by Easton, BB
But I can’t.
Because I promised this woman six more orgasms.
And from now on, I’m a man of my word.
May 4
Rain
When I wake up, I feel as though I’ve been turned inside out. The pain I used to carry around in my mind and in my soul is now only in my back from sleeping on a plywood floor. My muscles, which used to feel restless from lying around all day, are now deliciously sore. And my heart—which, just yesterday, felt like a rotting, blackened organ oozing poison into my bloodstream—now feels ripe and red where it pitter-pats against Wes’s side.
It feels happy. I feel happy.
I bury my smile in his bare chest and tighten my arm around his ribs. His presence feels like a miracle. Like a gift from God. Some people get new shoes or fancy cars or the latest iPhone for their birthdays. I got a whole person. My person.
And also, like, a dozen orgasms.
Wes stretches and turns in my arms, pressing his morning situation against my hip as he pulls me closer.
“No horsemen last night,” he grumbles sleepily, kissing my forehead.
“None at all?”
“Hmm-mm.” He shakes his head as much as he can with his lips still on my face. “You?”
I try to remember what I dreamed about and smile when it finally comes to me. “Me either. I dreamed that I was in outer space. I was stranded on this tiny planet, or maybe it was just an asteroid. I don’t know how I got there, but I couldn’t get home. I could see Earth, but every time I jumped off the rock and tried to swim to it, I would only get so far before the little planet’s gravity would pull me back down. I was so frustrated. I started to panic.”
Wes pulls me closer and rests his chin on the top of my head.
“Then, all of a sudden, this rocket came whizzing through the air. It looked like the Looping Starship ride at Six Flags. There was no roof, and everybody was screaming and laughing with their arms in the air. I waved for help, but they shouted at me that the ride was full. They were just gonna leave me there, but right before the ride passed me by, you leaned out as far as you could and pulled me in. You let me sit in your lap because all the seats were taken, and you wrapped your arms around me so that I wouldn’t fall out.”
I kiss Wes’s warm chest and feel my skin prickle with a million tingling goose bumps.
“It was the best dream I’ve had in a long, long time.”
Wes swells even more against my hip, but he ignores it and smooths a hand over my hair. “I would go to outer fucking space to get you.”
I smile.
“But I would never let those motherfuckers ride on my spaceship. They can all burn in hell.”
I laugh with my whole body … until it makes me realize how badly I need to pee.
“Wes, I gotta go,” I huff, pushing on his chest.
“Nuh-uh,” he groans, pulling me closer.
“No, Wes. I gotta go.”
Catching my meaning, he releases me with a chuckle and sits up. “I’ll come outside with you.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll be right back,” I mutter, trying to pull my hoodie and jeans on as quickly as possible.
Wes slips his holster on, throws his Hawaiian shirt on over it—leaving it unbuttoned so that his chest is on full display—and slides his boxers on over his still-hard cock. “Nah, I’m ready. Let’s go.”
“Like that?” I giggle, glancing down.
“What?” Wes follows my gaze to see the head of his dick staring back up at him. “It’ll calm down when the cold air hits it.” He shrugs.
“Wes,” I hesitate. “I don’t go out there … anymore.”
“Oh, you found a new spot?” he mumbles, buttoning his shirt to cover the issue. “Smart. That front entrance is pretty exposed.”
“No …” I sigh, already hearing the shakiness return to my voice.
Wes’s head snaps up, and suddenly, he’s the Ice King again. Cold. Guarded. Quietly raging and highly alert.
“What happened?” he snaps.
“Nothing. I just—”
“Bullshit. What happened?”
“Ugh! I can’t think when you get like this!”
“You don’t need to think. You need to tell me what the fuck happened.”
“I had a panic attack, okay?” I shout. “I touched the grass, and I just … I freaked out. I can’t see the trees because they remind me of home. I can’t look at the highway because it reminds me of home. I can’t leave this damn building because everything out there triggers a memory, and memories trigger the pain, and the pain triggers the panic because if I can’t shut it down immediately, it’s so big and so awful that I think it might kill me, okay?”
I take a huge breath and blow it out through my lips as Wes studies me with unaffected eyes.
“No,” he finally says, his mouth set in a hard line.
“No?”
Wes shakes his head. “No. It’s not fucking okay. Get your shoes on. We’re going outside.”
“Watch your step.”
I grip Wes’s bicep harder as I step down off the curb and into the street.
At least, I assume it’s the street.
“How’re you doing?” he asks.
“I … uh …” I check in with myself and realize that I’m actually kind of okay.
With Wes’s tank top tied around my head, I can’t see anything. All I can hear is his voice. And with my boots on, the only thing I can feel is the pavement beneath my feet and his body touching mine.
I hate it when he’s right.
“I’m … fine, I guess.”
Wes chuckles. “It’s a good thing nobody’s out here because you don’t look fine. You look like you’re being fucking kidnapped.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time you kidnapped me,” I joke. “Besides, you’re too pretty to be a kidnapper. It defeats the purpose if girls go with you willingly.”
“Hold up,” Wes says, stopping to bend over and pick something up.
I hear a familiar metal rattle but can’t figure out what it is.
“So, you think I’m pretty, huh?” Wes asks as we start walking again. I can hear the smirk in his voice.
“Boy, you know you’re pretty. Don’t go fishin’ for compliments.”
“Nah.” Wes snorts. “I’m ugly wrapped in a pretty package. But you …” The deep rasp in his voice vibrates all the way down my spine as Wes leans in and presses his lips to my temple. “You’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” I feel his fingertip slide down the bridge of my nose and over my mouth and chin as if he’s admiring my profile. Then, it continues lower, stopping right between my breasts. “Even in here.”
I blush, grateful for the blindfold so that I don’t have to drop my eyes in embarrassment.
“Step up.”
I do as he said and feel the asphalt turn to soft earth beneath my feet. A few feet later, he pulls me to a stop and turns me so that I’m facing something that blocks out the sun.
“We’re here. You can take your blindfold off but only look straight ahead, okay?”
“Wes, I … I’m scared.”
“I’m right here. You wanna sleep in a bed again someday? You wanna take a hot shower and eat food that wasn’t cooked over a metal barrel?”
I nod, feeling my heart rate skyrocket.
“Well, this is the first step, baby. Take off your blindfold.”
I take a deep breath, drawing as much strength from him as I can. I lost my mama and daddy. Wes lost his mom and sister. I was left behind by my boyfriend. Wes was rejected by thirteen different foster families. I dealt with mean girls at school. Wes was the new kid at half a dozen high schools. If he can stand out here and be ready for whatever happens next, then maybe I can too.
Sliding the ribbed tank top off my head, I bring it to my nose and inhale. The scent of Wes overpowers all my other senses, making me feel happy.
Making me feel brave.
I crack open my eyelids, letting in a tiny sl
iver of my surroundings, before I open them the rest of the way in surprise. We’re standing two feet in front of the faded green PRITCHARD PARK MALL exit sign next to the highway.
Wes wraps a firm hand around my jaw, holding it straight. “Don’t look anywhere but here, okay?”
“Okay,” I reply, too curious to be afraid.
I hear the metallic rattle again and smile when it gets louder and faster.
“I noticed this can of spray paint on the ground the other day, and it made me think of you.” Wes chuckles, shaking the can in his hand.
“Why me?” I smile.
“Oh, I dunno. Maybe because of the Welcome to Fucklin Springs sign in front of your house?”
I grin. “Shartwell Park is my personal favorite.”
“So, you admit that you’re a vandal?”
“I prefer the term wordsmith.” I smirk, accepting the can of neon-orange spray paint in Wes’s outstretched hand.
“See, take this sign.” I pop the cap off with an experienced thumb. “A vandal would just draw a coupla dicks on it and move on.” I cross out the P in Pritchard and easily turn the R into a letter B.
I can feel Wes grinning, but I’m too nervous to look over at him. Instead, I focus all my attention on the green-and-white—and now, neon-orange—sign in front of me.
“But not me.” I give the can a few more shakes and cover the RD with two big, bold Ss.
“Bitchass Park Mall,” Wes reads aloud with pride. “I didn’t even think to add the double Ss at the end. Nice.”
I turn and give him a little curtsy, but when I open my eyes, I not only see Wes; I see the entire mangled pileup behind him.
Quint and Lamar’s daddy’s bulldozer is a charred hunk of metal. The pavement around it, scorched and black. The tractor trailer on its side looks like a T-Rex took a bite out of it, and all around, pushed to the sides of the road, are the totaled and abandoned vehicles Quint cleared trying to get us through the pileup. I picture him lying on the pavement with that shard of glass sticking out of his neck. I picture Lamar, dazed and in shock with blood trickling into his eye from his lacerated eyebrow. I remember the sound of the explosion and the way twisted metal and broken glass rained down around us like confetti.
And then, I remember the way the inside of my mama’s helmet smelled when I put it on.
Like hazelnut coffee.
Like her.
The scene in front of me goes blurry as the memories line up along the edges of my mind, ready to march in one by one to destroy me. The first one charges, and it’s a doozy.
Christmas morning.
The last Christmas before April 23, I came downstairs to find Daddy passed out next to a puddle of his own vomit on the floor in front of the Christmas tree. Mama and I left him there while we opened presents. She brewed her coffee extra strong that morning. Made me some too. I don’t know what else she put in that cup, but it made me feel warm and silly. We curled up under her blanket on the couch and watched Christmas Vacation on repeat until Daddy came to. It wasn’t so fun after that.
“Hey,” Wes says, blocking the sides of my face with his hands like blinders. “Stay with me.”
I blink, pulling myself out of my head as his beautiful face comes into view.
“You did it.” He beams, and the pride in his eyes is enough to make tears form in mine. “You’re outside, fucking shit up like a little punk.”
Wes jerks his thumb in the direction of the sign, and two warm streams slide down my cheeks as I turn to look at it. Not because I’m afraid to be out here.
But because I’m so incredibly thankful to be.
“I love you,” I whisper, shifting my gaze back to the man who, just yesterday, I thought I’d never see again. “I love you so—”
Before I can finish my declaration, Wes silences me with his mouth. He blocks out the world with his hands over my ears, clutching my face as he kisses me hard. He chases the memories away with his tongue and lips and hips and smell. And I am plunged back into my favorite place.
The one where Wes and I are alone together.
A car horn breaks into my consciousness, causing me to go rigid in Wes’s arms. I don’t look, afraid of what I might find, but Wes does, and what he sees makes him grin against my lips. He lets go of me to salute something over my shoulder, so I give in to my curiosity and take a peek.
A small white mail truck comes puttering up next to us, and Eddie—the same mail carrier we’ve had since I was a kid—gives us a little wave before flipping a U-turn and heading back down the highway toward Franklin Springs.
“The mail is running?” I ask in shock.
“Sort of.” Wes chuckles, lifting his tank top to re-cover my eyes. “C’mon. Let’s head back. I’m starving.”
“But Q isn’t feeding us today,” I remind him as he ties the white cotton in a knot behind my head, grateful that he’s not going to push me to walk all the way back, unblindfolded.
“I told you, I have plenty of food.” Wes presses a kiss to my unsuspecting lips, which part in a silent gasp as his hand slides between my legs. “That’s not what I’m hungry for.”
I feel so much better on the way back. Bolder. Braver. I lace my fingers between Wes’s and swing our hands back and forth as we head down the exit ramp. The bright May sun warms the top of my head, and I suddenly want to feel it everywhere—on my cheeks, on my shoulders. I crave it like oxygen.
Once we’re at the bottom of the ramp, I pull Wes to a stop next to the chain-link fence encircling the mall and yank my hoodie off over my head. His makeshift blindfold comes off in the process, and I freeze, both from the delicious warmth on my skin and from the war being waged inside my head.
“Rain?”
I think I can do it. I think I can open my eyes and be okay. With Wes beside me and the sun on my face, I feel like I could fly if I really wanted to.
I listen for anything that might sound … I don’t know … triggering, but all I hear is the faint rumble of an engine in the distance.
Make that several engines.
“Shit,” Wes spits, tightening his grip on my hand.
“Wes?”
“Bonys.”
My eyes snap open and jerk in the direction of the break in the fence and then back up the ramp the way we came.
“We gotta run for it,” Wes growls.
“It’s too far!”
“Now, Rain!”
“No! Just … just … just put this on!” I take the can of spray paint in his hand and swap it out with my oversize Franklin Springs High sweatshirt.
Wes glances over my shoulder toward the sound of the rumble, but he doesn’t argue. He yanks the hoodie on over his head in the time it takes to suck in one more steadying breath. It fits him perfectly, hugging his broad chest and shoulders, and I get to work, spraying neon-orange ribs across the front and back. Wes flips the hood over his head and pulls it down low to cover his eyes.
Tossing the empty can over the barbed wire, I stand with my back against the fence and pull Wes in front of me so that I’m mostly hidden from view.
“Kiss me!” I beg as five shiny street bikes crest the hill at the end of the street. “Like I don’t want it!”
Wes doesn’t hesitate, grabbing me by the throat and shoving his thigh between my legs. He angles his back toward the oncoming threat as he plunges his tongue into my mouth, and as much as I want to sag against the fence and let him, I have to pretend to fight him off.
I don’t bother screaming—they won’t hear me over the roar of those engines—but I make a show of shoving his immoveable chest and trying to push off the fence with my boot as he holds me in place. Wes rips my tank top halfway down the front and grabs my breast as the first motorcycle passes.
And, against my better judgment, I look.
The crew of madmen seems to move in slow motion as they take in the show. Their once-chromed-out choppers and slick black street bikes have been spray-painted with neon skulls and bones and bloody, flaming body part
s just like the leather jackets and hoodies they wear. Each man has on a helmet or mask more terrifying than the one before it. Mohawked, blood-spattered, Day-Glo skulls eye us up and down as they drive by—machetes, nail-filled baseball bats, and sawed-off shotguns at the ready.
They sneer at me as I scream—for real this time—shoving Wes off of me just enough to break out into a full-on sprint.
Satisfied with our performance, the Bonys take off down the road as Wes chases after me, catching me by the wrist and spinning me around in his arms. He kisses me as furiously as he did the day I pulled him out of the Renshaws’ burning farmhouse.
I might know all of Carter’s smiles, but I’m quickly learning all of Wes’s kisses.
This is his post-near-death-experience kiss.
I hate this kiss.
I hate the Bonys.
I hate this new world.
But mostly, I hate how good the sun feels on my skin right now because, once we go back inside, I’m pretty sure I’m never going to feel it again.
May 5
Wes
“Bailiff, bring out the accused!”
Governor Fuckface is turning into more and more of a glorified game show host with every broadcast. He sweeps his ham hock of an arm out to gesture toward the five convicts being ushered out of the capitol building—each one bound, gagged, and wrapped in a matching burlap jumpsuit—as if he were Vanna White, revealing today’s grand prize on Wheel of Fortune.
I shovel a forkful of eggs into my mouth and wash it down with boiled rainwater as I watch them parade the guilty past the bloodsucking saplings that have already been planted. There must have been another execution while we were out yesterday because now there are three baby oak trees growing in Plaza Park.
In a few minutes, it will be eight.
Rain pushes the food around on her plate next to me as they read out the crimes of the accused. A few more hospital workers who refused to remove life support, a woman who continued tube-feeding her disabled husband, and a mother who saved her child’s life with an EpiPen after he had an allergic reaction to a bee sting.