A Long Time Coming

by Heather Van Fleet

  “Sweet. We’ll swing by and pick you up, right guys?” He heard their enthusiastic grunts of approval, but didn’t bother looking up at them. He had to go—there’d be plenty of times to think about his dumbass mistakes later in life.

  Numbers exchanged, niceties upheld, David strolled away, an extra–large chip on his shoulder hanging like a second layer of unwanted skin. As he finally turned to leave, he couldn’t help but blow out a breath—whether it was a breath of excitement or nervousness, he wasn’t sure. For one, was this even the right choice to begin with? Probably not. But did it at least feel right? Did it feel as if this was the beginning of getting his life back maybe? Hell, he sure hoped so. All he knew though was that somewhere out there either hell had frozen over, or pigs were flying their little asses off, because he’d seriously taken a risk.

  And David decided long ago that he would never be a risk taker again.

  Chapter Four

  “Mom, this freaking blows. You do realize that, right?” Abigail sighed in complete annoyance, throwing her hunter green knapsack over the back of the couch. It landed on the floor, spilling most of her supplies onto the precious white carpeting her mother had insisted on, earning Abigail the monster of all growls in return. She shrugged, her mom needed to just relax and take a Xanny or something. She had to wonder if her mother’s sudden cleaning frenzy, and bad mood, had something to do with the fact that her Bob the grown up builder wasn’t around.

  Exhaustion had just about ruined Abigail’s day. Besides that, she had a party to go to tonight, and if she didn’t quit yawning, she’d never make it. Damn, why was she so tired?

  “Abigail, you know you have to get your license if you want to help me run the salon someday.” Her mother barked, throwing her dust rag over her shoulder as she snapped to attention like a lonely housewife–turned–drill sergeant. Abigail bit her lip to fight the giggles erupting in her throat at the picture, throwing her body across the couch onto her mom’s perfectly purple and totally fringy pillows. Those pillows rocked as both a kick–ass resting place and the perfect color to brighten up the pale, lavender room.

  She shut her eyes at her mother’s strangled yapping, opening one up a second later to see the quintessence of all frowns across the woman’s face. “Screw the damn license, Mother,” she sighed blowing out a slow stream of air, “you know as well as I do, that I can cut, color and style hair better than over half the women who work there.”

  She kicked off her flats, crossing her legs at her ankles, putting her newly pedicured feet under another a set of pillows to keep her toes warm. “You, young lady, cannot just screw the license. It’s the law, and I won’t have my only daughter refuse to educate herself in the line of work she wants to pursue, just because she was too good to do so, do you understand me? I have nobody else to take over one day and I need you to be on board with this. This is the way things are supposed to be done!”

  Abigail closed her eyes. Dammit, she hadn’t meant to come across as a stuck–up, too–good–to–do–what–she’s–supposed–to snob. It’s just that she seriously needed something to take her mind off of life in general because apparently cosmetology school wasn’t going to be able to do the trick.

  Her gaze met and held her mother’s for a few seconds, but neither wavered with their stance on the situation. Was her mom going for threatening, or just annoying with her hovering? She shrugged. Either way, it wasn’t welcomed. Apparently she’d hit some nerve with the ice queen though, because now her finger was pointed outwards, and when her finger got moving, Abigail knew things would only go downhill from there.

  Seriously, you’d think a little sex would lighten up her mood!

  “Sorry Mom,” Abigail grunted needing to nip this conversation in the ass before it got any worse. “I’ll deal with the school. I’ll deal with the grunt work too, but you’ve got to at least give me a few more hours or something,” … or else I’m gonna lose my mind with all the crap swimming around inside my head right now.

  Her mother cleared her throat, going back to her dusting, furiously this time. That poor helpless, yellow rag… Her mother was a dust rag murderer! “Now, you are more than welcome to continue working the register and washing hair, Abigail, and you can even pick up more hours if you really want to. I just can’t allow you to do any styling or actual cuts or colors until you have that license plastered to the wall in the back of the salon, you got it young lady?”

  Abigail fought an eye roll, closing her eyes. The argument definitely wasn’t worth it tonight. “Whatever Mom,” she groaned, just as the honk of a horn rocketed through the air from outside.

  She shut her eyes and sighed. Great! Lover Boy was there now.

  One tiny beep of that horn, that’s all it took for the woman who had managed to own the rights to the title bitter–queen–bitch, to appear as if she was suddenly on a high that wasn’t caused by a joint, a pipe, or a needle. It was quite amazing how a simple set of brightened eyes could make a woman literally look twenty years younger.

  Abigail curled her upper lip, borderline snarling as she watched her mom primp like a wannabe hooker. She yanked up the edge of her pinstriped, grey linen skirt, and patted her cheeks. And without even glancing back at her slack–jawed daughter, the lady managed to drop her rag, unbutton her top button down to the top of her boobs, all the while long, pushing her lady lumps upwards and out to garner attention like a regular old porn star.

  Seriously…could forty–two–year–olds actually turn slutty–fied? Because her mom had done just that… The lady couldn’t get any more obvious—or desperate looking. It was damn near disgusting, especially since it seemed she had written off her husband once and for all. How could she not love the man who she had pledged her life to—the man Abigail loved more than anything?

  Her eyes narrowed at the thought of her father, and she had to say something. That woman couldn’t get by with this! It was wrong, damn wrong. And that was the nice word she had for the situation. “So Mom, when’s Daddy supposed to be home anyways?”

  Her mother froze in the arch of the doorway leading towards the kitchen. Pressing her hands into balls at her side, she stayed silent for a few seconds. She didn’t turn around, but the stiffness in her stance was more than noticeable. She had to have known that her daughter had her figured out, and Abigail grinned wickedly at the prospect. “W–what’s that supposed to mean, Abigail?” she questioned, clearing her throat as she glanced just briefly back over her shoulder. Her cheeks were bright red, flaring down to her neck.

  “Oh nothing Mom,” she paused, wondering if now was the time to bring it up or not, “just curious, that’s all.” Abigail shrugged, feigning innocence as she sat up and started to grab the contents that had fallen from her purse and onto the floor. There was no way she wanted to witness the hoochie crime in action.

  “He’ll be home in time for a late dinner, probably eight–ish or so I believe.” Yeah, she had it all planned out, didn’t she? Get a quick sex romp in, only to serve up a full course meal to the bill payer later. What a load of crap.

  “Tell me something then, Mommy dear? Why in the heck is that guy here to work on the basement at four o’clock in the afternoon, hmm?” She gestured towards the door, not able to resist the sarcasm that crept out over her tongue.

  She turned, finally looking at Abigail from over her shoulder—fully this time. “Umm, well…he had an earlier job to do today and this is the only time he had to see me…” she gasped, it was barely noticeable, but it was most definitely a gasp, “…I mean for going over some other plans about the basement.” She cleared her throat, most likely attempting to cover her sudden mistake in words. But otherwise, she didn’t say another damn word before sauntering away.

  Abigail shook her head, disgust lined her voice as she yelled at her mother’s backside. “I’m going upstairs now. Enjoy your little rendezvous.” She didn’t stop to look at her mother’s face, didn’t stop to respond to her annoyed cry either. The woman was as far fr
om a mother as she could get anymore.

  Abigail took the stairs two at a time, needing to get as far away from the disgustingness as she could. She turned the corner in the hall to head into her room, fighting her angry tears as she threw her body across her bed.

  What the hell was she going to do now? How would she pass the time? Napping would only take a few hours, and even then the pain would still be just as fresh when she woke up! Between her mother’s torrid affair, and her father’s constant absence, her best friend basically disappearing off the face of the earth, and her non–stop loneliness, Abigail was on the fast track to insanity, with no return ticket back.

  She had jumped at the opportunity to go this party tonight because the last thing she wanted was to be alone right now. Her life used to be so uncomplicated, so simple even! Now though, everything seemed to be falling apart at the tiny, unknown seams. And she had no idea how to deal with the crappiness alone either. She’d always had a support system around her. Always had friends or a family to be there for her, and it was becoming apparent that she never knew how much she needed that until recently. Her life was slowly dwindling away to something she didn’t know—wasn’t familiar with—but damn if she was going to let that happen. Starting tonight, she’d make some personal changes in her life.

  For one? She’d quit being the downer her mind was demanding she be.

  She just prayed that the universe would agree with her once and for all on that aspect.

  Chapter Five

  “Holy shit, look at this place!” JT gaped as they pulled up to the lake house. The crimson moon reflected easily from the North Lake waters. Trees hung almost soulfully over the edges. Ironically, for as long as David had lived in Hillsdale, this was honestly the first time he’d been to one of these mega–mansions hidden deep in the woods on the lakeside.

  “Yeah, you’re telling me.” David cringed, sinking back into his seat. This wasn’t a good idea.

  The three guys continued to gasp and holler from their windows, but David was simply having trouble keeping his heart under control. Dammit—he wasn’t a weak ass, but this simple, social situation was apparently about to prove him wrong.

  Carson and Paul rambled on about the owners of the house being some out of town, wealthy real estate investors, while JT whistled and pounded on the wheel with every fourth beat of the song blaring from the speakers. David knew it was the fourth beat because his dumbass was keeping time with it. He always kept time anymore, especially when his head was in knots with one of his impending migraines in the works. Guess the keeping time thing was his very own version of a countdown to when the headaches would take over his skull completely.

  The headaches had been a lingering side effect from the accident since day one, probably from his skull being beaten in at the side. No matter what pills his mom tried to shove down his throat, those headaches almost always consumed him once they took hold. Jesus! He had to get through this night though. He wasn’t about to be a pansy in front of these guys.

  Glasses Paul got out of the car before it even came to a complete stop, but Carson took a little while, huffing and puffing as he simply struggled to keep his pants from falling down. JT on the other hand, waited patiently for David to get his stuff together, still beating the wheel even after the music ended.

  David had debated on leaving the crutches at home. He had that mentality of: the less attention the better. But the benefits far outweighed the cons, and the last thing he wanted was to get his ass stuck if he had a cramp or if the headaches consumed his head completely and he couldn’t walk straight. He was so fucked up anymore, that it wasn’t even funny.

  “You all right, David?”

  Slowly angling his head to the side, staring at the darkened, concerned face of JT, he groaned out through his gritted teeth, “I’ll live.” Their eyes held for a second longer, before laughter erupted from JT’s mouth only a miniscule second later. David didn’t see anything funny about what he’d said, but then again, his humor had long ago vanished.

  “Dude, seriously, you crack my ass up,” JT pushed against his shoulder, gasping for breath as he continued to laugh, “let’s get moving. I really need a drink!”

  And he was out of his seatbelt and then his door seconds later, bouncing up and down like he was preparing for battle. David shook his head, slowly following in his wake. This was about to get interesting…

  “You need help or something?” JT hollered over the top of the roof at him.

  David frowned in response, shaking his head. “I’ve had two years of practice, I’m good.” David sighed, only half joking. JT nodded, and laughed some more before going back to his bouncing. David narrowed his eyes, the dude was either jacked up on life, or high on something instead.

  He shook his head and sighed. Now how in the holy hell was he going to get his ass home if it was the latter?

  They made it inside the two story home, instantly bombarded with the scent of stale beer, cigarettes, and sweat. David glanced around curiously, checking for any familiar faces, but seeing nobody who looked even remotely recognizable. That alone made this night a success. “You want a beer or something?” JT yelled over the loud bass pulsating through the air, his eyes scoping the room like a hawk in need of some serious dinner, or some serious game was more like it.

  David shook his head no, motioning towards a room that seemed as far from people as he could get. JT nodded, and was off towards the kitchen seconds later. The house was unbelievably huge. Open rooms galore with pieces of furniture that probably cost more than his house in general. David crutched his way to his intended destination, careful not to step on anything—or anyone for that matter. Girls littered the hall and guys littered the floor with their tongues, lips and hands in places he hadn’t seen or touched in months. . It would have been funny—entertaining even—if his head hadn’t been throbbing like a bitch the moment he made it to the room he’d chosen as his escape. He stopped in front of a flower–covered futon, pinching the bridge of his nose as the pain intensified. His eyes started to blur and he pressed his hand against the wall of the room over the couch, hoping like hell he’d keep his balance long enough to sit down.

  He finally turned, falling back against the seat. Throwing his head back, he managed to stretch out his legs to relax, just as a few girls sauntered into the room. Their giggles were high pitched, and before he actually looked up at them, he knew they’d approached his side. His eyes were apparently determined to stay closed until further notice though.

  “Hey sweetie, you want some company?” The giggles continued just as the futon indented on both sides of his body. Two sets of hands immediately took hold of him, one on his shoulders, the other dangerously close to places they didn’t belong.

  He cringed, sitting up, more scared that they’d find out about his secret missing leg than anything. “Uh, no, I’m good by myself,” truth be told, he wanted to get the hell out of this place before he passed out and didn’t wake up again.

  “Aw, but you’re so cute,” one girl giggled with a tiny squeak. He finally peeked through his lids, noting tube tops, denim skirts, and four legs that were as long as his own, or they at least looked that way. He swallowed—he was hurting like a bitch—but he was a guy too; a guy who hadn’t had this much attention from girls in months.

  He sat up, attempting to keep his temperature down before his body decided to stir up some serious–ass trouble. “So, you from around here?” He turned to face Blondie number one first. She was a Barbie to a T, but she was too plastic for his taste as well. Too much makeup, too much red shit on her lips.

  “Yeah, I grew up in Hillsdale,” he cleared his throat, lowering his elbows to his knees. They let go briefly, but like Siamese twins, they moved in on him in unison, matching his position once more.

  “Well, we are just in town visiting, and we were looking for some corn–fed boys to treat us both to a good time,” he looked towards number two, feeling suddenly pissed at himself for not feeling a d
amn thing towards either of them. He was a dude, and here were two gorgeous girls who were practically throwing themselves at him. Why the hell did he not give a shit? Did his dick get cut off after the accident too? His eyes widened at that thought. Yeah, he knew from experience that hadn’t happened, but still, it almost felt that way as he sat there between their tight little bodies.

  “God, you poor thing…you’re missing a leg? What happened?” he turned, his face reddening in shock as he faced the girl on his left, the girl who currently had her foot up his pant leg and onto his fake leg.

  He groaned and shut his eyes as the other girl leaned forward to obviously take a better look herself. Fuck, this wasn’t happening! “Oh honey, we can make you feel better. We can make you forget, too.” Righty blonde smiled seductively at him, winking.

  He shook his head, wincing as the pain radiated down his neck from his head. Holy hell, he was going to die of either embarrassment or a migraine tonight. “Tell us what happened, won’t you?” He couldn’t decipher who was talking at that point, nor could he decipher whose hand was currently making its way up his inner thigh. Hell, was it both of their hands? The room spun so bad that he could no longer see straight. And was he imagining the sensation of fingertips on his zipper too?

  He pressed both of his knuckles into his forehead, biting his lip as they leaned in—both of them—pressing their sticky lips against his neck. Fuck his life. Fuck this! He was experiencing a walking wet dream in the making, and all he could think about was how in the hell he was going to get them off of him and ease the torture in his head!

  “Tell me what your name is, sexy?” One leaned in further to ask. He shook his head, groaning in response. They giggled in unison, obviously thinking he was enjoying their little ploy.