by Danae Ayusso
“Do I scare you, Boy?” I asked.
He snorted then scoffed and puffed his broad chest out.
I laughed. “That’s answer enough,” I said and sat on the grass on my side of the fencing. “I’ll stay on my side of the fence if you stay on yours.”
Again, he cocked an eyebrow but approached then folded himself down to the ground across from me, the ugly red fence separating us.
“What are you doing out?” I asked.
“What are you doing out?” he retorted and I rolled my eyes; such a child. “Out this early,” he clarified.
I shrugged. “You should know, but since she’s strangely quiet at the moment, I’ll use you.”
“Use me? Sounds promising,” he commented and pulled the front of his white sweater up and showed his impressively defined abs.
There is seriously something wrong with me if this is the type of perverted shit-heel that I’m conjuring when Justice is M.I.A..
I shook my head. “Whoa. There is seriously something wrong with this picture,” I said.
He looked down then back up to me and smirked, causing a dimple to recess deeply in his left cheek when he did. “This wasn’t the type of use you were speaking of?” he surmised then chuckled when I threw my hands up in frustration, and dropped the handful of sweater. “What did you want to use me for?”
The annoying boy should already know what I need him for, but apparently, I need to verbalize it aloud.
“I don’t want to sit down with Price’s speed dial therapist,” I said, pulling blades of grass out one by one.
“Then don’t. Shrinks are oh so overrated,” he reminded me in the smuggest tone I’ve ever heard, and it made me chuckle. “As much good as they think they are doing, it is really nothing more than a means to stroke their own egos. I speak from experience,” he smugly informed me.
Speaking with court ordered therapists isn’t really experience, especially when Justice was bullshitting everything that left our lips.
“What is it that Price wants you to speak with a therapist about?” he pressed.
I shrugged.
Of course, he chuckled.
“Shut up,” I groaned. “You know what.”
“Do I?” he asked with a smile, but the question in his tone pulled my attention. “Enlighten me. You have me up this early, you’re up this early, and since there is a very clear and definitive line drawn between us,” he said, motioning to the fence, “speak your mind.”
Again, he has a point.
“What happened in Philly that brought me to Anaconda,” I whispered, looking at my hands. “It should have messed with me more than it did. Have the years of being stuck in the system and being subjected to the unimaginable destroyed me emotionally? Is that why I haven’t shed a tear for that whore?”
When he didn’t respond, I looked up.
The look on his face wasn’t the one I expected to see.
His mouth was slightly ajar, eyes wide, and the look on his face was one of perplexity.
“What?” I asked, trying to tuck my missing long hair behind my ears; why was my own delusion suddenly making me self-conscious?
He shook his head. “Perhaps a shrink is exactly what is in order,” he said.
“Hey!” I complained, throwing a handful of grass and him and he laughed and threw one back at me.
Okay, that isn’t normal.
“Nature assault aside, does the whore,” he asked, trying to say it with a straight face, “deserve your tears? Did she deserve what happened to her? Does she deserve your questioning at the butt crack of dawn, as the ranch hands would say?” he pressed.
That was a good question.
“No. In my heart she deserved exactly what she got and worse,” I admitted and he nodded. “But my rational mindedness, the part that believes I have to think above such maliciousness and hatred to what is proper in a non-ghetto society,” I said and he softly snorted, “tells me I should feel something other than what I am. How would you feel?”
He shrugged, his eyes moving over me. “Conflicted,” he eventually said.
A humorless chuckle escaped my lips.
“Likeminded,” I teased.
He chuckled as well. “I hope to God not,” he said. “The maliciousness you feel, the hatred you are harboring, if the whore is truly deserving of it, then it is warranted,” he said, his tone soft and a French accent flared in his speech. “But do not waste time or energy on it or her, or questioning if such consuming emotions are apropos. In my experience, the first reaction or feeling is the correct one.”
True.
That’s usually how I viewed it, but since I hadn’t shed a tear or even thought of doing such in regards to that crackwhore, I thought something might be wrong with me.
“Is that why I’m so complacent being here?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t contemplated running and normally I would have… Other than kneeing Cinder Dick in the balls and breaking his nose, but he totally had that coming.”
He chuckled, nodding his agreement.
“I ran dozens of times from the halfway houses,” I said, his small smile falling. “How they caught me as they did, I don’t know. It’s as if they were tracking me… Mama Jones thinks someone is still coming after me, trying to at least, and that being out here will keep me safe. Is that why I’m not contemplating running?”
“I hope not,” he said in a soft voice.
“I don’t think it is, but I know it’s part of it,” I admitted, finally voicing what I was too nervous to. “I feel safe here and that I’m home… Two things that I haven’t felt in longer than I can remember,” I said, wiping away the tear that rolled down my cheek. “I can’t lose that. It’s selfish of me, but I want that now that I’ve experienced it.”
“Then have it, take it even,” he said, surprising me. “You deserve it, I think,” he added contemplatively, making a face that caused me to giggle. “Price is a good man and he deserves to hear the truth from you. You can’t keep what you’re feeling and scared of from him.”
I huffed. “Why not?” I pouted.
“Adorable,” he cooed and I made a mocking face. “He can’t protect you from what might be coming for you if he doesn’t know about it… Fair warning, in a sense.”
That wasn’t something I had thought about.
When I told Price of what Mama Jones had warned, he changed. That’s the only way I can describe it. I hadn’t really thought about it and figured he was irritated at me for sneaking around and making long distance calls behind his back.
“Do you think it’ll matter?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, sounding as if I just asked the dumbest thing in the world, which I might have. “Those in our world, they need all the warning they can get, especially if merde is coming for them,” he scolded in a heavy French accent that started to turn me on.
That isn’t normal in the least.
I don’t get turned on, never have, and with my issues it shouldn’t even be possible.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he complained with a pout.
What do you say to the figment of your imagination that’s turning you on?
“I think I need to take Price up on that therapy offer,” I said, scratching my head, causing my hair to stand on end. “This impromptu therapy session has taken a turn for the worse and I’m starting to realize I’m even more insane that I initially thought I was.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you getting turned on?” he asked, looking at my chest. “That tight shirt is hinting that it isn’t the cold water you were soaking your feet in that’s the cause of your perky nipples.”
My mouth fell open and eyes widened.
“Perv,” I scolded, pulling my knees to my chest and hugged them.
He shrugged. “I’ve been called worse, I’m sure. Hold off on running to the therapist, for now. Speak with Price, tell him of your fears and concerns, and you might be surp
rised to find that his fears are a mirror reflection of yours.”
“Do you think?” I sheepishly asked.
“I do,” he said, looking past me. “Time to go,” he said, suddenly on his feet, causing me to jump, startled. “It was a pleasure, and expect my bill for the therapy,” he teased with a wink and turned.
I got to my feet. “Wait,” I said, causing him to stop in mid-step. “Same time tomorrow?” I asked.
He didn’t say anything but nodded once before he disappeared.
“Who are you talking to?” Shep asked.
I turned around and looked at him.
“No one,” I said, looking around. “What time is it?”
“Eight. Ellie sent me to get you for breakfast,” he said, looking past me to the woods. “Did you see something or someone?”
I shook my head.
“I heard you talking,” he pressed. “I didn’t see anyone but I heard you vaguely.”
Knee him in the balls for eavesdropping.
“Shep, I talk to myself when I need someone to talk to,” I explained, motioning him back towards the house. “Something woke me up way too early but I couldn’t go back to sleep so I went for a walk. While walking I was talking things out with myself. I left Philly fast and didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to those I love and that love me there, and that’s weighing on my conscience. I needed to talk through that guilt on my own.”
Shep looked from me to the woods I was talking to and back again. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Trust me, when I’m not talking to myself you’ll wish I was.”
He chuckled. “Warning acknowledged. I’ll race you back to the house?”
I smiled. “Go!” I said and took off running and he followed, struggling to keep up with me.
Chapter Eleven
Shopping with Daddy
I slipped back into the house with a small smile on my face, dropping my running shoes on the floor by the door.
“Ready for breakfast?” Price asked, causing me to jump, startled.
For the past week, I’ve been sneaking out of the house before sunrise and walk the pastures until the not so terrifying figment of my imagination appears. Sometimes I get irritated that he seemingly takes his time joining me, but I chalked it up to needing to prepare myself for him before he materializes with the sun for our therapy session.
Talking to him, to the annoying boy with the black eyes, shitty boyband hair, and beautiful smile, has become a type of therapy that I never knew was possible through self-help.
Yes, I knew I needed therapy, everyone can agree on that, but never did I think I could do it myself. Talking with the cynical, bitchy voice in my head, the one that was constantly about self-preservation, never helped me work through anything. Usually she was being a belittling bitch to me. But when I talk to him, it’s different. He didn’t call me stupid or flip me shit as she did. Sometimes he was teasing, and other times he flirted, which still creeped me out since he’s in my head, but that French, flirting delusion was what I seemingly needed to keep me sane and keep me from running.
“Mikhail?” Price asked when I didn’t say anything.
“Huh?”
He gave me a look. “Breakfast?”
I nodded with a smile. “I’m starving,” I said, walking with him to the dining room. “Sorry for staying out so late this time. The fog caused the pastures to take on an ethereal appearance that I got lost in the beauty of. Here’s your book back,” I said, pulling the book he had given me last night to read from my back pocket.
Price took it. “Finished already?”
“I finished it in the fog, reading aloud. My French isn’t nearly as good as yours, apparently, but with the right tutor it could be,” I said, blushing.
My delusion was a very good French tutor, which is weird if you think about it since he’s in my head, but he apparently is from the left hemisphere of the brain that retains languages I haven’t been exposed to before.
“What’d you think of what you could understand?” he asked.
“Jean de la Fontaine is good, but Charles Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du Mal is still my favorite so far,” I said.
For some reason, he chuckled with a smile. “The Flowers of Evil is one of my favorites as well. After breakfast, did you want to go to Missoula with me to do some shopping? I haven’t seen any boxes with your name on them filled with clothes being delivered so it leads me to believe you haven’t figured out what you want for school clothes yet.”
I flopped down at the table and started dishing myself up some scrambled eggs. “If you want. And no, I haven’t figured out what I want for clothes. I told Kieran to have at it and order whatever he wanted but don’t go crazy. Just because you gave us free rein doesn’t mean we need to use or abuse it… He hasn’t, right?” I asked before shoving a large bite in my mouth.
Price chuckled from the seat next to mine at the head of the table. “Kieran hasn’t, that I’ve seen.”
“Will it just be the two of us?” I asked when Shep and Nick joined us.
“If you like,” Price said.
I nodded. “I want to talk to you about something. I talked to Mama Jones this morning before my walk. The time difference I’m still adjusting to, and she wasn’t amused I woke her up, but she had some information for me.”
“Of course,” he said with a nod. “Once you’re ready we’ll head out. It’ll take a couple of hours each way so we’ll have time to talk.”
After gorging myself for nearly an hour, I took a quick shower then changed into the least ghetto pair of jeans I had and pulled one of Price’s soccer shirts on; he’d given me some of his old college shirts, which I love.
I slid down the handrail, landing in the foyer and blushed when I realized Price caught me.
“Sorry,” I apologized.
“Don’t be. It was made to be slid down,” he assured me, motioning towards the door.
After three attempts, to his amusement, I finally pulled myself up into Price’s huge truck. For a man that’s all about green building and not affecting the environment, his big truck was the opposite of environmentally friendly.
“You’re quiet,” Price said once Anaconda was behind us and we were heading down the freeway towards Missoula.
“Trying to figure out how I could be craving French fries after all that food I ate,” I admitted.
That was only partially a lie.
The seemingly endless trees I-90 was carved through were starting to freak me out. They were never ending and at any moment, a creepy little white bitch wanting to play could pop out of them and attack. I wasn’t scared for me, surprisingly I was rather difficult to kill, as the crackwhore discovered. It was Price I was worried about. If he learned the truth of what had seemingly followed me from Philly, he’d promptly return me and ask for a refund.
Price chuckled. “The truck is bio-diesel and runs on recycled fryer oil so it smells like French fries sometimes.”
Ah that explains it. So we’re not magically knocked up, good to know.
Shut up, Justice.
Make me.
“What’s on your mind?” Price pressed when I simply nodded and returned my attention to the side window and the trees speeding by.
I shrugged.
“You’ve been restless at night again,” he said. “Nightmares?”
I shook my head. “Still adjusting to the time difference. If you hadn’t noticed, unless we’re binge watching something, I crawl in bed before eight most nights.”
Price chuckled. “I wasn’t going to say anything,” he teased.
“If you must know, I’m feeling pretty good and am in a good place mentally, I think,” I said.
He nodded. “That’s good to hear. What did Mrs. Jones say?”
“Mama said… Someone came knocking on her door again,” I started, not entirely sure how to bring this up, and not really wanting to bring it up, but he wasn’t giving me a choice now.
“From the FBI?” Pric
e clarified, as if it wasn’t a big deal.
My eyes widened. “How’d you know?”
“Because I asked him to check into it,” he said as if it were obvious. “The Agent wasn’t checking on you or them, he’s gathering information on the people that have been asking about you. I find it exceptionally coincidental that your caseworker located your biological family only days before strangers came knocking on the door where your extended family is. Was there something you were involved in, other than what happened to your mother?”
“Mom,” I instantly corrected. “My mother died long ago, the person she was died and that crackwhore I called mom took her place,” I sneered, looking away from him.
Price nodded. “My apologies,” he said. “I’m not mad if you were involved in something else, Mikhail. Something that could cause those of questionable reputations to go searching for you. I merely need to know in order to protect you and the family.”
The French delusion said the same thing, in a roundabout way.
“Price, for the circumstances and shit I constantly found myself in, I was considered a damn saint by comparison to everyone I knew,” I said. “Some called me Saint Mikhail, others the Wicked Bitch of North Philly… Cinder Dick met that one, and you saw the result. After Mom… I was placed in protective custody for some reason but I don’t know why; she wasn’t going anywhere and he was in police custody. My caseworker went out of his way to be there for me, as if I was his only case, and escorted me back and forth when I had a deposition to give, meet with the State psychologist, and all that court appointed shit. I didn’t want to be another statistic so I went out of my way to never get caught,” I teased the latter, trying to get his clenched hands around the steering wheel to relax.
Price nodded.
“You’re going to rip the steering wheel off,” I warned.
Again, he nodded and released his death grip on the wheel.
“I have to say, you have quite the temper on you,” I teased.
Thankfully, he chuckled.
“Yes, I’ve heard that a time or two before. Thankfully you didn’t get my temper,” he said.
I wouldn’t be so sure about that. He hasn’t seen me yet.