excitement to see Miles’ home, but we’re just at a Walmart. He bought new bedding, soaps, shampoos, towels, a coffee pot, and numerous other things to help my stay be more comfortable. I finally cut him off and had to threaten him with my singing ninja skills in the aisle. He finally gave in and headed for the check out.

  “We’re about an hour from my house, but I want to take you somewhere first.”

  “Where?”

  “The one place I love here.”

  “Where?”

  “You’re going to the ocean, baby.”

  “Oh my God, Miles. I do love you.”

  ***

  Three Hours Later...

  We pull into La Padre Fiesta Trailer/RV Park. It definitely fits the stereotypical image. Most trailers don’t have a yard, but rather junk and old cars littering the space. One in particular looks like a graveyard for old car parts. I can’t help but stare at the poor trailer hidden by rusty car parts and skeletons of has beens.

  “That’s my cousin’s house. Well, I guess you’d call her that, her daddy was with my momma’s best friend for about a year, and she stayed here, but she always roams from place to place still.”

  Then as if transplanted from a Hollywood movie set, there is the perfect single wide trailer eloquently decorated with various flowers and plants, and with cute little statues scattered throughout the front yard.

  “That’s my hero’s house.”

  My trance is broken by the sound of his voice, and I detect the first real piece of happiness coming from him.

  “You had a hero?” I ask with genuine surprise.

  “Yes. You have to meet her before we go home.”

  “Deal! I’d love to, baby. Do I need to wear my hat, though because I’d hate to lose the challenge?”

  Neither of us took off our items for the road trip challenge, I proudly wore my trucker style hat that read, “I heart Pussy” and Miles wore his “My Grandma Loves Kitties” shirt for the remainder of our trip.

  “No. You better take it off. I want you to meet the woman who made me who I am today. My Wynnie.”

  Before we can get out of the car, a very petite elderly woman steps out on her front porch.

  “Boy,” she screeches.

  Miles grabs my hand and slides me the rest of the way out the driver side of the car.

  “She’s going to love you,” he whispers as he grabs my hand and leads me to the porch.

  “Oh my, Miles, I told you that you didn’t have to rush home. I have Eddy going to get some of your mom’s meds.”

  “I’m here, Wynnie. Now show me some lovin’ and feed me.”

  The woman in front of me is slightly shorter, slim, and put together perfectly. The first thing I notice are her cotton candy painted finger nails. She’s wearing an apron dotted with colorful tiny roses, bright red terry cloth pants, and a striped shirt. Her hair is painted a gorgeous silver and curled perfectly.

  “You little shithead, how many times have I told you to say please, and before I feed you I want to meet your friend,” she scolds Miles while she reaches up and bops him upside his head.

  “This is my girl, Wynnie. The one I told you about. Willow, this is Wynnie. You can thank her for raising such a studly, strong animal for you to love.”

  “Willow, so nice to meet you.”

  I go to shake her hand and say thank you, but Wynnie has me wrapped up in her arms before I know it.

  “You be good to my boy or I’ll hunt you down,” she whispers in my ear.

  Her words cause me to choke on my saliva.

  She continues with her threat, “I don’t mess around, either. If you don’t love him, leave him now before you hurt him. If you do love him, never let him go.”

  “C’mon, c’mon, quit threatening to break her legs if she breaks my heart.” Miles chuckles.

  “My boy does know me well. Now get your little asses in here. I have a roast all ready for dinner.”

  Wynnie’s trailer is just as perfect on the inside, with knick knacks and afghans galore. The first thing I notice is the lack of pictures. In a house like this, you would expect to see pictures everywhere of her children and grandchildren.

  “Miles, you set the table and I’ll get dinner served,” Wynnie bosses.

  The two of them fall easily into their routine like a well-oiled machine. Miles pulls the dishes from the cabinets without missing a beat, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was his childhood home, and Wynnie his mom.

  The dining room/kitchen is an open space without any visible barriers and my eyes finally land on some pictures. Her refrigerator is covered with school pictures of a boy. I get closer and realize it’s Miles. I smile back at the kindergarten boy and then the awkward teen, taking a mental note that his school pictures only go to about tenth grade.

  “Who is this?” I ask, trying be a smartass.

  Miles comes up from behind and smacks me on the ass. “That, my dear, is the man of your dreams.”

  “Well, Willow, that’s my boy. I never had children of my own and when I moved here in 1976 after my husband died, well, I never dated again or made many friends. But one day this family moved in across the road and I spotted a little brown headed boy carrying a suitcase. The moment I laid eyes on him I knew he needed someone to love him. My heart picked him that day.”

  “He has a habit of stealing hearts,” I whisper.

  We enjoy a very simple dinner with Wynnie. Her love for Miles is very clear cut. She would do anything for him, and the love reflected back from Miles to Wynnie is undeniable. His hero.

  “Well, you kids better get a move on. Your mom will be excited to see you.”

  “Always Mrs. Positive. We all know she’ll either be drunk or high and mean as a goddamn snake.”

  “Miles, that’s your momma. Be kind, boy. That’s who you are.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he repeats as he wraps Wynnie up in a hug.

  “Nice to meet you, Wynnie, and thank you for dinner,” I say.

  Miles grabs my hand and leads me outside.

  “You ready?”

  “Just always hold my hand and I’ll be
ready to do anything with you, Miles.”

  “Let’s go.”

  We start to walk across the road and I motion to his car.

  “I always leave it here.”

  The trailer we’re walking towards is in the worst condition of the lot with its rusty siding and debilitated fence nearly lying on the ground. The only thing missing from this trailer is the barking dogs.

  “My mom doesn’t have a filter. Please don’t take anything to heart that she says,” Miles pleads.

  “Deal,” is all I can get out.

  We reach the steps that are a mixture of cinder blocks and wood. I wouldn’t trust them enough to spend more than five seconds on each. Miles reaches up for the door knob from the first step.

  “Wait,” I shout.

  Miles turns to look at me.

  “I have to say this before we go in there. Miles, I love you. I have felt more alive these past couple months than I have my whole life. You forced me to face my problems, and held my hand while I did. I was mean, cruel, and a downright bitch to you the whole time. You just need to know that I love you and will love you no matter what has happened in this trailer or what lies before us. I will even love you when you tell Milly. I choose you forever, Miles.”

  Miles leans down and kisses my forehead, and then turns back and opens the door. I am immediately assaulted with the stench of death, and quickly reminded of the harsh reality awaiting us in the single wide.

  He makes his way up the stairs, never letting go of my hand. When we enter the trailer I instantly spot an aged, dying Milly lying on the couch. The resemblance between the mother-daughter duo is downright bone chilling. She glances up from the television, watches us standing there for a second, and then goes back to her program.

  “Hey, Mom,” Miles says as he squats next to her and takes her hand.

  “I told you to leave, boy. You never were a bright one.”

  “I brought someone home this time to meet you. She’s the girl I’ve been talking about when I come home,” Miles says as he gestures to me.

  The skeleton of a woman turns her head to look at me and I can feel every inch of her analyzing me as she runs her eyes over me. Her eyes are cold and hard, and definitely devoid of any love.

  “You must want to lose her then if you brought her here.”

  “No, Mom.”

  “Boy, you are as stupid as you look.”

  I lunge forward at the mention of those words directed towards Miles. But what was I going to do, choke a dying woman? Miles stands to stop me. I grab his hand and smile back at the woman.

  Sensing my irritation, the woman continues. “If I taught you anything, it was the only thing you’re good for is to be used. She’ll use ya and throw ya away like the trash you are. You’re stubborn like your momma, or maybe just a foolish, hopeless romantic.”

  I watch Miles take every single one of her words. He accepts them and wears them on his sleeve, and I can hear the invisible tattoo gun imprinting each one of these nasty fueled words on his heart. I don’t understand the cycle of this type of abuse, nor do I need to, but there’s one thing that does need to be made clear, so might as well get that out of the way right off the bat.

  Kneeling down next to Miles, I grab his hand, and begin. “Sarah, right? Let’s get this one thing straight. I love your brilliant son and always will. I won’t allow you to treat him like trash just because you value your life as such. So, just keep your nasty comments to yourself—in fact, take them to the grave with you. Oh, and once you get there, you can rest easy knowing that your son will be taken care of for the rest of his life by me.”

  “She’ll break your heart, son. I can tell you that one thing right now.”

  “Actually, you’ve made it impossible to break his heart, Sarah, when you have severed it into thousands of pieces from your years of neglect and abuse. Why he still loves you, I’ll never know. The one thing that I do know for a fact, is that I’ll never take the love he has for you away, because that’s the single piece of Miles that separates him from the trash that you are and always will be.”

  Standing up, I back away from the couch. “It was very nice to meet you, and I look forward to my stay here.”

  “We’re going to get settled in, Mom. Let me know if you need anything,” Miles says.

  Chapter 12

  Time to Fight

  Willow

  He grabs my hand and leads me down a very dark, musty, and extremely narrow hallway. When he reaches the second door on the right, he opens it up and welcomes me into his bedroom. It’s a stark contrast to the rest of the trailer that I’ve seen so far. The walls are painted a fresh white and covered in muscle car posters with ladies exposing their parts everywhere. Typical man.

  Miles shuts the door behind us and I immediately feel like shit for lighting into his mom, but I never will have the courage to keep my mouth shut when someone is degrading him or anyone I love. Sick or not, I still want to rip her fucking head off.

  “Miles, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said some of the things I did, but I love you.”

  “Willow.”

  “You’re pissed right now. You don’t have to talk to me.”

  “Yeah, I’m fucking pissed. You’re right about that, but not at you. I’m fucking pissed at myself for loving my mom. No matter how hard I’ve tried to stop loving her, I can’t, and I come back to take care of her. It’s sick. A sick cycle I can’t break, but I can’t turn on my mom, Willow.”

  “And that’s why I love you so much, Miles.”

  “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  I start giggling and slap his chest. “You don’t have to say that every time, you dork.”

  “I’m your boyfriend now and I need to keep reminding myself of it.”

  We collapse onto his bed and kiss. I roll over on top of him, straddling his mid-section and pull his shirt off over his head.

  “I’ve waited a long time to kiss these freaking abs as your girlfriend. I wanted to rip your shirt off that first day you walked in The Shop and have my dirty way with you.”

  Miles lifts his head up from the bed, making eye contact. “Nothing stopping you now, baby.”

  I lean down and let my lips linger on his skin and start swaying my head back and forth against his abs. Miles has several scars covering his right side and I take time to lick and kiss each one of them. One day I’ll ask where they came from.

  He reaches down and pulls my shirt over my head. To match his move, I reach behind my back and unclasp my bra. We’ve fooled around quite a bit, but never fully exposed ourselves to each other. I fully release my bra and throw it over his head.

  “Oh dear God. I’m not going to be able to stop this time, Willow,” he growls as he sits up, coming face to face with me.

  “I don’t want you to.”

  Miles grabs my ass and pulls me down on him. Snaking my hand down between us, I find his growing erection and cup it.

  “Fuck,” Miles growls.

  “Let me do this.”

  I push Miles back on the bed and unbutton his jeans. He tries to sit up again, grabbing my breasts and putting one in his mouth. His lips form a tight seal around my nipple as he bites down on it, sending me straight up into a sitting position.

  “Miles,” I scream as I pull his hair and push his face into me.

  I can feel his fingers fumbling for the buttons of my jeans and I instantly stop him.

  “No. You’re not touching me. Hands down. Mouth off.”

  “What? You don’t like it?”

  “Oh fuck, it killed me to just say that, but I want you this time. Hands off.”

  Miles leans back on his elbows with a smirk on his face. “You can’t handle me not touching you.”

  “Watch me.”

  Determined, I go back to work on him, unzipping his jeans and tugging them all the way off. His tighty whities make me chuckle, but they leave quickly, too. I’m left with the glorious man in front of me. Long, lean and bronzed with scars and tattoos
that cover his body. He’s the mirror image of the man who has relentlessly loved me for the past months, and the one person who never gave up on me when I was at my lowest. Yes, I’m left with my boyfriend, who I now know owns every single piece of me.

  I work my hand up and down his shaft, barely able to concentrate on the motion with all the zinging action shooting through me. I want nothing more in this moment than to bury myself in him. Rip my panties off, ride him, and scream his name as our juices mix together. I have to take care of him first. There’s an underlying need that I must lay claim to. It’s time to make him mine. Mark him.

  “I’m going to suck you now,” I hiss as I look up at Miles through my lashes.

  I carefully and methodically rub my lips against his head, embracing the musky scent already coming off him. There is a desire coursing through my body to lick every piece of Miles and I do so. I start at his base and lick my way all the way to his tip several times before I take him completely in my mouth.

  “Fuck,” he hisses again, and he grabs the side of my hair.

  I slow up on purpose, forcing Miles to shove my head down on his cock. Choking slightly, I continue my assault with a mixture of my lips, teeth, and tongue. I notice Miles start to pulse and squirm, between his hand slamming my head down and his hips fucking my mouth, I’m certain he’s about to go.

  Miles stills his body and releases my hair. “Stop, Willow. Stop. I’m going to come.”

  Ignoring his warning, I speed up my pace and growl, letting him know that I’m ready for him.

  “Jesus Christ! Willow, I’m going to—”

  Miles yells as he finally lets go of his release in my mouth, and I make sure to lap up every drop before I climb up his body to find my resting place.

  “That was—” Miles starts, but is unable to finish his thought.

  “That was me owning you. Laying claim and making you all mine.”

  Miles lifts my face to look me in the eye, “Baby, you already owned me, but whenever you feel the need to remind me, by all means, get on it.”