by Bijou Hunter
I arrive home, wondering if I can do something to ensure no one fucks with Ramona. How many asses do I need to kick?
Inside the house, I find Shelby in the kitchen. My sister’s long, brown hair is a mess like usual, and I suspect she’s been napping. Shelby came to Shasta because River, Taylor, and I did. She doesn’t want to be here. Missing our mom and dad, she hasn’t gotten a decent night’s rest since we arrived. Yet she never mentions returning to Ellsberg.
“Did you just wake up?” I ask, opening up the giant stainless-steel fridge that looks out of place in the otherwise vintage-style kitchen.
“I haven’t been sleeping well. I think it’s the ghosts.”
“Nope.”
“I felt them.”
“Nope.”
Eyes bright in reaction to my denial, she taunts, “Don’t fear the unknown.”
We could go on like this for another hour, but my thoughts return to Ramona.
“I have a date tomorrow.”
“Nice to hear you’ve finally figured out women, you big stinky virgin.” Shelby carries a cup of coffee to the living room, where she lounges on the couch and smiles at me. “You look so smugly happy right now. It warms my cold dead heart.”
“Why is your heart cold and dead?”
“I’ll never find a man.”
“Lower your standards.”
“Never. I need perfection. Someone like River.”
“Then you ought to fuck River,” I say, already knowing she’ll respond with a dry heave. “Or buy a more satisfying vibrator.”
“A bigger dildo wouldn’t hurt.”
“Now that I know what to get you for Christmas, can we talk about my thing?”
Leveling a dramatic frown at me, she mutters, “I’m not interested in your dick’s needs, Shane.”
“Ramona is special.”
“Pass.”
I stare at Shelby as she rests on her back and dozes. She refuses to acknowledge me until I casually kick the couch.
“Why is she special?” she asks, watching me through slits.
“She’s gorgeous.”
“Pass.”
“She’s cool.”
“Nerd.”
I chuckle at her refusal to take me seriously. “She’s sad, maybe a little messed up.”
Shelby stops fucking around and finally shows interest. “Like Mom?”
“Is anyone as messed-up as Mom?”
“Yes. I saw a guy once eat something he pulled out of the back of his pants.”
“Stop talking about our trip to Houston,” I mutter and frown at her. “I’m not kidding about Ramona.”
“If she’s like Mom, are you supposed to be like Dad? And also, does that mean you want to fuck your own mother?”
“I know you’re bitchy from a lack of sleep, but I’m actually feeling something here. Like emotions and shit. So, I’d appreciate some respect for my heart running the show rather than my dick.”
“But your original interest in Ramona was based on her looks.”
“Yes, because I saw her from across the street and found her hot. That was my first impression. Then I watched her, and she seemed sad.”
“And you want to fuck Mom.”
“I want to fuck someone who makes me feel a certain way. Maybe I’m an indifferent boyfriend because I’ve only dated healthy women.”
“Or maybe it’s because you’re twenty-two, and all men are shitheads at that age.”
“We know lots of people who married their current wives when they were younger than me.”
“Yeah, dumbasses like Cooper and Tucker Johansson. One of them is still a dipshit, and I’m fairly certain the older one raised a few kids before his brain was no longer dialed to duh.”
“I’m mature.”
“Not like River.”
“Why don’t you and River just hook up?”
“I would never fuck him for the same reason I would never fuck you. Or Colton Johansson or Maverick Majors or Leo Barnes. I don’t fuck family. It’s my one rule.”
Laughing, I join her on the couch, even though she has to lift her long legs to make room. “I really like Ramona. She makes me crazy inside.”
Shelby stares at me and then looks around the overly furnished living room. We really have far too many chairs and couches in this space.
Finally, she nods. “I choose to care about your situation and treat it with the seriousness you demand. So, what’s next with your dream girl?”
“I want to take Ramona somewhere nice.”
“That would be the tits for sure. Except if she’s like Mom, even in the smallest of ways, she won’t like going somewhere too fussy-pants. It’ll stress her out, and then you’ll just have to calm her down. Unless you like her messed up.”
“Are you accusing me of wanting a fucked-up chick so badly that I’d fuck with her to keep her in a constant state of brain fuckery?”
“I would never accuse my baby brother of anything negative. You’re a real gem, Shane. A keeper.”
“Okay, now you’re too supportive.”
“Well, you either get dismissive bitch or supportive weirdo. There’s no in-between.”
“Fine, support me with your weirdness.”
Shelby sits up on the couch and gestures for me to rest my head on the pillow in her lap. “Take her somewhere low-key. Keep it relaxed. Make her focus on you and not her surroundings. Tell her why you’re there, though, so she doesn’t think you’re too cheap to splurge on a nicer place. Then take turns talking. Don’t put her on the spot. Only ask about topics that you think she’s comfortable sharing. As she feels safer, she’ll open up to you, trusting you not to hurt her. Then you can weasel your way into her damaged heart,” Shelby says soothingly before adding, “You know until you get bored and dump the poor thing.”
“I think Ramona might be the one.”
“Of course, you do. You’re very romantic.”
“I want her to feel special.”
“Yes. Special is good. You’re very special too.”
I think to complain about her wording and overly comforting tone, but Shelby warned me that she only has the two modes to offer today. I’m not in the mood to hear her bitch about how I can’t tolerate a woman for more than a few weeks. How I always get bored and then create a big incident to force the girl to dump me. Reality offers no satisfaction right now. No, I prefer the fantasy of my dream girl and me living happily fucking ever after.
THE CHAPTER WHERE THE FAPSOCKS BLEED
THE LEGACY
Shane kisses so softly—almost like a girl—but I sensed him holding back. It’s strange for a man to restrain himself around me. The closest was Matt pretending to like the same things as me.
“What happened to blowing him off?” Hugh asks while we drive to our nearby house.
“He charmed me,” I say and then add as I pull down the gravel-covered drive belonging to our salmon-colored rental house, “I’m a fucking idiot.”
“Or, maybe, and I’m just throwing this out, but maybe you suffer from the same affliction as Kelsi and me.”
“An unquenchable desire for biker dick?”
Giving me a little wink, he climbs out of my car and walks up to the house, where Hilly barks inside. Our Beagle mix bounces out the door, freaking out over our return. Though our rental house has a tiny fenced yard, Hilly’s beagle side wants to explore until he’s exhausted. Needing a little quiet to ponder my situation with Shane, I decide to take the dog for a long walk.
Hilly and I travel along the back of the property line toward the railroad tracks, where we can circle home when he’s gotten his fill of exercise.
Except for those four months in Cleveland, Shasta is the only place I’ve ever called home. Until I was eighteen, my mom and I lived in a thirty-unit apartment building, five minutes from my current rental place. Kelsi lived downstairs with her mom, Joanna. I’ve walked the streets of the Railroad for most of my life, bumming rides when I could. I finally got a car of my own s
ix months ago, before I bailed from Shasta. The clunker threatens to break down so often that I still walk or bum rides most days.
Shasta isn’t the safest small town in America, I’m sure. We supposedly have a serial killer that grabs prostitutes from the trailer parks, but I’ve never been sure if that’s true. The cops say it’s not, but they’re also paid less than a full-time waitress so...
I ought to be afraid of walking around at twilight in the Railroad. After all, Hilly isn’t much of a guard dog. He barks a lot, growls on occasional—mostly at raccoons–and hides when shit gets real. The last time Kelsi and Max had a pillow fight, the dog fled to the bedroom and hid for an hour. He’s definitely a lover rather than a fighter. It’s why he’s never seen a piece of furniture he wouldn’t hump.
But most people aren’t aware of my dog’s lack of protective instincts. In fact, Kelsi told locals that Hilly is a biter, which explains why we don’t take him to the dog park in the Boulders. With the dog’s rep, I figure I’m safe even as the sun lowers and the streetlights come on. We’re headed home anyway, and I’m walking in a well-traveled path along the tracks.
While I should still be alert during my walk, I’m not, of course. Instead, I daydream about Shane. My brain being solidly in neutral is my only excuse for not seeing the bitches coming.
“Cunt!” Safire screams, running at me and throwing a punch.
Her fist barely makes contact with my cheek. However, by dodging her punch, I lose my balance and end up on the ground. Sensing danger, Hilly takes off running back to the house. He’s not fucking stupid. I’d be running too if Dymond hadn’t kicked me in the rib cage.
My oldest half-sister, Safire, nails me in the mouth with her bony knee. I fall back and wipe the blood from my lips. Nearby, people watch the fight, but they won’t interfere with this family feud.
Peering at my half-sisters through my hair, I knew this was coming, but I figured I’d get a few more public meetings with Shane before Blonde and Blonder came after me.
“You heartless cunt!” Blonder Dymond yells, jumping on my back. “You ugly, stupid, worthless trash whore!”
Though I try to shove her off me, Dymond’s always had chunky thighs, and she easily outweighs me by thirty pounds. I remain pinned under her despite all my struggling.
“Get her, Saf,” Dymond growls as Fuse’s oldest daughter approaches me with scissors. “Fuck up the whore.”
I can’t get loose until they’ve already chopped off who knows how much of my beloved hair. Laughing now, they stand back. I stumble to my feet and wipe my bloodied mouth again. Nearby, they playfully slap each other with large chunks of my formerly lush hair.
Despite feeling light in my hand, the rock draws blood when it collides with Safire’s face. She falls back, wailing as if she’s been shot. Dymond stares in horror at where our idiot sister grabs for her jaw. Trying to soothe her injured face, Safire nearly stabs herself in the eye with the scissors.
“Get her,” Safire whines to Dymond.
I can’t fight for shit, but I’m mean. I bite, scratch, spit, whatever the fuck I need to do to hurt my opponent. I’ve never once won a fight, but I’ve made a bunch of bitches bleed and cry. My mom calls me scrappy. Hugh says I’m like a rabid squirrel.
To take down this larger opponent, I use my momentum and ram my shoulder straight into Dymond’s stomach. Falling back, she slams her head against the hard, rocky ground. I’m immediately on top of her, punching wildly at her stupid fucking face.
This bitch and our idiot older sister spent my entire life showing off how much Fuse loved and babied them. I didn’t get shit growing up. They had everything. Right now, I’m getting me some payback.
“Dymond!” Safire cries as if whining will encourage her sister to stop getting her ass beat.
When I wail on a bitch, I get tunnel vision. I avoid thinking about the inevitable moment when the tide will turn, and I’ll be the one getting beat on. That’s why I forget all about the scissors in Safire’s hand.
Dymond finally starts fighting back by taking swings at me. I inherited my mom’s small hands while she got Fuse’s giant fat fingers. Seizing hold of my wrists, she shoves me off her. As I topple to my side, I manage one last kick and nail her square in her puggle face.
That’s when I notice Safire rushing at me with those scissors. Her blue eyes flare with rage.
“You’re fucking the guy who killed our daddy!” she cries in her whiny baby voice.
“If you kill me, Shane will murder your whole family!” I yell while scrambling on the ground to get away from her.
It’s a stupid threat, but one I used as a kid. This time it’s my potential-boyfriend versus my doesn’t-give-a-shit-father, but the threat still works.
Well, for about thirty seconds while I scramble away from her scissors. Then Safire sees Dymond’s bloody face and begins to cry. How dare anyone hurt her baby sister? Rage overtaking her fear of Shane, Safire comes at me with her weapon again.
Before I get carved up, I hear the voice of an angel.
“War dogs!” Kelsi screams from nearby while she and Hugh throw rocks at the bitches.
Deep inside, I’ve never felt as if Safire and Dymond were my sisters or that Fuse was my dad. I grew up with no real family. Even my mom seemed to check out when I was around ten, and she had to compete with Fuse’s newer—and younger—side piece.
For much of my life, the only family I could rely on was the Band. Today, they race to my rescue, just like good families always do.
“You better get out of the Railroad before you get buried here,” I growl like a big shit to my sisters as they dodge the rocks.
Safire still thinks about stabbing me with those scissors. I take a rock, ready for her attack. We’re doing this shit today. After a lifetime of hating each other, this is when it all goes down. She took my hair, and I plan to take her fucking face. Well, at least, an eye. She’s rich enough to buy herself a fancy new glass one.
Then Max’s battered, red truck comes barreling over the curb, bouncing on the uneven ground, seemingly driven by a madman.
Max speeds past us, nearly hitting Dymond. She slams on the brakes and begins backing up toward Safire.
“Run, Herpes!” Kelsi yells.
“You're the one with—” Safire cries before realizing Max is literally about to run over her.
Safire and Dymond take off running to wherever they left their car. I throw my rock at my fleeing sisters and then walk over to where Max leaves the truck idling.
“I think I just committed a felony!” a bright-pink flushed Max cries. “I could spend a decade in prison. Ramona, you remember that when I forget your birthday.”
I throw my arms around her and then wave for Hugh and Kelsi to get in on the hug. These are my people. We might be Shasta’s rejects living in the shitty side of town, but today we won.
Sure, my hair likely doesn’t agree. However, the math adds up—coffee with a hot guy plus beating up twat sisters plus great friends equals a good fucking day.
THE ROMANTIC
No one in our house cooks. That’s why Shelby and I meet Taylor and River at The Barnyard, where we can order enough ribs and fixings to ensure we have food later for a snack. When we arrive, the restaurant is packed, yet Shelby still scores us a primo booth.
“I told the waitress it was for River,” she tells me while we wait for Taylor and our club president. “Lineke orgasmed and offered this to us.”
“Seems about right.”
I’m so used to women fawning over my best friend that I don’t even blink an eye anymore at the sight. Sure, plenty swoon over me too, but there’s something about River that makes them especially silly.
“I heard something,” Taylor says, sitting next to Shelby and letting down her shaggy blonde hair from its ponytail. “About that girl you were stalking.”
“Her name is Ramona,” Shelby announces. “She is his special someone, and we must not laugh.”
River sits in his spot and
smiles. “What are we talking about?”
“Shane’s dream girl.”
“The chick on the radio,” River says, wagging his finger at me. “She’s got that sexy voice.”
I lose my smile. “Don’t.”
River considers challenging me. We throw down about once a week over everything from using the wrong tone to who eats the last pork chop. Tonight, he’s dying to fuck with me but chooses to stand down when he remembers I’ve been stuck on Ramona for longer than most of our relationships last.
“What did you hear?” Shelby asks Taylor while River and I finish our glaring match.
“I heard that Fuse’s daughters threw down in the Railroad.”
“When did this happen?” I ask, on edge immediately.
“Today, I guess. Annis made it sound like new gossip.”
“Annis is a dog,” Shelby tells Taylor. “Date better.”
“We’re not dating. We’re vaginally acquainted.”
“Ladies, focus,” River says and leans back in his chair. “That throwdown thing sounds interesting. What does it mean?”
“Fuse’s fapsock daughters jumped his bastard daughter,” Taylor says and then adds, “That one Shane’s stalking.”
“They’re going on a real date,” Shelby whispers loudly. “He’s very much into her.”
“Sweet shit.”
“I need to check on Ramona,” I say, standing up.
Lifting his leg, River blocks my exit. “Ring up your lady rather than running out of here and ditching your friends.”
Grudgingly, I sit down and pull out my phone. I should probably text, but I want to hear her voice. Ramona doesn’t answer, though. Not the first three times I call, and she doesn’t respond to my first texts. I’m getting antsy and ready to bail when I finally hear her smoky voice.
“Shane,” she says rather than hello.
Ignoring the newly-arrived food, I frown at her tone. Then I realize she’s talking to someone else. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but I can’t go out tomorrow.”