Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part One

by T. M. Frazier

  CHAPTER SIX

  PREPPY

  Sometimes, we as humans set out to do things with purpose and clarity. Other times, we carry the unconscious heroin addicted thief back to the very house where she’d helped steal your weed plants from, because the woman who lives there is a nurse.

  Humans. Weird fucking animals we are.

  I carried Dre in through the back door as quietly as I could. I’d wake Mirna shortly, but Dre wasn’t showing any signs of overdose so there wasn’t any rush. I carefully shifted the girl in my arms through the door of the guest bedroom, and that’s when I noticed the scar on the side of her face, right in front of her ear. It was a faded pink color so it wasn’t super old, and I wondered what could have happened to this girl to cause a scar like that.

  I shuffled her into the bathroom and set her on the floor. I turned on the shower and propped her against the side of the tub.

  The deja vu feeling that I knew the girl was overwhelming.

  Maybe she was in porn?

  No, because then I’d probably know her name. And bra size. And what her specialty was.

  I lifted her shirt and the bruises I’d seen on the tower looked ten times worse under the harsh bathroom lighting. I knew first hand that addicts had a tendency to be bruised up. Either from the marks, from the needles, getting into fights, or just stumbling around. But these weren’t those kinds of bruises. They weren’t from a fight.

  They were from a beating.

  My eyes drifted down to the bruised and bloodied space between her legs that both thrilled and sickened me.

  They were from a rape.

  I swallowed hard and willed my cock to stand down. I tucked her panties into my back pocket for safe keeping and lifted her into the tub, turning the shower head on spray mode so I could wash the dirt and blood from her body.

  I never gave a shit what twisted thing turned me on. Some people got off on the vulnerable, it was a thing, I googled it, but I never before in my life wished those oddities away before that very moment in that very bathroom.

  And I had no fucking clue why.

  I tried to concentrate on washing her, pausing the cloth occasionally to wipe the sweat from my forehead or palm my cock through my pants, but managed to finish washing her and carry her to the bed without coming in my pants.

  I pulled the blanket over her and she stirred. Her legs fell open, revealing everything to me, and I groaned at the sight.

  My cock pulsed. I licked my bottom lip at the thought of what she tasted like.

  I needed to know.

  Just one little lick and I’d go.

  I crawled onto the mattress fully dressed, but slightly damp. I hovered over her and leaned down between her thighs. I inhaled deeply. She had the sweetest smelling pussy. My cock throbbed and my balls ached. I wanted to bottle that shit up and wear it.

  Pussy perfume.

  I pressed a closed mouth kiss over her small buttony clit before flattening my tongue and dragging it over her pussy opening. It was just supposed to be one little lick, but it had turned into a deep kiss. My tongue darted just beyond her pussy lips. A little more and a little more I took, pushing the tip of my tongue inside her tightness, holding in a groan when I could fully taste her on my tongue. Holy fucking shit. Good wasn’t a word for how she tasted. Epic. Her pussy tasted EPIC.

  I shamelessly dry humped the bed, my cock finding little of the friction I needed against the mattress.

  I pulled back a little, feeling a bite of anger toward whichever of those fuckers had hurt her magical pussy, and hoped it was the one who was no longer breathing and being sent out to the swamp by Smoke and his clean up crew.

  I gave her one last long kiss with my tongue, as if I could heal her with my mouth. I sat up on my knees and released my cock from my khakis, groaning at the sensation of it hot and heavy in my hand. I stared down at her spread thighs, her pussy glistening from where my mouth had just been, her taste still fresh on my tongue.

  I imagined pounding into her with every inch of my cock. As I stroked from root to tip and back again, I wondered if she could take all of me or if I’d have to ease up on her and give her little by little.

  Then I imagined what she would look like with my hands wrapped around her throat. What she’d sound like gagging on my cock.

  I pumped harder, faster. I teased the tip of my cock and just as I felt like I was about to explode, another thought hit me. It was what sent me spiraling over the edge, my balls drawing up tighter than they ever have, and my spine damn near breaking when I came so fucking hard I thought I was going to fall off the fucking bed.

  I’d imagined how she’d looked up on the water tower, right before she jumped. Battered and broken, yet free. There was something so sexual about the way she’d accepted death that turned me on something fierce.

  I wanted to see her sad. Taste her tears. I wanted to know what she sounded like when she cried. In pain, in pleasure, in both. The thought of me being the one to make her cry was my undoing.

  I sprayed long hot streams all over her stomach and thighs, the last spurt landing right over her spread pussy. I tried to catch my breath but when I opened my eyes, I grew instantly hard again when I found myself looking down at the most perfect fucking picture I’d just painted on her body with my cum.

  Quicker than I’d gotten on the bed, I jumped the fuck off off. I quickly, yet reluctantly, wiped my cum from her stomach with a wash cloth, then I left the room in such a rush that I tripped over Mirna’s pet pig in the hallway. Oscar grunted and oinked, and even in the darkness I saw the disapproving glare in his piggy eyes. “Fuck you, Oscar, don’t be all judgey,” I whispered. More grunting. “One more look like that and I’ll tell Mirna how you like to dry hump her teddy bear collection during her afternoon nap.” The oinking stopped and he backed away into the bathroom, where I’d set up the giant dog bed he slept on. I flashed him a smug winning look and flipped him off.

  I headed out to the backyard where I could smoke some weed and get a grip on the weirdest fucking night of my life. I saved that girl twice in one night. I was exhausted.

  But hey, glass half full and all, I DID get to kill someone.

  As I sat on the back step and packed my bow tie one-hitter, a thought entered my brain and started running on the days playback reel. I didn’t know why the fuck it was there because it was telling me something I already knew. Answering a question I wasn’t even fucking asking.

  I can’t keep you.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DRE

  Nightmares. At least, I thought they were nightmares.

  Night after night, day after day, they took hold on both my body and mind, delivering an endless kind of agony I never knew was possible. I was sure I’d died because the place I was existing in was pure fucking hell, reliving the very worst moments of my life over and over, never growing numb to the pain.

  The sounds haunted me first. Twisting metal. Breaking glass.

  Screaming.

  The smells came next. Cedar trees and burning plastic.

  Then it was like watching a slow motion video of myself. I’m outside of my body, watching myself standing in the pouring rain. Water, streaked with red, ran down my face, my arms, and off the tips of my fingers onto the pavement. I was staring at something, but when I turned around to see what I’m staring at, the scene shifts.

  The sounds turned to evil laughter. Grunting. The slap of skin. The tearing pain.

  The smell became musty mold, sweat, and uncirculated air. The video was now of Eric and Conner standing over me, blood, that dank motel room. More grunting as they took turns with me. Laughing when I cried. Louder and louder, until I realized I wasn’t dead.

  The sound was real.

  Someone was grunting over me.

  A deep nasally rumble that grew louder and louder until the noise was pressed directly up against my ear, and I felt whatever it was vibrating against my cheek. Cold and wet.

  Wet?

  What the fuck?
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  Sitting up with a start I looked around, but there was no one there. I automatically winced as I prepared for the onslaught of my withdrawals, but they never came. There was a slight pounding behind my eyes, but nothing like the stomach twisting, near death, morning after experience I was expecting.

  Something moved next to the bed and I came face to face with the source of the grunting.

  Well, face to snout.

  Wedged between the small space between the bed and the wall was a good sized pig, larger than most dogs. His black and white markings resembled a dairy cow. It rested its head on the bed by my leg, and I could swear the fucker was smiling at me. Its snout was wet and glistening as he sniffed around the bed, probably trying to figure out who the fuck I was. I covered my bare thigh with the blanket so he would stop wetting it with his piggy grossness.

  “Don’t think you’re special. Oscar’s a flirt. He does this with all the ladies,” a familiar voice said, and my gaze snapped from the pig at my side to the man leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles casually, comfortably. His cocky smirk sent shivers up my spine and made my heart race.

  “How am I here? Why?” I asked, wracking my brain for a reason. The last thing I remembered was waiting for my bus and then…and then I had no idea.

  “Simple. I brought you here.” Preppy’s white shirt was perfectly pressed, the sleeves rolled up just above his elbows. He wore a pink bow tie with some kind of design, although I couldn’t make it out, but whatever it was, his suspenders matched. He was a contrast of tattoos and class. Like hipster meets teacher. A combination that worked for him, but had me questioning who the fuck he really was and what he wanted with me.

  I pulled the covers over my bare chest and noticed the sSrawberry Shortcake pattern on the sheets. A quick glance around the small room confirmed where I was.

  My childhood room, back at Mirna’s.

  “Mirna!” I shouted, forgetting about the sheet and sitting up on my knees in the bed. “Where is she?” I demanded, “Did you hurt her? This wasn’t her fault. She didn’t do anything!”

  He smiled and ran his thumb over his bottom lip. I followed his gaze down to my naked chest. I needed answers more than I needed to cover up. He outwardly ogled me, and if he thought that I’d cower or grow uncomfortable under his inspection, then he’d thought wrong. Instead of grabbing for the sheet again or crossing my arms over my chest, I defiantly placed my hands on my hips.

  “You’re welcome for saving you twice in one night by the way.”

  “I wasn’t thanking you,” I spat. “And what do you mean twice?”

  Just then Mirna’s white hair appeared in the doorway. She placed a hand on Preppy’s shoulder and he stepped aside. Relief flooded me. She was alive and appeared unhurt. My first instinct was to run to her and throw myself into a hug, but I remembered how she was when I saw her last and didn’t want to scare her by tossing my battered naked body into her arms, when she didn’t even know who I was.

  No longer needing to prove my point to Preppy, I reached for the sheet and wrapped it around my body. “Hi,” I said with a small wave, clutching the sheet to my chest. Mirna crossed the room, slowly walking over to the bed with her mouth agape. There was something different about her than the day before. More focused. I cautiously reintroduced myself. “I don’t know if you remember me from yesterday, but my name is…”

  “Andrea.” Mirna said, cutting me off. She scooped me off the bed like I was still an infant, cradling me in her arms and burying her face in my neck. “I know who you are, my sweet girl. Oh, thank Jesus. My Andrea is home,” she sobbed, her tears warm on my cheek.

  She recognized me.

  That’s when my own tears started to flow. And for that moment, Conner, Eric, or even the man still standing in the doorway didn’t matter. The sheet had fallen back to the bed and I again was naked. Wrapped up in Mirna’s loving arms like a newborn, surrounded in her superhero like protection. Safe and sound from a life I never wanted to go back to.

  There would be no baptism into death. I wanted to live. And there, in my grandmother’s arms, I was reborn.

  Preppy cleared his throat and our spell was broken.

  “Samuel go get my robe please. It’s hanging on the back of my door.” Mirna set me down on the bed and sat down next to me, keeping my hand tightly in hers. Her eyes were wet and puffy, just as I imagined mine were. Preppy left and came back seconds later, chucking the robe at me. I quickly covered up, tying the sash around my waist. Mirna tentatively touched her fingertips to my cheek, as if she still couldn’t believe I was real. “Samuel,” she said, turning back to Preppy. “This is my granddaughter. This is my Andrea. My girl’s finally come home.”

  I leaned into her hand and we both sighed.

  I’d always hated being close to people. Never cared to be touched or to hold hands. But my grandmother had always been different. Maybe it was that she was older. Maybe I liked the way her wrinkled skin felt wise and safe.

  “Well isn’t this a lucky coincidence?” Preppy barked, running a hand through his hair and stepping fully into the room until he was only a few inches away, towering over us as he looked down, his lips twisted in confusion.

  “Yes,” Mirna said. “What’s wrong, Samuel?”

  “What’s wrong?” Preppy asked, his eyes locking on to mine. Suddenly, I realized that this reunion with my grandmother was going to be short lived. He was going to tell her about the roll I played in destroying her plants, and any hopes I’d had to reconnect with my grandmother would be left in that room when I was thrown out. Preppy paused and glanced between us. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, his mood lightening. “I knew you looked familiar, should have known from the six million pictures of you hanging around here.” He turned to Mirna. “But she looks a bit different now, doesn’t she?” he asked her, like he was setting up a joke for the punchline.

  “Yes, she does,” Mirna said, taking in my appearance. “Did I do this?” she asked Preppy, pointing to an IV drip next to the bed that I hadn’t even realized was there. I raised my hand where tape residue and a bruise from the needle was still on the back of it.

  “That’s the reason why you’re not in a world of hurt right now,” Preppy said to me, before answering Mirna. “Yep, you did this, you fixed her up good, like you always fix everyone up good,” Preppy said, his kindness toward Mirna taking me off guard. I didn’t know what to make of this person. His every word, his every move was as contradictory as his clothes and tattoos. “When I found her in rough shape last week, I brought her here. Never thought she was your granddaughter though, that’s just a happy accident.”

  “Last week!” I exclaimed. Mirna’s gasp mirrored my own. “I’ve been here for a week?”

  “Yeah, Mirna gave you some night-night juice and pumped you full of some vitamin concoction that had you snoring worse than Oscar,” Preppy said, bending down to pat the pig I’d forgotten all about. “Kept you from feeling the worst of it.”

  “You’ve been here for an entire week and I’m only just seeing you now,” Mirna said to me. She turned to Preppy, “A week is the longest I’ve…” she started to say before stopping and putting on a brave face, straightening her posture and wiping at her eyes. “It’s okay, it’s fine. You’re here now, and that’s all that really matters.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, wanting so badly for that to be true.

  “I’m going to step into the kitchen and leave you girls alone to catch up for a minute,” Preppy announced. He bent over and kissed Mirna on the top of the head, and instinctually I flinched. Preppy chuckled and left the room.

  I really wanted to ask Mirna what her arrangement was with him, the plants, all of it, but not knowing the situation, I didn’t want to bring up anything that might accidentally upset her.

  “Tell me you’re here to stay,” Mirna said, eagerly awaiting my answer.

  That’s when I realized that staying wasn’t a choice. I had nowhere else
to go. “My dad. He thought I was coming home. He was probably waiting for me at the bus station.” My heart hurt, and my body again felt sick when I imagined the look on his face when I didn’t get off that bus.

  “We will call him, dear. I’m sure we can talk to him and tell him…”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “We can’t. That was my last chance. If I wasn’t on that bus…” I couldn’t finish. I didn’t want to say out loud that my dad was no longer my family.

  “Let’s get you sorted out first, and then we’ll worry about