On the Run (Vagabonds #1)

by Jade C. Jamison

  And now they weren’t…and I didn’t know if it was going to be permanent, didn’t know if I was going to have to find a way to get used to it or if they’d be back together after a time spent apart.

  What really sucked was my parents had always seemed to have it together, had always seemed to be deeply in love. If their marriage was falling apart, there was no hope for anyone else.

  As her sobs died down, I heard her voice, sounding deep, low, and mournful. “What did I do wrong?”

  I had no answer, of course, no words to make her heart feel comforted. So I continued patting her back, asking myself how I could ease my mother’s pain and continuing to come up dreadfully short. That boy Decker? Furthest thing from my mind while I held my mother as she continued to sob on my shoulder.

  And I began to feel anger toward my dad.

  I’d wanted to be neutral, wanted to believe there were two sides to the story, but I somehow doubted my dad was hurting like my mom…especially if what she’d accused him of the night before was true. If that were the case, then he was the cause of this anguish and the bastard deserved any pain he might be feeling. I didn’t have these specific thoughts then, just a low, under-the-surface burning, an ire that would grow the longer I saw my mother suffering.

  After several more long minutes, my mom lifted up her head but didn’t look me in the eyes. Instead, she reached behind her to grab the tissue box. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, fetching another tissue to finish the job before looking at me. Oh…she looked so sad but more than that, she looked older. I’d always thought my mom looked a lot younger than many of my classmates’ mothers, but today she looked their age.

  Today, she looked her age.

  She sniffled, her nose sounding stuffed, and I knew she must have been crying off and on all day—her eyes and the tissues surrounding the couch evidenced that theory. I had no words, had no idea what I could say to her to help her begin to heal or even deal with the heartache she felt. Before I could even try, she said, “I’m sorry, Kyle. I’ll get my shit together soon. I just need a day to deal. I feel raw right now.”

  Still…nothing I could say, so I nodded. But then I said, “I love you, mom.”

  “Love you too, Kyle.”

  And, looking in mom’s brown eyes, much like looking in the mirror, I decided I’d text Decker later and let him know tonight was a bad night. Whatever he’d had in mind for the two of us would have to wait until tomorrow.

  Chapter Eight

  THE NEXT WEEK, my mom tended to be sad and weepy—and my dad stayed away. He called and tried to talk to me once, but I told him to fuck off and hung up the phone. In retrospect, that was pretty extreme, but after seeing my mother in her misery for four days straight, I viewed him as the villain. I didn’t know that that impression would ever change now that he was firmly embedded in my mind as such.

  I still loved my dad, but I felt like he didn’t just cheat on my mom; he cheated on our family, pissed all over it, and I was angry.

  That didn’t stop me from spending time with Decker. In fact, I broke my I-gotta-play-my-guitar-after-school rule to hang out with him. His parents both worked outside the home and he was the youngest of three boys, the oldest of whom was attending college elsewhere. The middle brother had a job after school most days at one of the supermarkets in town where he bagged groceries.

  So we had Decker’s house all to ourselves for a few hours.

  That meant we explored each other even more. A couple of times, we did the dry humping thing, where he fucked me but we both kept our jeans on. I still felt it very invigorating and exciting, and I knew I couldn’t wait much longer…but, during that next week, I also visited the family planning organization in town—located in an unassuming Victorian house off the beaten path—and got some condoms as well as an appointment with the doctor who visited twice a month. That meant I’d have to wait longer, but it would be worth it. I didn’t have much money, but I knew I didn’t want babies. No way in hell. Maybe in twenty years, but not now. I’d already seen a couple of girls my age drop out of school to raise babies on their own.

  No fucking way.

  But that didn’t stop my horny appetites that grew every time I spent time with Decker. He knew of my plans to get on the pill, but more than that, I wanted to gradually work into actual penetration. The family planning lady who’d talked to me about all my options also had me watch a video, one that looked pretty amateurish but had a lot of good information, and I knew that the first time for me would probably not be fun and likely not be enjoyable, but I wanted to prepare myself.

  We found plenty of ways to entertain ourselves. I was getting pretty good at giving a hand job by the end of the week, and Decker’s dick and I saw eye to eye frequently. I loved making him come, mainly because of the look in his eyes when all was said and done. Every damn time, he looked so appreciative, so grateful, and I also couldn’t wait until I felt like that.

  I knew I would.

  Right now, I was just enjoying the hell out of everything we did.

  So, even though I wasn’t practicing guitar after school, don’t be getting any ridiculous ideas that I wasn’t playing at all. Oh, I was. A lot. I was just doing it later in the evening—and possibly with more vigor than before. Later at night was probably best, because it allowed me to spend less time with weepy mom…who, admittedly, seemed to be faring pretty well as time went on. I hadn’t seen her cry since the night I’d held her in my arms. In fact, after dinner that next Friday night, she told me she was going out with some friends and to not wait up—she said she’d be home later that night but to call her if I needed her.

  Nope. I had my guitar. I was good.

  And, sad to say, my mom and dad’s problems were caught in the wake left behind my passion for Decker. Damn, that boy stirred in me things I’d never felt before. It wasn’t long before I let him explore my topless body, and, even though it felt weird to me at first, it also didn’t take long for me to enjoy having my breasts fondled, worshipped, sucked, and nipped on. Yeah, Decker focused mostly on the areola area, but I found that anywhere he touched felt like heaven. The area between my breasts was a major hot spot, but even when he kissed down my belly toward my navel or upward, teasing my collarbone with his tongue, anything he did kept that burning ember of desire hot. It was a goddamned pilot light inside me, and I knew it would ignite with full force once I moved through every fucking base.

  I couldn’t wait to lose my virginity and experience what sex was all about.

  If I’d thought about it logically back then, I would have realized what I know now, that a good portion of my interest in sex was normal, natural, and healthy—it was something most kids my age experienced and wanted and were curious about. The rest of my desire, though, the unnatural part…that was driven by my need to escape. Up until just a couple of weeks earlier, I’d had an ideal life with parents who had made me feel like the center of the universe. I had never dreamed they’d split up or cheat on each other or end their marriage. No, I’d always believed that they were together forever, and they’d never given me a reason to believe otherwise. So, to have that rug ripped out from under my feet had sent me reeling, and I wasn’t even going to try to recover. Nope. Instead, I was in denial full throttle, and Decker was doing his damnedest to make sure I stayed there.

  I wasn’t an unwilling victim.

  Our awkward sex play was getting dangerous at his house, only because his parents were fairly conservative. Now that Decker and I had become full-on boyfriend and girlfriend, even mentioned in the same sentence by kids at school on a regular basis, I started to learn more about him. Things like…he and his family went to church every Sunday. They weren’t wishy-washy about it. They were regular and faithful. And they talked about it too. It wasn’t just relegated to Sunday—it permeated their lives. No, Decker wasn’t that way, but his parents, even his older brother, talked religion a lot. I never said one word to Decker about it and I didn’t plan to, because it was obvious
ly something not as important to him as to the rest of his family.

  But the biggest problem was that we didn’t even want to be caught in a hot embrace when anyone walked in the door. That would seem easy enough, but it was growing more and more difficult to throw all our clothes back on and run downstairs from his bedroom in order to greet a family member. I was usually out of breath and flushed, my hair tousled about. I was just waiting for someone—his father, in particular—to ask what we’d been doing.

  I suspect they had an inkling and were afraid of asking.

  Still, I was growing weary of dealing with the tension it created. I was invited to dinner with them a couple of times and barely ate because my appetite just wasn’t there. And it wasn’t there because I was worried and stressed about having to answer too many questions that hadn’t yet been asked.

  My mother, still teaching music lessons, began doing “things” during the afternoon and evening on occasion. Sometimes, she’d just arrive home an hour or so after I got there, but she told me in advance one day that she’d be gone Friday night and wasn’t sure when she’d be home.

  She had a date.

  I didn’t think it would be very cool of me to ask, Hey, mom, I know your marriage is on the rocks, but would you like to meet my hot boyfriend? It wouldn’t have been that way, but my mom hadn’t fully recovered, was acting strange, in fact, and I didn’t feel right about rubbing her nose in the fact that my romantic life was off the charts and hers was nonexistent.

  Or so I’d thought until she told me she had that date.

  At first, I was angry about it. How the hell could she and my dad get back together if she was seeing someone else? Didn’t she care? Hadn’t she been devastated and heartbroken when my dad had cheated on her? But when Decker pointed out that he and I would have the house to ourselves for only God knew how long, I quit worrying about mom.

  It’s also another thing that, in retrospect, I can’t judge her for. I probably would have done the same damn thing.

  We made plans that week, Decker and I. I had already been on the pill for a week and a half and we had fistfuls of condoms. I was nearly bursting at the seams. I wanted to lose my virginity…so that was the plan. Decker also suggested a bottle of wine, and he was going to try to score one, but I snooped around in our dining room where I knew mom and dad had a stash of alcoholic beverages. I found all kinds of liquor—no wine, though—and the bottles were dusty. I knew they (or mom, should I say?) would never notice one missing. All of them? Yeah, but one? Easily dismissed, especially the state mom was in of late.

  But Decker still managed to get some wine, and he insisted that we drink it instead of my mom’s alcohol. I think he had some romantic notions, and wine was part of that. In fact, I think he was more excited and nervous about me losing my virginity than I was.

  It was a Friday night. Mom threw together some sandwiches, which was my first clue that she was distracted. She half listened to the answers I gave to her cursory questions before she went to her room to doll herself up. When mom came out, I was surprised, because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her wear that much makeup. She had also curled her hair and was wearing a short skirt—a new one, something I’d never seen before.

  Mom was on the rebound.

  At the time, I didn’t think much about it. I knew mom was heading out, but I didn’t ask if she was hanging with friends or with a guy. She hadn’t said what kind of date, and I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t want to know. It was easier for me to believe that mom was going to a Pampered Chef party. Wearing dangly earrings. And three-inch heels.

  But leave she did and that left me waiting for Decker. He was totally into the romance thing, something I never would have expected. So I decided to give him what he wanted. I dug around in the spare bedroom where mom kept all kinds of shit and found what I was looking for—several scented candles. I placed them in various spots around my room where, once the lights were turned down, they would offer soft light that would allow us to see each other, but through a fuzzy glow that Decker seemed bent on experiencing.

  I would give him what he wanted, because he was going to give me what I needed.

  I didn’t own any lingerie or anything I’d consider sexy but I didn’t go that far—not yet. I didn’t even think of greeting him at the door like that or anything else. This was my first time and I was nervous and excited. The last thing I was thinking about was Decker enjoying himself. He never seemed to not have a good time when we were playing together. So I took a quick shower and put on my nicest panties and bra but covered them with my usual t-shirt and jeans combo.

  And then I waited.

  Decker arrived a little later than planned but that was okay. If I’d been thinking straight, I would have engaged in an activity that would have preoccupied me and kept my mind off the evening’s events, and then I wouldn’t have been even more nervous when he arrived. But that was okay. I was probably more eager than I should have been when he got there, ready for him to take me on the living room sofa. But he was patient and obviously had a scenario in mind—one that he wanted to fulfill as best as possible.

  So we found some nice glasses in the dining room hutch and then retired to my bedroom. I put in some mood music (some Papa Roach, something probably most people wouldn’t consider to be mood music, but they were some of the mellowest and low-key bands I listened to. I didn’t want to freak Decker out by blasting Lamb of God or Suicide Silence, even though some of their tempos seemed perfect for the kind of lovemaking I suspected Decker would be good at—pounding, driving, steady) and then I lit the candles around the room while Decker poured the wine.

  I hadn’t had wine since I was a kid and mom and dad had given me a sip of a bottle they’d cracked open to celebrate an anniversary. I pushed that memory out of my mind, because damned if I was going to let my parents’ inability to resolve their differences get in the way of my good time. Decker handed me the glass full of reddish liquid and said, “To us.”

  I chuckled but then, seeing the dreamy look in his eyes, I ratcheted my amusement down into a demure smile and brought the glass to my lips. While he took a drink, I brought the glass to my lips, smelling the strong aroma that had built up in it. I knew chances were that the wine would taste just like the smell, so I took a small sip at first. Yep. And I remembered why, as a kid, I’d sworn off wine. I couldn’t understand why people loved it so much. I wanted sweet, not…whatever the hell that was. I knew alcohol could potentially loosen me up, though, so I wasn’t going to put it down and refuse to drink any more like I had with my parents all those years ago. So, smiling at Decker once more, I brought the glass back to my lips and tilted it, letting the wine flow down my throat like a waterfall.

  “Hey, Kyle, you’re not supposed to—”

  But by the time the words had made their way out of his mouth, I’d finished chugging it. I glanced at the bottle and had no idea if it was an expensive aged wine or if it was something off the cheap rack at the liquor store that had only been in a cask for a few weeks before being bottled. All I knew was that it was likely going to make tonight better, and so why not get it over with?

  The look of horror on Decker’s face was priceless. Being minors, we shouldn’t have even been drinking, but to have him look freaked out because I’d guzzled a fine wine was hilarious beyond words. I wasn’t in a laughing mood, though, so I set the glass on my nightstand and grabbed him by the collar. “I think you need to know right now that I have a hard time following rules.”

  Let’s pause here for a moment. What I’d said? Not true at all. I had been a rule follower all my life, mainly because it was all I knew. I’d never had that many rules to follow anyway, having been schooled by my parents and living on the road. It hadn’t been until the last couple of years that I’d been put in an environment where I had to do what was expected—and I had, for the most part, done what I was told…but I didn’t want to argue about why I shouldn’t fucking down wine like water. I wanted to los
e my virginity, and I wanted to do it as painlessly—and as quickly—as possible, and giving a glib answer about being a rule breaker seemed like the easiest way to do it.

  But that answer had unexpected consequences. The look on Decker’s face changed, and I was afraid at first that he was going to argue anyway. But then his eyes softened and quickly turned to desire.

  Holy fuck. It was a turn on to him that I might have been telling the truth about being a rebel. From that point forward, I thought of myself in those terms—a rule-breaking rebel—and in my first instance of playing that role, I discovered it worked for me…because it helped me get exactly what I wanted. With no arguments.

  I couldn’t think of a better reason to be bad.

  “Goin’ Down” ~ The Pretty Reckless

  Chapter Nine

  DECKER’S FINGERS WERE squeezing my ass a little too tightly, but the sensation was arousing me just the same. It didn’t hurt that I was being ground into him and his lips were bearing down hard on mine. That was all we were—one big intertwined mass of hot flesh.

  I didn’t want to wait, and I could feel the wine doing something to me. My muscles felt loose and relaxed, my body warm and jelly-like. Usually, feeling this aroused, I would have been taut from head to toe, but I was as calm as a mountain lake without the hint of a breeze. The way my body was reacting to the alcohol was belying the fact that I was just as eager as ever to experience penetration for the first time.