by BB Easton
I shrug and push the kickstand back out. I never talk about my shit, but there’s something about the way this girl is hanging on my every word that makes them just start falling out of my mouth. “The way I see it, if I can survive the fucking apocalypse, then it makes everything I’ve been through mean something, you know? Like, instead of breaking me … they made me unbreakable.”
Rain’s big, sad eyes begin to glisten, making me wish I’d kept my fucking mouth shut. I don’t want her pity. I want her compliance. I want her resources. And, if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t mind bending her over the hood of this truck right now either.
“Who is they?” she asks as I pull her death grip off the hoses and toss them into the overgrown grass.
“Doesn’t matter.” I pick my holster up off the ground and carefully pull it back on over my wifebeater. “All that matters is that, if I’m still here and they’re not, then I won.”
“Well, whoever they are”—Rain gives me a small smile as I fan my shirt in the air to smooth out the wrinkles—“I hope they die last.”
A laugh bursts out of me as I look at Rain’s angelic face. She starts laughing too, then snatches my lucky shirt out of my hands.
“Oh my God, were you seriously about to put this back on?” She cackles. I grab my shirt and try to pull it out of her hands, but she clings to it with dear life. “How are you gonna survive the apocalypse wearing a shirt soaked in gasoline?”
“I don’t exactly see any laundromats around here, do you?” I fake left and grab the shirt when she veers right, but she still doesn’t let go.
“I can wash it.”
“What? When your mom gets home from work and lets you in?”
Rain’s face pales, and she releases my shirt.
Fuck. I didn’t mean to call her out.
“Yeah,” she says, her eyes losing focus and dropping to my chest, “when my mom gets home.”
Shit. Now, she looks all sad and freaked out. Her hand is in her hair again. That’s never good. This bitch does stupid shit when she’s freaking out.
“Hey,” I say, trying to snap her out of it. “You wanna eat?” I drape my shirt over my good shoulder and begin untying the grocery bags hanging from my handlebars. “I saw a tree house in your backyard. We should eat up there—”
“In case the dogs smell the food,” Rain finishes my sentence with a faraway look on her face.
“No.” I grin, holding the bags with my good arm and guiding her into the almost-knee-high grass with my other. “Because it’s probably full of Justin Bieber posters. He’s so fucking dreamy.”
Rain snorts through her nose like a pig. “Oh my God.” She cackles. “Did you just make a joke?”
I raise an eyebrow at her and keep walking. “I would never joke about the Biebs.”
As Rain falls into step beside me, snickering at my stupid fucking joke, I realize that I might have been wrong earlier.
I already feel like the king of the world.
Rain
I shove all the thoughts of my mother back into the Shit I’m Never Going to Think About Again Because None of This Matters and We’re All Going to Die fortress, pull up the drawbridge, and light that bitch on fire.
Three more days.
As I climb the ladder to my rickety old tree house, I realize that it’s already starting to get dark outside.
Make that two and a half more days.
All I have to do is not think about her for two and a half more days, and then I won’t have to think about her ever again.
I pop another pill while I wait for Wes to climb the ladder, just to make extra sure that shit stays locked up tight.
I take the bags from him as he climbs over the top of the ladder.
The tree house isn’t much. It’s basically just a rotting plywood box with a couple of dirty-ass beanbag chairs and an old boom box inside, but when I was a kid, it was Cinderella’s castle, Jack Sparrow’s pirate ship, and Wonder Woman’s invisible plane, all rolled into one.
The ceiling is so low that Wes doesn’t even bother trying to stand up. He simply crawls over to a beanbag chair and makes himself at home. He stretches his long legs out in front of him and crosses them at the ankles as he rummages through the grocery bags. His feet almost stick out the door. It reminds me of Alice in Wonderland when she grew too fast and got stuck in the White Rabbit’s house.
“So,” I say, plopping into the beanbag next to him as he concentrates on working that damn can opener that stabbed me in the back earlier, “you got anything in there that doesn’t look like dog food?”
Wes hands me one of the bags without looking up.
I pull out a stick of beef jerky and gesture toward the clunky radio with it. “Hey, do you want to listen to some music? I think I have my mom’s old Tupac CD in here. It’s not Justin Bieber, but …”
Wes smirks at my joke and pops a chunk of potato into his mouth. “Save your batteries. We won’t have power much longer.”
His statement wipes the smile right off my face.
Oh, right. Apocalypse. Yay.
I take in Wes’s dirty clothes as he starts pulling chunks of beef, carrots, and potatoes out of the can with his fingers like a starved raccoon. His messy hair. His total lack of personal belongings.
“So …” I pretend to look for a way to open the jerky package. “Where did you come from?”
“Here,” Wes says between bites.
I laugh. “You are so not from here. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’ve never seen you before.”
Wes gives me a look that says he does not appreciate being called a liar, then deadpans, “I lived here until I was nine. Then, I … moved around a lot.”
“Really? Do you still have family here?”
Wes shrugs and returns to his canned dinner.
“You don’t know? Who are you staying with?” I still haven’t touched my jerky.
Why am I so nervous to talk to this guy? He’s just a guy. Of manly age and stature. Okay, he’s a fucking man and I don’t know him and he has a gun and he’s currently my only source of food that isn’t a condiment.
“You.”
Wait. What?
“Ohhh no. You can’t stay with me. Are you fucking kidding? My parents would—”
“Not in there.” Wes gestures toward my house with a cube of beef pinched between his thumb and index finger. Then, he tosses it into his mouth and points toward the floor. “Out here.”
“Oh.” I relax a teensy, tiny bit. “I guess that’s okay.”
“I wasn’t asking,” Wes mumbles as he chews, plucking a carrot out of his can next.
“Where are your parents?” I ask, still trying to put all the pieces together.
Wes tosses back the wet orange vegetable. “I never met my dad, and my mom’s locked up.”
“Oh, damn. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. She deserves worse.” Wes’s voice is emotionless as he selects a potato.
“Uh … brothers or sisters?”
His annoyed eyes cut to mine but only for a second before he returns to his meal. “No.”
“Then, why—”
Wes’s head snaps up. “I came back because I found a bomb shelter here when I was a kid. Okay? Out in the woods.” He takes a deep breath through his nose and releases it. When he continues, his voice is a little less defensive. “My plan was to find it this afternoon, after I got supplies … but I burned all my daylight looking for your ass instead.”
Wes and I both look out the door at the same time. A dark blue has fallen over the sky, covering our sunset and tucking it in for the night. That’s what Wes’s comment feels like. I know he meant it to be a jab, but it landed on me like a blanket.
Wes chose finding me over finding shelter for the night.
I stare at his profile as his gaze returns to the can he’s holding. I want to reach out and run my finger down the bridge of his perfect nose. I want to trace the edge of his strong jaw and feel the sandpaper scratchiness of his
evening stubble against my fingertip. I want to press that finger between his full pink lips and let him bite it off if he wants to.
Because if Wes thinks he needs me, I’m determined to prove him right.
A chill racks my body as the last of the sun’s warmth disappears along with the color from the sky. “I’ll be right back,” I say, chucking the beef jerky and trail mix back into one of the bags and scrambling over to the ladder.
Wes doesn’t question where I’m going, but his gaze is a silent warning. If I try to run again, he’ll find me.
I try not to smile about that until I’m halfway down the ladder.
Wes
Great job, asshole. You made her fucking run again.
Look, there she goes.
I sit up and watch Rain’s hoodie-shrouded silhouette sprint across the backyard and disappear around the side of the house like she can’t get away from me fast enough.
Maybe she just needs to pee.
Well, if she’s not back in sixty fucking seconds, I’m going after her.
About thirty-five seconds later, I hear a loud crash, like the sound of a window breaking. I lurch forward, ready to jump out of that fucking tree house and see what the hell is going on, but before I make it to the ladder, I see a light come on inside the house. Followed by another one, and another one. I shake my head and flop back down in my seat.
That bitch just broke into her own damn house.
I toss a handful of trail mix into my mouth and watch as lights go on and off in various rooms.
What the hell is she doing in there?
It’s pitch-black outside now, so I dig the flashlight out of one of the grocery bags and turn it on, setting it down so that it shines at the opposite wall. It illuminates a pack of cigarettes sticking out of a crack between the floorboard and wall.
Fuck yeah.
I dig them out—Marlboro Reds—and flip open the lid. When I turn the box over to shake one out, nothing but tobacco dust pours into my hand.
Goddamn it.
I throw the box into the corner and hear the sound of a door slamming in the distance. Seconds later, Rain is full-on sprinting across the lawn with her arms full of God knows what. The house is dark again.
Rain grunts as she climbs the ladder with her arms full, but instead of her head emerging first, a bundle of blankets and pillows comes flying over the threshold before her. Then, a tiny hand setting a bottle of whiskey down on the plywood floor with a thud, followed by the face and body of the girl it belongs to.
Rain is wearing a backpack that’s almost as big as she is. She shrugs it off her shoulders and sits cross-legged next to it in the middle of the floor. Tearing it open, Rain begins talking a mile a minute.
“So, I got you some blankets and a towel and a pillow, and I filled up a couple of water bottles in case you get thirsty. Oh, and I got you some toilet paper and an extra toothbrush and all these little travel-sized toiletries from the one time my parents took me to the beach. We stayed at a real hotel that time, not just a friend of my dad’s that he told me to call Uncle This or Uncle That, like all our other ‘vacations.’” She put finger quotes around the word vacations and continues unpacking. “I remember I tried to order fried chicken from the hotel restaurant, and a lady in the back started screaming, ‘Fried chicken? Fried chicken!’ And then she stormed out the front door and threw her apron on the floor next to my booth on her way out. When our waiter came back, he said, ‘Welp, the cook just quit. How ’bout some grilled cheese?’”
Rain cackles at the memory. The sound is manic. Pressured.
“I would have gotten you some warmer clothes too, but mine won’t fit you and my dad’s are in his room and”—she goes back to digging in the backpack even though it’s empty now, her left knee bouncing so hard and so fast that it begins to shake the tree house—“I don’t wanna go in there.”
Abandoning the backpack, Rain grabs the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and takes a swig, wincing and hissing in agony as it goes down. Then, another. And another.
“Hey”—I reach over and pull the bottle from her hand, and she releases it without a fight—“you okay?”
“I’m fine!” She cuts her eyes away and shoves her hands into her hair.
I know she’s a pill head, but Hydro doesn’t do this. Whatever this is, it happened inside that house.
Now she’s rocking back and forth again.
Awesome.
“Rain.”
Her eyes lift to mine, partially illuminated from my flashlight, and there’s a wild desperation in them that makes me realize I read this entire situation wrong.
Rain doesn’t live alone.
Rain lives with a fucking monster.
“You’re scared of him, aren’t you?”
“Who? I’m not scared.” Rain glances over at the house as if he can hear her, knee bouncing, breaths shallow.
“Yes, you are. Look at you.”
She swallows and looks down at her knee. As she stills her leg, Rain’s chin buckles and begins to wobble instead.
My teeth clench so hard I feel like they might shatter. Jerking my chin toward the house, I manage to grind out, “That motherfucker hurt you?”
She claps her hands, completely covered by her hoodie sleeves, over her mouth and nose. Then, she closes her eyes and shakes her head. I can’t tell if she’s answering my question or trying to rid herself of some unwanted memory, but I don’t care.
“Stay out here tonight.”
Rain opens her eyes but doesn’t take her hands away from her face.
“Let me rephrase that.” I sit up and jam my finger into the plywood floor. “You’re staying out here tonight.”
When Rain doesn’t argue, I lean back and take a long pull from the bottle in my hand.
Damn, that’s good.
I toss the bag of trail mix into her lap. “Eat. I got shit to do tomorrow, and you’re gonna be worthless if you’re starving.”
“You want me to come?” Rain mumbles into her hands.
Even with her face partially covered and the only light in the tree house coming from a pocket flashlight aimed at the wall, I can see the hope in her big blue eyes.
Fuck. Why did I say that? I don’t need her anymore.
Because she’s useful, I tell myself. She’s a resource—that’s all—and she’s the best one you’ve got.
I tip the neck of my bottle at her. “You can come—as long as you promise not to eat all the fucking M&M’s outta there.”
Rain lowers her hands, revealing a smile that she’s trying to hide by biting her lip, and uses them to dig through the bag of trail mix in her lap. Pulling her hand out, she holds up one perfectly round piece of red candy between her fingers. Then, she fucking flicks it at me. It’s so dark on my side of the tree house that I can’t see where it went, but I hear it bounce off the plywood wall somewhere to my right.
“Bitch.” I chuckle, taking another swig of whiskey.
That little comment earns me two more M&M’s to the head.
“Oh, it’s on now!” I grab the stick of beef jerky and lunge forward, swatting her with it until she’s nothing but a giggling, hoodie-covered heap on the plywood floor. Then, I sit back, smug in my victory, and survey my spoils for the day.
Supplies? Check.
Shelter? Check.
Self-defense? Check.
Slightly psychotic teenager with a pill habit, daddy issues, and impulse control problems?
I smirk at the hiccupping heap of girl in the fetal position across from me.
Jackpot.
Wes
I take a deep breath and exhale as I shift into second gear. I don’t even care that I probably just sucked up two lungfuls of pollen. The woods here have been calling me home ever since I left thirteen years ago. Everything is just the way I remember, except greener. Taller. And, now that I’m exploring them on a Yamaha instead of some busted, old thrift-store sneakers … faster.
We managed to shove all the food and supplies i
nto Rain’s backpack, but since there was no way she could wear that big-ass thing and not fall off the back of my bike, I decided to wear it and let her sit in front of me.
Worst. Decision. Ever.
Rain’s ass rubbing against my dick is making it fucking impossible to keep my raging hard-on down. I’ve tried thinking about politics. About baseball. About Will Ferrell’s naked, hairy ball sack. But nothing’s working. My mind keeps going back to how easy it would be to just pull those little pajama bottoms down and let Rain bounce on my dick for real.
We drive over a patch of tree roots in the path, and I swear to God, that bitch arches her back and presses against me even harder through the bumps.
I can’t fucking take it anymore.
“Throttle,” I growl into her ear as I release the right handlebar.
We slow down for just a second before Rain grabs the handle. She twists the shit out of it, and we shoot forward. I laugh as she dials it back and can feel how hard she’s breathing where her back meets my chest. I have to keep the clutch engaged with my left hand, but now, my right hand is free to do something about the evil little tease sitting in my lap.
Wrapping my arm around her waist, I tuck my nose into the neck of her hoodie and inhale the warm, sugary scent coming off of her heated skin. Rain’s heavy breaths all but stop. Then, she angles her head to the side, just a little.
It’s all the invitation I need. She keeps her eyes on the path and steers us with jerky movements as my tongue forges a trail of its own up her neck.
Fuck. She even tastes like vanilla.
I slide my hand up her body until it’s filled with the weight of her perfect, round tit. Then, I smile because I can tell how hard her nipple is, even through her sweatshirt. I circle it with my thumb and feel her moan vibrate against my chest.
She can’t even hide how badly she wants this, and thank fuck for that because, with my cock pressed against her ass, neither can I.
I trace the outline of her ear with my tongue as I work her other nipple, squeezing and kneading and wishing like hell that I could flip her around, yank that hoodie up, and suck it between my teeth.