Read & Write with Tooz

Reid had invited you out of obligation…or mockery, you weren’t sure which. You weren’t like the Sons, not cut from the same sacred cloth. Your power, if it existed at all, was secondhand. Inherited on a crooked maternal line no one ever acknowledged. Not real enough to matter, not mundane enough to escape scrutiny. A liminal space girl in a world that only respected extremes. But you'd always been drawn to this place. To them. To the stories they refused to write down. To the echo of something dark and electric hiding beneath their entitled bravado.

You’d only meant to stay the weekend. But the longer you stayed, the more the air seemed to thicken around you. The more the woods watched back. The house didn’t want you to leave. And you didn’t entirely want to go.

It was on the third day, Halloween  and an overcast afternoon that threatened rain but never delivered, that you wandered farther than usual. The leaves were damp under your boots. The trees stood tall and bare, their branches brittle and aching. Fog clung to the forest floor, curling like fingers around your ankles.

You hadn’t meant to find the ruins of Putnam Barn.

But you did.

The world stilled around you.

You stepped between the scorched stones, and time stopped. The wind halted mid-breath. The treetops didn’t sway. Even the ever-present hum of distant cars or birdsong fell away, swallowed whole by the heavy silence. All that remained was the pounding of your heartbeat and the slow crawl of goosebumps along your arms.

Your eyes caught a piece of charred debris lying among the ash, a splintered fragment of wood, its edges blackened and curling like it had once been part of something sacred. You bent slowly, fingertips brushing over it before you picked it up. It was lighter than it should have been. Brittle. Fragile.

You closed your fingers around it, unsure why. It felt strange in your palm.

There was something wrong with the air. It wasn’t just still, it was waiting. Dense and oppressive, as though it had been holding its breath for centuries and had only now begun to stir. The leaves beneath your boots didn’t crunch. The fog around your ankles thickened.

Warmth.

Not from the sun or a shift in weather. No, this warmth was targeted. Pinpointed. Like someone had leaned close and exhaled against your neck, their mouth just a breath away from your skin.

You froze. Every instinct screamed that you were being watched.

"You’re not like them," a voice murmured, so close it felt as though it brushed the shell of your ear. Low. Velvet-rich. Touched by something dangerous. "But you’re not like everyone else either."

You spun on instinct, heart rabbiting against your ribs, a startled breath tearing free from your throat.

Nothing.

Just the cracked remnants of old wood and blackened earth. Charcoal-thick air. Ash that lingered like a secret too heavy to speak aloud. The wood in your hand felt too warm against your palm, as if the memory of fire still clung to them.

Your skin buzzed, not in panic, but recognition. Like some part of you knew this place. Like some thread beneath your consciousness had been pulled taut by that voice, plucked like a string tuned to a song you hadn’t known you’d been humming all your life.

You stood there a moment longer than you meant to, rooted. Waiting.

The silence seemed to pulse around you.

"Looking for something?"

The breath on your neck vanished like steam.

You left in a rush, stumbling over moss-covered stone and nearly twisting your ankle on the way back. The cold helped, made it easier to pretend you were imagining things. Easier to blame the stories Reid had told over too many drinks, half-laughed as if they weren’t warning signs.

He used to talk about Chase sometimes, only when he was drunk, and only in fragments. A name said with too much weight. A tone too bitter for someone long gone. No one really knew what had happened that night. Not really. There hadn’t been a body. Just rumors…memories, speculation muttered when they thought you weren’t listening.

You’d overheard the contradictions; the ones that said Chase burned, run off, shattered. That he screamed. That he smiled. That he vanished into the smoke like a shadow with no weight. You weren’t sure what to believe when it came to your cousin, especially when magic and ego were involved.

And now your imagination was getting the best of you. That was all. Wasn’t it? This was how ghost stories started, after all. You weren’t stupid. You weren’t scared. You were just… drunk. Lonely. Curious.

That night, you moved slower than usual. Every shadow dragged behind you. Every creak in the old floorboards made you flinch.

You couldn’t shake the feeling. Like the woods had followed you back. Like the hush of the ruins had found its way into the house with you, curling in the corners, sinking into the old wood and colder-than-usual walls.

The splinter of wood was still in your pocket.

You didn’t even remember slipping it there, but now it felt like a weight. Like it had always belonged. Your fingers kept drifting to it, tracing the scorched edges, the warped grain. You sat in the lounge, lights dimmed low, the house yawning empty around you. The only sound was the soft clink of ice in the glass you’d poured from Reid’s liquor cabinet, his contribution to the evening was an unlocked bar cart and a warning text about not touching the top shelf stuff.

He’d gone out, of course. Off to some Halloween bash with the rest of the golden sons. The adults, those that hadn’t already left for the weekend, had shuffled off to another party across town. You were alone in the house. To old for Trick or Treating and to young to do anything ‘fun’.. legally speaking for at least another year.

So you were left to your own devices.

In the bathroom, your fingers fumbled with the light switch. The bulb flickered before it steadied, casting you in a glow that made your skin look too pale, your eyes too wide. The mirror was fogged at the corners. You hadn’t run the water yet.

Still, the glass breathed.

You leaned closer, fingertips tracing the glass. That’s when you saw it, just behind your shoulder, over your right side. A shape. A shadow. The outline of a figure that didn’t belong.

Gone when you turned around.

Still, your skin burned where the breath had touched you. You pressed your fingers to it, expecting cold. Instead, you felt heat. A low pulse under your skin. Your breath hitched. Your thighs pressed together as an ache bloomed in your core, unexpected, unwanted, but unmistakably real.

"What the hell is wrong with you.." 

You laughed. Hollow. Shaky. Told yourself it was just adrenaline, just your brain making ghosts out of guilt and too much drink.

You almost reached for your phone. Almost typed out a message to Reid. But what would you even say? I saw something in the mirror? I felt something breathe on me? You didn’t even say his name, not out loud. Not yet. The house felt too still for that.

But you didn’t believe it.

You crawled into bed anyway, dragging the covers over you like a shield. The weight of the quilt couldn’t stop the prickle of awareness that chased over your skin. Couldn’t block out the certainty that you were not alone.

And just as sleep tugged at you, just as the room seemed to dissolve into shadow-

"Found you."

The mattress dipped slightly beside your hip. Not deep. Not heavy. Just enough to make the covers pull tighter across your chest.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your breath caught in your throat and all you could hear was the soft hum beneath your skin. The echo of something that had never really left.

Frozen under the weight of that voice.

The air had gone strange, thick, humming, too warm for autumn. You hadn't moved, but something had changed.

A flicker in the dark.

He shimmered into view at the foot of your bed, shirtless and wet, like he was still caught in that rain or crawled out of the memory of fire. His edges bled light like a candle seen through fog. His presence didn't cast shadows; it swallowed them.

"You found me," he said, eyes gleaming with something older than charm. "And I found you. That piece of wood... you brought it with you. Let me out. Let me move."

You couldn’t speak. He drifted closer, not walking, just appearing nearer with each blink.

"Your power responds to mine," he murmured, circling your bed like smoke. "It calls to me. Not like theirs, all bloodlines and arrogance. You… will yours. It's different. You're different. I can feel it."

His voice slid from one side of the bed to the other, curling over your shoulder, then near your hip, behind your ear, then at your feet again. Phantom fingers brushed your thigh, then your collarbone. Lips skimmed your neck, your shoulder, just enough to raise goosebumps, not enough to hold onto.

"I need to feed to stay tethered," he whispered, and the warmth of his breath rolled over your skin. "Let me in. Just a little more."

And you- already trembling, already aching from something unnamed, felt your own magic rise like heat from your spine. The splinter of wood on your bedside table pulsed softly, in time with your heartbeat.

"Say yes," he breathed. "And I’ll show you what it means to be wanted by something real."

You should have been horrified. Instead, your breath caught in your throat as your fingers..his fingers, slipped lower, slow and deliberate, dragging heat in their wake.

"This is how it starts," the voice purred, impossibly close to your ear. "You already said yes- you just didn’t know it yet."

The mattress dipped again. There were no footsteps. But you felt him. Pressed against your back like a second skin. You couldn’t see him but your body responded as if you could. As if he were whispering directly into the hollow of your throat.

His fingers slid down your arm, into your arm ike smoke curling into muscle. A phantom touch, and yet you felt everything. The drag of his presence over your skin, the burn of it beneath. It wasn’t just a caress, it was an intrusion, a claiming. He slipped through the shallow spaces between nerve and bone, until your whole arm thrummed with him, until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. 

Your fingers, now his- found you slick and wanting. Shame curled low in your belly, but so did need.

It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.

Chase didn’t speak again. He didn’t have to.

He used your hand like a tool, curling your fingers over your clit, dragging slow, circling pressure over the aching spot that pulsed with need. You tried to resist the rhythm, you didn’t want to give in this easily, this completely.

But his grip, his presence was relentless.

Your hips rocked up into your hand like he was guiding them from the inside of your own skin. Every stroke made your thighs tense, your stomach clench. He slipped one of your fingers lower, dipped into the wet heat between your folds, and made you curl it with maddening precision.

The angle.

The pressure.

It was perfect.

“oh god- oh god- f-f-fuuuck.”

You felt yourself clench around your own touch, like your body knew exactly what he wanted. He dragged your fingers in slow, deliberate circles, then pushed deeper, curling them inside you until they stroked that tender, spongey spot that made your hips buck up sharply into your hand.

"There it is," he groaned, thick and reverent inside your mind. "You feel that? That’s mine now."

Each movement felt guided by something darker than instinct. Your wrist twisted under his control, and your fingers thrust and curled with practiced confidence, stroking inside until your vision blurred and your breath broke in sobbing gasps. The heat inside you burned brighter with every flick, every pulse of pleasure that came with knowing he was the one pulling the strings.

"Good girl. Let me feel it. Let me take it."

Your back arched. Your breath hitched. He teased circles over your clit again, faster now, your muscles twitching, your thighs parting further without conscious thought.

"Every time you come, I get closer."

You cried out, keening. The orgasm shattered through you, sharp and searing and so much bigger than it should have been. It felt like something broke loose inside you, a dam, a tether, a lock you hadn't known was keeping him out. Your body shook, your legs trembling with the intensity of it, of him.

Through the pleasure, you felt it: energy leaving you. Magic, pulled from your core like a slow, spiraling thread of heat. Not taken. Drawn. Invited. Each pulse of your climax fed him, fed it, and you could feel it rushing outward, leaving you dazed and open and gasping.

Chase didn’t stop. Not right away. He coaxed you through the aftershocks with gentle, possessive strokes, like he was savoring every jolt of pleasure you gave him. Your fingers still moved, even as your arm sagged weakly, not from exhaustion, but from drain. Like he was still there, mouth open to you, drinking magic like breath.

Your skin tingled. Your limbs buzzed with overuse. Somewhere near your ribs, it felt like something shifted. A space made. A door unlocked. 

As your body came down, the voice returned again, softer now. Confessional.

"You feel it, don’t you? The veil thinning. I need more. Just a little more."

When you finally moved, your fingers were damp. Your skin slick. 

But the air was warm.

And the splinter of wood on your bedside table was humming.

Your body was heavy, trembling, the heat of release still rolling through your limbs like aftershocks. The room pulsed. The air thrummed, thick as syrup. You could feel it in your teeth, beneath your skin, in the slick between your thighs.

The wood on the bedside table gave a sudden crack, sharp in the silence.

A presence that thickened the air, stilled your breath, and pushed the atmosphere toward something inevitable.

"Well, this is a definite improvement," Chase’s voice curling with smug amusement, "but far from perfect."

You turned your head slowly, muscles heavy, and he was there.

No longer flickering. Not entirely solid either. But more. Gaining form. Shape. Mass. Like the room itself was weaving him from your breath and your blood and your want.

His bare chest rose and fell as if he were breathing. His skin glistened like he'd just emerged from the memory, steaming. The fire that hadn’t killed him. The rain that couldn’t put him out. His eyes were darker than before, just black voids. Focused. Less human.

Fixed entirely on you.

You tried to sit up, a jolt of panic skimming through your exhaustion, but when your hand reached for him, it passed straight through.

Cold. Air. Mist.

But then his touch came.

Ghost hands wrapped around your hips, firm, possessive, and terrifyingly real. Another gripped your wrist and pinned it above your head, gentle but unrelenting. The contrast struck like lightning, your hand slipping through him, while his claimed you. You gasped, sharp and helpless, as heat bloomed along your throat.

“Don’t try to run,” he murmured there, lips brushing your pulse point, breath cooler than skin but laced with command. “You brought me here. You opened the door. Now you’ll keep it open.”

He pushed you into the mattress with more weight than a ghost should carry. The nightgown slid high, cool air licking your thighs. You were too drained to move, too stunned to fight the sensation of him settling between your legs.

You couldn’t touch him. But he could touch you.

His mouth dragged along your collarbone like smoke laced with fire. Phantom lips, teasing. His hands parted your thighs with eerie confidence. The weight of him, pressed down, and you arched without meaning to.

You weren’t scared. Not anymore. You were his.

Settling between your legs, your body open to him. The head of his cock nudging at your opening. Not a dream. Not an echo. Real.

Except it wasn't flesh, it was pressure. Density. A presence so tangible and so impossible your body didn't know how to process it. He pushed forward slowly, and your entire being seized on instinct. There was no warmth, no pulse, only the relentless sensation of being breached by something that shouldn’t exist.

“You’ll do this for me,” he growled, voice low and thick with need. “You’ll give me what I need.”

He pushed inside, and it felt like the world turned inside out. A push without push. A stretch without heat. Your walls gave way for him, fluttering around a shape you could feel, but never fully grasp. Full and hollow at once. Your body stretching, opening, yielding to him, but always chasing something it couldn’t quite catch. There was no throb. Just the overwhelming pressure of something other taking up residence inside you.

You arched, hips twitching as your core fluttered and clenched, trying to draw more of him in. Your body was frantic for what it recognized as fullness, but it was like being fucked by a phantom built from want and command.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “You feel me now, don’t you?”

The sensation was unbearable in its contradiction: your walls compressed around a shape that didn’t belong, yet slotted into you as if it had always been fated. It pulsed without heat, expanded without breath, teased your inner nerves with shifting pressure just erratic enough to make your body tremble. There was no slick glide, no wet sound, only the tension of being forced wide by something not truly there, yet so insistent it eclipsed everything else. A fullness so total it scraped the edge of pain, chased by an aching hollowness that made you want to cry. You were stretched around nothing and everything at once.

“..augh..”

Your core fluttering, confused and overstimulated, trying to make sense of the sensation and presence that filled you without touching you, claimed you without anchoring to flesh.

Your moan escaped before you could stop it, raw and desperate, as your body betrayed you with a clench. Wrists still pinned by invisible bonds, legs splayed wide, you were helpless under his command.

Then he thrust forward again, harder this time, the pressure slamming deep without the slap of bodies meeting. It was a breach that echoed through your bones, a forceful expansion that made your hips buck involuntarily.  You gasped, back arching off the bed, as the sensation bloomed into something sharper, more insistent, like your body was being remolded from the inside out.

“Say you want it… Say you’ll give yourself to me.”

Chase set a rhythm then, each movement a calculated assertion of dominance. Your inner walls grasping at the fading pressure, a hollow ache blooming in its wake.

Thrusting in, the sudden density filling you to the brink, compressing your core until you felt split open, exposed, claimed. It built with every stroke, the pressure mounting like a storm gathering force, your core clenching and releasing in futile attempts to hold him, to make him real. But Chase remained elusive, a phantom cock that teased with its solidity only to dissolve into ethereal weight on the withdraw.

"Say it, say you will yourself to me!"

His hips or the illusion of them, ground forward in a deep, circling push, the pressure swirling inside you, rubbing against spots no physical touch could reach. Your clit throbbed untouched, swollen from the sheer intensity, as waves of dark pleasure coiled low in your belly.

"I- I -auh! Oh god!"

You writhed beneath him, moans turning to whimpers with each plunge. The stretch came in pulses now, Chase's movements quickening, the density of his cock pistoning in and out with relentless precision.

"I will- "

It felt like being fucked by shadows made solid- your pussy walls quivering around the invading force, stretched thin then filled abrupt, over and over.

"- myself."

Sweat beaded on your skin, your breaths coming in ragged bursts, as the impossible friction ignited nerves you didn't know existed. No heat to warm you, but the pressure alone was enough to drag you toward the edge, your body surrendering to the supernatural rut.

"-to- "

He fucked you like Chase was building himself out of you. Each thrust pulled more magic from your body. Each grind of his hips poured it into him.

"- you."

You felt yourself draining, floating, falling- but the sensation wasn’t soft. It clawed at your insides, heat bleeding out in rivulets of energy, each pulse leaving you lighter, emptier, and more tethered to him. You couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. Even as your fingers dug into the sheets, as your legs trembled from the force of being kept open and claimed by a presence you couldn’t hold, your body was chasing that final edge.

“Almost there,” Chase groaned, voice vibrating through your bones. “One more. Give it to me.”

“I… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.”

You choked out a sound, half sob, half moan, as your body obeyed, hips rising one last time into the dense pressure of his cock, that shape inside you driving so deep your vision blurred.

Your orgasm didn’t just break over you, it tore through you. Power surged out of you, howling and wild, drawn from the marrow of your bones, the hollow of your throat, the trembling clutch of your cunt as it spasmed around the impossible weight inside. Magic clawed its way out, glittering, screaming, shredding your breath and unraveling your soul like silk burned to ash.

Chase gasped then his breath hit your face. Warm

You shattered again, this time with a cry so raw it tore from your throat and echoed off the rafters like a ritual scream.

Magic surged with your release, power leaving you in crashing waves. You felt it rip from you, drawn into him like air into lungs, like blood through veins.

The world tilted, spun - vanished.

Black.

You woke to breathing. Not yours.

Your body ached. Skin flushed, damp, hot. Muscles quivered with exhaustion, every inch of you still humming from what had been taken, what had been given.

A hand brushed your cheek, its weight impossibly real. Fingers curled beneath your jaw, cool and gentle like moonlight on skin, grounding you to a body that barely felt like your own.

He was there. Solid. Breathing. Real.

"You did it," he said, voice gentle now. Reverent. Almost awed. "You brought me back. I told you- you’re special."

You tried to answer, but your tongue felt like lead, thick and immobile. Your mouth was dry, your lungs too slow to draw breath. A low whine escaped instead, a ghost of sound, a thread of disbelief.

Your limbs wouldn’t move. Your chest rose and fell like it belonged to someone else. You were empty, stripped bare, drained to your core and yet, paradoxically, full. Stuffed with his presence. Stretched around his absence. Branded by what he’d taken and what he’d left behind.

His.

Chase smiled down at you, and for a moment, it was the boy you remembered. The one you used to whisper secrets to in the dark. But then his gaze shifted, too dark, too deep and something colder coiled beneath his expression.

He leaned down and kissed your forehead. Soft. Possessive.

As his shadow stretched long across the floor, darker than the night beyond the windows, a chill rippled down your spine. It crawled beneath your skin and lodged itself in your bones.

This wasn’t just Chase anymore.

You had brought something else back. Something ancient. Hungry. Anchored to your body like it belonged there.

And it had no intention of ever letting you go.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand slipped lower, tracing your collarbone with deceptive tenderness.

"Don’t worry," he murmured. "I’m here now. I’m real. Thanks to you."

The words were soft, but they burned.

"You made me whole."

The weight of him lingered at the edge of the mattress. Solid. Watching. Waiting.

You grab at the belt across your chest and a hand covers yours.

"Hey. Leave it. We gotta go." Lloyd's voice grates in your ears but you can't see him. You can only see the blood on your hands and clothes.

"Shit!" The car shifts and a door slams. The motor flips and hums. Something drones. "Hey, hey, I need a cleanup." Something taps. "Coordinates sent. Place is empty, I pulled the alarm... Locked the door. Should hold..." He pauses and you feel a squeeze on your arm. "Sweetheart, breathe." He puts his large hand on your chest and rubs. "Stop holding it."

You exhale as pins and needles speckle over you. Your head lolls and your body slowly slides until the door stops you. He keeps his hand on your side.

"You did good. Alright? You're okay." He pays your leg. "Right?"

You slump, paralysed, as the world rushes by. You can smell blood, you feel it on your skin. Each time you breathe, you feel that man's life draining from his body. Your hand thrums with each furious plunge of the knife.

He deserved it...

The car stops suddenly. The engine quiets and movement stirs all around you. You stare at the blood in the creases of your knuckles, caked into your nail beds. As the door opens, the tension against your chest releases. You fall only to be caught in a pair of arms.

You sway through existence until it all still again. Something warm grazes your cheek, caressing until your eyes come into focus. Lloyd cradles your head as he sits on the edge of the bed and you lay across it. He rubs his thumb along your jaw.

"Hey, sunshine, you hear me?" He coaxes. "That's it. Hey, you're safe. Alright?"

You blink. You don't believe him. He drags his hand down your neck.

"I'm gonna get you cleaned up, okay? Nose looks pretty gnarly." He touches your shirt and you wince. You shove his hand away. "Sweetheart, please, I'm helping here."

You swat him with your other hand then push on his chest with both. He sighs and draws away. He stands and the bed bounces slightly with the sudden change in weight.

He stares at you. You lift your hands and examine the reddened lines of your palms. You're shaking.

He exhales and stomps away. You stay like that. You can't stop looking at the blood. You rub your thumbs against your palms so it flakes away but the taint remains.

"Baby face," Lloyd startles you as he returns. He puts something in front of your hands. It's soft. You push your fingers into the fur as your eyes take in Patty's beaded ones. You hug her to you.

You roll onto your side and squeeze. Patty, I've done something bad. Something horrible, but I had to. He deserved it.

Yes, he did.

I know but... does that mean Amir deserved it too? Can anyone deserve it?

Be good, Patty girds. You did the right thing.

"You... you gotta let me clean you up," Lloyd grips your arm lightly. "Please."

Please... he's never used that word. Not with you.

You roll onto your back and look up at him. He cautiously reaches for you. He makes you sit up and pushes on your jacket. You let him take it off as Patty sits in your lap. Then he unbuttons your shirt. You shiver but don't stop. Not even as the air kisses all your scars.

You hunch and hang your head. He's delicate as he strips away the bloodied clothes. There's red spatter down to your toes. His fingertips linger and drag as he eases you out of the layers.

He takes it all away; your pants, your socks, your shoes. He bundles it all up in a plastic bag.

"Got a friend. He'll deal with the rest." He says.

You bring Patty to your stomach. The last time anyone saw you like this... you spasm at the memory of ice cold water scouring you. You fold in half around the fuzzy plush.

"I'm just gonna get you in the tub," Lloyd says as the plastic rustles. "Alright?"

He hesitates before he leaves. A moment later, the thrum of water rushes through the pipes. You tremble and rock Patty.

I know, it's a lot of blood. It's his. You wouldn't believe how much there was.

Lloyd comes back. He bends over you and slides his arms beneath you. He lifts you and turns with you slowly. You can feel his muscles straining but not too much. He's strong enough.

He takes you into the bathroom and angles you down into the large basin of the tub. The warm water laps around your soles and bottom. He leans you against the cool porcelain. Your skin bristles with goosebumps.

His hands brush down your body. They add to the warmth brewing from the water. You bask in that sensation.

He backs away again. You put Patty on the ledge to keep her from getting wet. As Lloyd returns, you flinch at his reach. He frames your face with one hand and feels along your nose with his thumb.

"Not broken. Swollen and a bit bruised." He declares. Your eyes zero in on his. He looks back intently. "Concussed, I think."

He goes to draw away and you catch his wrist. He stops and his throat tightens. His hand is warm. You slip your grasp up and pull his hand to your cheek. You cling to him and shiver.

You can't remember the last time you were touched so gently? The last time you knew anything but malice. You just want a bit of tenderness.

He eases and presses his palm to your cheek. His fingertips rub your temple as his other hand comes up to pet your hair.

You narrow your eyes. You tap the button to increase the speed. He sighs and hits another; the power button. The belt slows and you do to keep from slipping. You grab the handles and glare at him.

"We're not headed to the range, alright? Chill out." He backs up and crosses his arms. "You gotta go dress like a human."

You tilt your head. Isn't this what he wanted? A weapon, not a person.

You hop off the treadmill and sidestep him. You grab Patty from the bench with your towel and water bottle. He follows.

"You've been sweating your ass off. I'm sure you're starving. Let's get something nice." He says.

You sip from the wide straw as you push through the door with your shoulder. He slaps his hand on it and shoves it wider. You head down the hall.

"You know... I could be a fucking bitch too but I haven't. Especially after last week. You know how many people put a gun in my face and walk away?"

You hug the bottle with Patty and jam your thumb up. He's been nagging you for days. Whatever. If he wants to go pretend he's doing you a favour, sure.

He follows out upstairs. You get to the bedroom door and stop to face him. You show your palm to stop him. He stares. You shut the door in his face.

You put Patty down. She says you're being stubborn. Maybe you should've tried that sooner. But he hasn't hurt you. He could have. You don't get it, Patty. You just don't.

You go into the bathroom and wipe off with cold water. You strip off your shirt and wash away the sweat on your face, shoulders and chest. You tidy up your appearance as best you can. Enough to keep him off your back.

You go out and pick out something with colour. A button up top with ribbed fabric and some tan pants. Acceptable for public.

You stop by the door. Patty watches you. You can stay, then. If you think I'm wrong too. Bye.

You emerge. Lloyd is gone. You go downstairs. He's at the door. Waiting. You notice his outfit. It's been a while since either of you have been in anything but your fitness clothes. It's been go, go, go.

His jacket has a zig zag stripe that overpowers the plain black turtleneck underneath. The blue hue of his pants matches the pattern. You approach him and step into the leather boots in your size.

"Looking like a lady again," he comments.

You don't look at him. You grab your coat. It's getting colder by the day. That's the only sign that the time passes.

He opens the door. You trail him to the car. You sense him watching you.

"Hey, where's the teddy bear?"

You tweak a brow. It's not a bear.

"Yeah, I know. Whatever it is..." he huffs and opens the car door.

He drops in and you get in the back. He shuts the door and checks the mirror. His gaze meets yours in the reflection.

"You can come up front." He says. You don't move. "Buckle up."

You don't. You sit back and wait. He pulls his seat belt down and starts the engine. He backs out silently.

You stare at your knees. You're not sure about how to go forward. You feel stuck and you know he feels it too. He's stuck with you. You just have to keep up until the inevitable.

You don't feel anything when you think about it. Even with the certainty of it. Knowing that the day you go ahead with his plan, it's the last. It's over. You just wish you were more sure it would mean something. It won't bring back what you lost. Not them or yourself.

"Hey, you good?" He asks.

You exhale loudly. He clucks and drives on. You look out the left window.

You lose yourself in the motion of the car. You tilt your head to get a kink out of your neck. When you're moving, you don't feel all the aches. You don't feel much. You don't think.

The car slows and he pulls in around a black building. There's shiny cars all around. You vaguely catch the neon blue marquee. A restaurant? Bar?

He gets out then opens the back door. He doesn't say a word. You get out and follow him around the front.

A man in black stands at the door. He looks Lloyd up and down. He looks wary but doesn't stop either of you.

Lloyd leads you to a table in the corner. You scan the space. The bar is geometric and sleek. Glass shelves are lit from behind and lined with tall and colourful bottles. It's one of those places where everything has character. Even before, it wasn't a place you'd go.

"You a whiskey girl? Gin?" He leans an elbow on the table. "Vodka?"

You raise your brows and look at him.

"Wine? Red or white?" He wonders.

You wave your hand.

"Sober as an estranged dad trying to win his family back, huh?" He scoffs.

He cranes to look around. He coughs and turns back to you. He taps his fingers on the table then stands.

"Fine, I'll improvise."

He stands and struts up to the bar. Your eyes wander again. There's other people. Couples speaking lowly, larger groups with a bit more zest and empty glasses littered around their booth. Your eyes cling to one person in particular.

He's there with a woman. She's pretty. She smiles at him and flicks her blond hair. She's bright and bubbly and lively. She hasn't ever been afraid.

Lloyd sits across from you and blocks your view. He puts a glass in front of you. It's bright and pink.

"Strawberries and scream or some this," he says. "It's on special. Ladies' night. In a place like this, I don't fucking think so."

You look down at the glass. You fight to contain the peak within. You're confused and dizzy and burning from the inside. You are wrong. It's not him.

You pick up the drink. You smell it. It smells sweet. He has a dark drink with a single orb of ice in it.

"Scotch? Wanna try?" He offers.

You sip it. It's not bad but it burns your throat. Your cheeks pinch and you set it down.

"Cheers," he clinks his glass off yours before you let it go. "Don't drink too fast."

You chew the inside of your lip. You take a deep breath. Control. That's what you've been fighting for. To make everything stay still. Just so you can try to figure it out.

You curl your knuckles and they crack loudly. Lloyd glances at them, then your face. You tense at the rocky laughter from across the bar. From behind him. You don't need to see to know who.

"Hey, if you want a soda, I can--"

You quiet him by seizing the drink. You lift it and drain half. You grip it tight to keep from trembling. That laugh! That laugh! You feel the blaze behind your eyes and the throbbing in your ribs. You can taste dust and iron.

"Maybe I'll go for one of those second round. Must be tasty," he remarks.

You lift your chin and stare at him. Can he tell? Can he see that you're struggling just to sit still?

You cradle the drink between your hands. He nurses his.

"It's nice to get out, huh? You hungry? I can grab a menu. They do truffle fries? Ever had them?" He yammers.

You're not sure if he's trying to distract himself or you. Your eyes catch the shadow behind him. That man lumbers toward the sign with the little people over it; Restrooms.

You sniff and empty the glass. Your ears are ringing. You stand without thinking.

"Woah? I can get the menu--"

You point to the sign then yourself. He follows the gesture. "Oh, sure. Breaking the seal already."

You shuffle away. You focus on keeping a calm even gate, even as you want to hurtle forward. You slowly traipse down the hall, past the clanking kitchen. You walk past the women's room and stop outside the next.

You touch the door. You cautiously push until it opens. The voices from the kitchen and bar mingle to hide the hinge's whisper. The man's at the urinal, a hand on the wall as his piss hits the metal wall. The tattoos on his knuckles stick in your vision; X's and O's.

He sighs. You notice the sheath on his belt. It peeks out from under the hem of his tailored jacket.

You lean into the closed door. You can go. You can leave. You don't have to do anything.

Your feet move on their own. Your heart beat buzzes in your ears and your fingers tingle. You focus on the sheath.

The man groans as his stream continues. "Shit. Fucking beer..."

He leans his head forward as you slip your hand under his jacket. You grasp the handle in his slack pants and slide the blade free. You pull back and lean on your heel. You look up at his broad shoulders.

You retreat until there's a few feet between you. He sets his feet and wobbles as he zips up his fly. Your throat locks and your eyes sear. This is for Amir.

You hurl yourself forward and leap up. The man grunts and staggers. You hook your arm around his neck as he claws at your forerarm. He throws himself backward and pivots, slamming into the wall.

You wheeze and he snaps his head into your nose. Your grunt and use all your strength to hold on, wrapping your legs around his stomach.

You react as if it's not you holding the knife. You just swing down. The blade sinks through the muscle that overpowered you; through the cartilage, grazing the bone.

The man gasps and you pull the knife out only to plung it back into his chest. Over and over and over. Blood slakes down his torso as he teeters and hits his knees. You keep stabbing and stabbing and stabbing. Just like he kept kicking Amir; kept hitting him, kept using a knife just like this to cut off his fingers...

You drop the knife as you feel a slice in your palm. You let go of it and it clatters to the ground. You watch that man, Razi, as he keels over against the urinal. You fall onto your knees, panting.

You look down at your hand. The handle got so slick with blood, it must've slipped. There's a gash right across your palm.

The door clicks and you pop your head up. You can barely see through the foggy adrenaline. Footsteps hurry toward you.

It drives you. The thought of that door closing you in. The lock clicking into place. The voices on the other side.

They laughed at you. As you screamed and cried and thrashed. Even as you stopped and made no noise at all. When you had nothing else, they still had cruelty.

Deep breaths scour from your lungs. You throw your arms up then drop down into a plank only to push yourself back up, reaching to the sky again. You don't count, you just keep going until you're trembling. You rest then move on to the next thing.

You feel stronger and weaker at once. You need to be stronger. You have to be better than you are. Better than you've ever been. And if you're not strong, you need to just keep going.

"Ready?" Lloyd comes up behind you as you get into position for your set of pushups. You pause in a plank.

"We're going to the range. I told you last night."

You lower yourself then push up. You pump your arms as you raise and drop your weight. He sighs.

"Your arms are going to be shaking too much to aim," he nudges your foot with his. "Let's get to it. Gonna be out there a while. Wanna get as much daylight as we can."

You keep going. He can wait. How long did you wait?

He clucks. He lets the silence simmer. They get longer, thicker each time.

"It's progress. You're gonna need to be a dead shot."

You stop and hop up. You grab the sweat towel from next to Patty. You wipe your face and arms. You pick up the platypus and face him.

"Don't look at me like that." He arches a brow.

You just stare.

"Sweetheart..."

You sidestep him. You need a sweater. It's colder these days.

You're not mad. You're impatient. You want it to be over. However it ends. You don't expect a fairy tale.

You take Patty out of the gym and to the bedroom you sleep in. You only ever use the closet anyway. The rest remains undisturbed. You leave as little effect on this world as you can.

You put Patty on the dresser and you pick out a fresh shirt. Plain and grey. It'll come back dirty.

You go into the bathroom. You peel off your shirt and rinse your face. The water is soothing. You dry off and go back out to the bedroom.

You stop short. Lloyd is waiting. You resist the urge to look down. The tight sports bra feels like nothing at all. You try not to squirm.

"We're working together. Aren't we?" He challenges.

You reach for the shirt. He grabs it first.

"I'm talking to you."

You grab the sleeve and tug. He doesn't relent. Your eyes crawl up to his face.

"The not talking thing, I adapted, baby face, but this, the 'tude, not doing it." He sneers.

You roll your eyes and yank on the shirt again. He pulls back. You huff and let it go.

You turn and go to the dresser. He follows. He catches the drawer before you can open it. You spin and face him again. He's closer than you expect. He stares at you.

You stand in silence. Neither of you move. Not until he offers the shirt.

"I'll be waiting. Get your shit together." He shoves the fabric into your hand and turns away.

He goes and you pull the shirt on. He's not the only one tired of this. You head down after him with Patty under your arm.

Maybe this is all a big mistake. A false dream. Well, you don't expect anything more than a nightmare ahead.

🙊

"Getting better." Lloyd hollers.

You wonder if he ever shuts up.

You focus and fire again. Your shots aren't far off but you could do better. You have to do better.

You fix your aim. Fire again. The recoil flows through you but you keep steady. Three more times.

"You're a certified killer, sunshine." Lloyd chimes.

You lower the gun and look at him. He tilts his head. "It's a good thing. Isn't that what you want?"

What you want? You never wanted any of this. Not Rocco. Not him.

But you want to hurt people who hurt you, Patty argues. You sniff at the suggestion.

You grit your teeth and turn to face him completely. Your eyes drift to the target out in the field then to him again. You take a step back.

"Look, whatever's up your ass, you need to pull it out. Not really sure since all I've been saying is that you're doing good. I'm being nice even though you tend to list to the left--"

You raise the gun and aim it right at him. His smirks falls. He moves so fast, you don't have time to react.

The gun is on the ground and his thick arm is around your neck. You squirm as he squeezes from behind.

"The fuck did I tell you? Never aim that shit at anyone you don't mean to kill." He snarls.

You touch his arm but don't struggle. If he does it, maybe that's best. He's wasting his time.

"Jesus!" He shoves you away from him.

You stumble and keep your back to him. He sighs and grabs your arm. He spins you to face him.

"The fuck is your problem? You wanna die? Is that it? That the shit you're pulling?" He points in your face. "I got news for you, I put too much fucking ass sweat in to throw that away so get your shit together. Now."

You stare at his finger. You step closer. His eyes narrow. You bite his index and he yowls, ripping his hand back.

"Argh, the fuck?"

Yes, Patty, I know it's not nice but he's not nice.

You kick the gun and stomp away. He follows. You listen to his step and pick up your pace. He yanks you back by the back of your shirt.

"You're not walking away now. Not from me." He shakes you.

You hit him in the stomach. He growls and bats your hand away. You throw another strike.

"Stop!" He demands as he grabs your shoulders. "Just stop. Would you fucking tell me what the shit is going on? Tell me anything?"

You stare at him. You hang limply from his grasp. He exhales.

"Don't you fucking see how much I try? I don't fucking try. Not for no one." His thumbs rub your shoulders. "Shit..." He lets you go. "Fuck."

He throws his hands up and spins away. He stomps past you and crosses the ground. He picks up the pistol and Patty. He takes both and storms toward you.

He offers the gun and the plush.

"If you're going to do it, aim right at the base of the skull."

You take both and watch him without emotion. He clucks and turns away. You watch him strut off towards the other side of the field where he left the car.

“Come on, sunshine, I know you got more than that.”

You drop your fist and push your shoulders up. You’ve been trying all day. He’s not happy with any of it. He keeps saying more, more, more.

“Alright, day one. Can’t push you too hard.” He sniffs and exhales heavily. His disappointment is potent.

“Tomorrow, we’ll focus on conditioning. Give your arms a break. Treadmill.” He grabs the empty shake cups and his sweat towel. You lift Patty. She’s tired. So are you.

You follow Lloyd out of the gym. You stare at his heels. He might not see how hard you tried but maybe you aren’t.

“Get some water before you disappear. You gotta understand. This is a big deal. You need to hydrate and you need to eat.” He leads you into the kitchen. “That’s how you get strong.”

Right. You aren’t strong.

He puts the cups in the sink and pops open a cupboard. He hands you a tall glass. You take it and fill it from the fridge.

“Look, we just started. I get it. I’ll try not to expect too much.” He says. “But try to give me something.”

You keep your arm hooked around Patty and give a thumbs up. He stares at it. You’re not sure that’s enough. He turns away.

“Alright.” He utters and grabs a glass for himself.

You back up until you’re at the door. You leave him and squeeze Patty. You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re not sure you can do this. She says you can if you really want to.

Well, that’s the big question; what do you want? You haven’t thought about things like that in so long. You lived in certainties. You wouldn’t get what you want or need. You would never get out. But look at you now. No longer in the dark, maybe one day, you won’t be afraid either.

🙊

You’re trying. You do what Lloyd says you should. You drink water. You eat all your food, even when it hurts your stomach, you do your stretches, and you stick to the schedule.

You don’t try to track the days. Time stopped meaning anything back in the darkness. Still, Lloyd maintains a sense of urgency. There is no due date yet he wants it done. That much you can pick up.

Another day at the bag. Those are your least favourite. Even worse than pullups. You punch the bag over and over. You move your feet like he showed you, you swing out the combos. Left, left, right. Right, right, left. The noise of your fists on the bag keep a tempo.

Lloyd sighs as he watches.

“Sweetheart. Put some sauce on it.” He drawls.

You look over and your next punch is off. You huff and reset your feet. You try again. He clucks and catches your arm and wrenches you away.

He swings you back to face him. He lets you go. “You’re not getting it. You gotta get angry. You gotta use that. You’re not going to be punching this bag forever.”

You keep your hands up. That’s his rule. Hands up.

“Listen, alright, let me–”

He swings  at you. You deflect him and keep your arms in a defensive pose. He brings up his other fist and you stop it with your forearm. He huffs again.

“Get mad, okay? Hit me back.” He keeps his fists up. “Go on.”

You stare at him. You steel yourself and throw your hand out. He knocks it away easily and makes a buzzer noise with his mouth.

“Sweetie, if I wanted, I’d have you on your back. Don’t just sit there and pretend. Put something into it.” He keeps his stance. “Come. On.”

You stare at him desperately. You don’t want to hurt him though. The bag can’t feel. That’s easy.

“Alright, you gotta get in the zone. Think about it. Think about the scars.” He swats your arm tauntingly and you shy away. “Think about Rocco and his shit rats. What they did to you.”

He gets closer, giving weak punches you can swat to the side. You walk back as he advances on you. “They left those marks on you, they took your voice.”

He tries to hit you with each statement. “Hell, they gave you to me in exchange for a few dead goons.” He tries again and you dodge. “They made you nothing–”

It’s like he’s actually hit you. You drop your hands and stare at him. He watches you. His expression slowly shifts from mocking to concern. You quake and lift your hands. You make fists.

You can’t do it. You can’t hit him. You turn to the bag. You wail on it unfettered. You don’t think, you just let the frustration and fury out. Your fists don’t stop.

“That’s it, baby,” Lloyd claps, “get the fucker.”

He walks a circle around you. You keep going. You don’t feel the force behind the punches or the recoil of the bag, you feel nothing but helplessness. Like you’re back in the dark by yourself, waiting for the end.

“That’s good, you’re doing good,” he encourages.

Punch, punch, punch-punch.

“Alright, slow down, you don’t gotta do all that.” He girds.

You ignore him. You think of what he said. Of what they took from you. And it isn’t Rocco’s men you hear in your head. It’s the ones they took from you.

Don’t give up. Not again. You did once. And it’s all your fault. You’re here, they’re not. Don’t waste that.

“Sweetheart–”

Lloyd grabs your elbow and you shove him off. He’s too strong. You wriggle free and move away from him. You keep going.

He exhales. “You’re gonna hurt yourself. Come on, take a breather.”

You don’t stop.

You sense him walking around you but he’s not really there. Neither are you. You can do this. You have to do this. Patty agrees. Stop being weak.

The tempo of your fists continues. It slows but doesn’t stop. You move your feet, shuffle, dodge, dip, just like Lloyd had you do every time. Until all you can do is keep your arms moving.

“Hey…” Lloyd’s soft voice wafts between the cracks of knuckles on leather. “Sunshine. Sunshine, you there?” He grabs your shoulder. “You’re barely standing. Come on.”

You throw another punch. Your arm shakes and burns. He catches your hand and guides it away from the bag. He turns you away. Your muscles burn. 

“It’s been hours,” he hisses. “Stop.”

He holds onto your hands. You’re entire body quakes. He looks down. The hand wraps have moved to expose your knuckles. They’re split and swollen.

“Jeez, sweetheart,” he touches the cuts lightly with his thumbs. “You know–”

You rip your hands away. Those things he said echo in your head. He has no idea what happened. He doesn’t know anything about Rocco. Not really. He made a bad deal and you…

You shake your head and stomp away from him. You pick up Patty. She knows. She’s the only person you can tell. You wince as you press her to your sweat-soaked shirt.

“Sweetheart, look, I didn’t mean–”

About before? About the memories? About now? Lloyd? What comes next?

There’s a creak that chases away your last ounce of resolve. You’re not going to get any more sleep even though you wish you could do just that forever. You hear clearly through the wall. Someone’s moving around, trying not to make noise.

You shift and reach up. You pull the closet door open an inch and peek out. Lloyd steps back from the foot of the bed.

You exhale and push the door further. You snatch up Patty and get up. As he turns, Lloyd gives a start.

“Oh, I was… trying not to wake you. Figured you’d need the sleep.” He says.

You glance over at the bed. There’s clothing there. Black under a pair of boots with thick treads. You look at him again.

“We gotta start sooner than later,” he shrugs.

You stare at him. He crosses his arms. 

“Get dressed. I’ll make us something to get us going. Need lots of protein, sunshine,” he winks and pulls his hand from the crook of his elbow. He reaches for you. You wince. He hesitates and lowers his hand. He pats your shoulder. “I’ll be downstairs.”

He goes and you take Patty to the bed. You put her down and scrub at your eyes with the heels of your hand. Wake up! You take some deep breaths and swing out your arms.

Patty doesn’t know if it’s a good idea but she also doesn’t have any alternatives. If we leave, what do we do? That’s a good question.

You move the shoes to the floor and unfold the clothes. A tank like sports bra, a long-sleeved shirt and leggings in thin material, socks… That amount of detail means his mind is made up.

You leave it and go to wash your face and brush your teeth. The habit is getting easier. You’re even starting to enjoy the sensations. You didn’t realise for so long how filthy you felt. There are stains you can never wash away.

You come out and dress a piece at a time. You sit to tie the boots. You stand a peer around. You go to the mirror on the wall. The one you ignore. You look like you’re wearing someone else’s clothes. You’re pretending.

Maybe that’s the answer, you turn and clomp over to Patty. Maybe you need to pretend and eventually, you’ll believe. You should want this, shouldn’t you? To hurt the people that hurt you? You don’t want people to get hurt. You saw enough of that.

They’re gone, Patty’s beady eyes make you squirm. They’re gone and they can’t get hurt anymore. They were hurt because you did nothing. Because you couldn’t. So why don’t you?

Patty, it’s more complicated than that.

You tuck her under your arm and head downstairs. As you enter the kitchen, you squint and try to cover your ears, pressing the stuffed platypus to your cheek. Lloyd lets go of the blender and the motor quiets.

“Shake for you,” he points to the counter. “And some egg bites. You know, someone bought me that shit when I got the house. Press thing or whatever. Put the eggs in and they come out looking like moose shit.”

You look at the small plate with two circular pucks on it. Yellow with flecks of red. You near and lean down to smell the eggs.

“Put some extra flavour in it.” He turns to you as he pours the contents of the blender into a tall cup. “Eat the eggs.” He puts the blender jug down and twists a cap on the cup. “Bring the shake.”

You press your lips tight. You pick up an egg and make yourself nibble it. He rinses out the blender and sighs.

“I don’t usually cook for myself, let alone others, sunshine. Better pep up. Gonna be a long day.” He tuts.

Oh. Okay. He’s back to that. He’s not nice. Remember, he told you. He’s probably the only person honest enough to say so.

You shove the whole egg bite in your mouth and split it with your teeth. It bulges in your cheeks like a squirrel. He turns back to you and lifts a brow.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he says.

You gulp it all at once and your eyes widen. He tilts his chin just and little and watches you. You blink and cough, patting your chest. You inhale and put your thumb up. You’re fine.

He scoffs and grabs an egg of his own. “Try not to puke on my floor. I just got them polished.”

🙊

You look around at the space. You’ve never been to this part of the house. Lloyd slaps the standing punching bag across from you, drawing your eyes back from the racks of weights.

His bicep bulges, exposed as he wears a sleeveless gymshirt with a little silver emblem on one side of the chest. His pants are a similar material, and his boots are like yours. He turns to you and smirks.

“Basics, baby. First things first, you need to know how to throw a punch.” He says.

You look at Patty as she perches beside your shake cup. She’s quiet. Hm.

“Focus,” Lloyd snaps his fingers. “Let’s gear up.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black roll of fabric.

“Gimme your hand.”

You hesitate but offer him your limp hand. He tugs your sleeve down your forearm and you twitch. You try to pull it back down. He stops you.

You stand in silence. He brushes his thumb over the lines. The ridged scars that mark the passing of time, the crack of your resistance. You tremble at the graze of his fingertip over the scar tissue.

He clucks and puts your hand flat. “Keep still.”

He slips your thumb through the loop at the end of the loop then winds it around your hand. You watch him wrap the strip around and around. As the silence sets in, you look at him. He’s quiet. There’s a stitch in his forehead. He’s thinking.

He secures the end and exhales. He lets you go.

“Other hands,” he rasps.

You offer your other. He does the same. When he’s done, he traces the end of a scar peeking out from between the wrap and the sleeve. He shakes his head and pulls away.

You pull down your sleeves to hide the scars. You hope you didn’t upset him. He backs up as he pushes his thick thumb through the loop of another wrap. He clears his throat.

You watch his diligent work as he covers his thick knuckles. His hands are so big. He probably packs a good punch. You don’t know about you.

You look down at your hands. You curl them to fists. You don’t think you can do it.

“Alright,” Lloyd claps. “Show me.” You pop your head up in surprise. “Throw a punch.” He commands.

Your lips turn downward and you look at your hand then at him. You have no idea. You just think of what you’ve seen other people do.

You swing your left fist. You nearly fall over. Lloyd catches your strike easily. He chuckles.

“Lefty, huh?” He guides you back and runs his hand down your arm. “Alright. Let’s start simple. Gotta set your feet. Posture. Then hands.”

He lets you go and looks down. He arranges his feet. “Like me, sweetheart.”

You enter the kitchen as Lloyd hisses and pinches the corner of a paper bag, pulling the top apart. He dumps the contents into a large bowl. Steam rises from the popped kernels.

"There you are." He says as he tosses the empty bag. "Just getting the snacks ready."

You stare. Snacks? You just ate dinner an hour ago.

You near the other side of the counter. He watches you.

"You wanna get this?" He slides the bowl across.

You purse your lips curiously.

"Out to the front room. Alright?"

You reach to grab the bowl. You manage to pull it to the edge and stand on your toes to get your arm around it. You back in up.

"Won't be long, sunshine." He promises.

You look between Patty and the bowl. What's this all about? Patty says don't worry, it smells delicious! Well, sure. Compared to what you had before, it sure does.

You go to the front room. You stand behind the couch and wait. Should you sit? What exactly is he up to? You never know with him.

You cradle Patty and the popcorn as you sway absently. A glass clink makes you jolt. Lloyd enters with two bottles in hand.

"Well, take a seat," he says as he carries his handful to the table. He easily has his fingers hooked around the necks of the bottle. He sets out two coasters from a stack and puts them down.

You sidle around the couch. He takes the bowl, surprising you again. He puts it on the table.

You hesitate as he flops onto the couch. He slaps the cushion next to him then reaches for the slender remote on the table. It looks tiny in his hand.

Your eyes flick up to the TV as it blooms to life. Your gaze sticks to it, hypnotized by the bright colours. He flicks through the menu. Wow.

"Come on," he grabs your wrist and tugs.

You sit and draw free of his grasp. You hug Patty and lift her higher to see the screen. Lloyd sniffs and shifts beside you. He clicks his tongue.

"I don't know what you like so I just let ChatGPT choose. I don't know." He casually rolls his thumb over the remote.

You read the title as the screen changes. The Devil Wears Prada. It sounds familiar.

"Hey, you want some of these lights off?" He asks as he puts the remote down.

You don't answer. He doesn't really need one. He leans over to shut off the lamp on the end table.

"Try the soda. Mexican Coke. The good stuff." He points to the tall bottle.

You look between the TV and the low glass table. Why is he doing all this? He did say he wants you to help him with Rocco. So he has to soften you up, right?

Just have fun, Patty says. When's the last time you did?

You take the cold bottle. It's frosty and makes you shiver. You sniff the top before you drink. The fizz burns your nostrils.

You pop your mouth off and cover your lips. A bubble rises in your chest as the soda hits your stomach acid. A belch forces through your lips. Your eyes go wide as they water.

Lloyd chuckles and scoops up his own soda. "Damn, sunshine. Good one."

You put the soda down. You didn't mean to do that. You teeter on the edge of the couch.

He grabs a handful of popcorn, "can't eat all this myself."

You bite your lip. He did go to all this trouble. You put Patty between you and him. You take a smaller scoop than him. You pick at it a kernel at a time, chewing carefully.

You watch the screen and try to focus on the story. It's about a young woman, a career woman, someone with goals. That's nothing like you.

As you taste the salty and buttery popcorn, an airy sensation fills your head. You remember sitting in the dark, not the bad dark, a nice one, and a big screen in front of you. The smell and crunch of kernels and candy, the slurp of straws, and there was someone with you. Someone you knew. Someone you loved. You try to remember more but it hurts.

"Why don't you chill? Sit back?" Lloyd startles you as he brushes your arm. You flinch and he pulls his hand away. "Woah, hey, I didn't hurt you, did I?"

You put your chin down and place your hands on the cushions. You push yourself back on the couch. You snatch Patty and pet her fuzzy head. It's okay to miss them but don't think too much.

You watch the screen as you sense Lloyd's gaze linger on you. He hums. He shifts beside you as he relaxes back into the cushions.

The mean blond woman snarls at her assistant. You feel bad. No one should be nasty like that. Not when they have nice things and a nice job and a nice life.

You blink. Your eyelids stick to your eyeballs. Your head is getting foggy as the dimness sets in. You yawn and hug Patty closer.

You feel yourself lolling but can't stop from sinking down into your fatigue. It's been a long scary day. It settles on your like stone, weighing you down into the depths.

Silence, blackness. That's all there is. Then you hear it. The rattling breath. You sense someone nearby.

"Don't... don't..." he pleads. "They didn't... they didn't break you... they.... they can't."

"Amir..." another voice says. Is that you? "Amir, I'm sorry. Amir..."

A loud bang and blood-curdling scream casts you into white light. Your eyes flick open and you hurl forward off the couch. You knock over the popcorn as you flail and fall to the floor. You turn and crawl between the table and sofa.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart," Lloyd hooks his arms around you from behind. "You... you were dreaming. Hey. Hey. You're here. You're here." He pulls you back onto the couch.

You blink wildly and search the room. He turns you to face him as you writhe and squirm. You push on his chest, slapping it several times, then stop. He hushes you.

"Hey, you gotta stop. Just..." He peels a hand away and reaches behind you. You lean away as he gets close. He smells like burnt wood; in a good way. He puts Patty in your lap. "Take a breath."

You feel Patty's soft fur and look down at her. You inhale. He lets his hand fall down to your elbow. He's quiet as you quiver.

"Whatever's going on in that head, it can't hurt you now," he drawls gently.

You lean against the wall, the sounds from the other side calming. That's not something you've felt in a long time. there's still a steady tremor within you. That little nagging caution. Something, anything can go wrong.

"Yo," Lloyd's voice is muffled as his footsteps approach the door, "where'd you go?"

You look over as he opens the door. You tilt your head up as you sit right beside the frame. He scuffs to a stop in his slippers as he turns and catches himself on the wooden trim.

"Oh, hey," he clears his throat and tugs the front of his rob snugger over his chest with one hand. "Didn't want you to get lost."

You stare up at him. You stand and rest Patty against your hip. You face him. His throat bobs and his eyes scour the hall.

You point to the cut on his lip. He feels it. "Yeah, it'll be fine."

You frown and point to his neck. There's a bruise there. More peeking out from under his robe, along the top of his chest. He sniffs and struts back into the bedroom. You step into the doorway and watch him approach the long dresser with the mirror over it. He pulls the top of the rope open. There's a cut along his ribs.

"Look, I had to push things along to get back to you. Took a bit of collateral." He adjusts his robe again. "Nothing you need to worry about."

You watch him. Does he not trust you? Should he? So far, you've proven yourself incapable of a lot of things. Of anything.

"Hey, from what I've seen, you've taken a few good licks yourself." He says as he opens the top drawer of the dresser. "Don't you worry about my pretty little head. You need to think about you. I need you to do that if we're going to do what needs to be done."

He slides the drawer and opens the one under it. He takes out a shirt. "You get what that is right?" He glances over at you. You blink. "Killing Rocco and every shit weasel in that tacky house."

He shuts that drawer and goes to the closet, still open. He shuffles through the hangers.

"And go get yourself something to eat. I gotta cover up my ass." He snickers.

Your eyes go wide as he turns to you. You back up and squirm. That thought makes your face all hot.

"Unless you wanna a peek," he snorts.

You nearly fall over as you back out of the doorway. His cackle echoes behind you as you flee. You think he's joking but you're not so good with judging those things.

You flit down the stairs and don't stop until you get to the kitchen. You put Patty on the counter and look her in the face. She's laughing. Was it really a joke? Don't think too much, she says.

Lloyd's other words nip at you. He came back here because you messed up. Again. That alarm ruined whatever he was doing. You should make it up to him.

Coffee. He likes that. You've seen him drink it. A lot.

You go to the machine. You stare at it. How does it work?

There's a canister in the cupboard above. You hate to poke around but you won't make a mess. You should put it... in here? You do your best not to break anything. You use the tiny scoop to measure. How much. You read the can. You're not too good at math.

You close the lid and hit the button. Several, then it starts to make that noise.

Lloyd startles you with a sigh. He struts in in a pair of cream coloured slacks and banana coloured shirt. He likes to dress bright.

"I smell coffee."

You turn to him. You point to the machine then him. "For me?" He smiles.

You face your palms up in a shrug. You tried.

He nears and takes a cup down from the cupboard. He pours from the half-filled carafe. You bounce on your feet and swipe Patty off the counter.

"You wanna try some?" He asks.

You stare.

"Okay. Well, what about the Platypus? She thirsty?"

You look at Patty. Can he hear her too? He laughs again.

"You're cute," he says. Then coughs. He brings the mug up to taste. He coughs louder and covers his mouth. "Oh fu--" He stops himself. "I see you like it strong."

You bounce on your feet and pout.

"No worries, sunshine. Just needs some sugar," he reaches for a gold dish and removes the lid. "Nothing a bit of sweetness can't fix."

You bite the inside of your lip. Shouldn't he be mad? He pours sugar into the coffee and swirls it. He sips. "Better. See?"

The tick in his cheek suggests otherwise. You grab the coffee urn and take it to the sink. You dump it out.

He clucks. "You don't gotta be like that."

You put Patty down. You rinse out the urn and dry it. You put it back.

"Come on. I coulda just said it was shit. I was nice."

You look down. It isn't him. It's you. You can't do anything.

"It's the thought that counts. That's what people say, isn't it?"

You swing your arms around. What do you know about people.

"Jeez, you're a fucking trip, sunshine." He takes another drink. "I need this, you know? After the last few days, I'd drink piss just to stay awake."

You squint at him. His brows rise. "Tough audience. Alright. Well, we gotta go fix that shit you fucked up in the yard."

Your eyes round.

"What the fuck do I care? The gardener will be the one dealing with the dirt. I just wanna get the glass up. No one needs to be cutting themselves up." He beckons you after him. You grab Patty and follow. "Nah, we gotta be focused on cutting up Rocco, don't we?" He reaches back to lightly slap your arm. You wince. "Isn't that right? You do some damage with a hanger, don't you?"

You exhale heavily.

"Look, you gotta start taking only about two percent of what I say seriously or you're gonna have a bad time," he says. He grabs your wrist and pulls you up beside him. "And stop acting like my damn shadow. Keep up."

Curtis had learned the truth about the train. How Wilbur needed children to keep it running. The leader of the tail section tried to stop him. Destroy the train. The attempt failed. 

And he was being punished for it.

“Stay back,” he snapped, his breathing ragged. “I can’t control myself.”

You weren’t sure what they injected him with, but it didn’t take him long to claw at his clothes. He managed to maintain an impressive physique despite the conditions of the back of the train. And he was looking at you like a man starved.

A predator about to devour his prey.

“Curtis,” you whispered, backing up as much as you could.

He always looked out for you. Made sure none of the men ever touched you. He didn’t touch you either. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he feared what would happen if he slept with you. What if he got you pregantn? Bringing a child into this life of hell wouldn’t be fair to either of you.

Which is exactly why Wilbur put you in there with him.

He wiped a bit of sweat and grime from his forehead. “I didn’t…” He took a step toward you. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

“I know,” you said sadly, a tear rolling down your cheek. “I know.”

“Please, don’t hate me,” he begged.

“I could never hate you, Curtis,” you promised, looking at the camera in the corner before your protector grabbed you.

Wilbur would pay for making Curtis force himself on you. He’d pay for the lives he ruined. The children he took.

And if Curtis did get you pregnant, Wilbur would not take your baby.

The pain! Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

You’re scared. A dozen times you wished Stuart away but you never truly thought of the reality. Without him, what do you do? Certainly, you could put your needle to task for some money, or seek a job at the factory as he once had. Yet there are many men in line for the same and a woman is always chosen second.

You don’t sleep. You don’t even try. You languish on the withering old couch and watch the window tint through the shades of the ebony and slate night. When the time comes, you rise without much feeling or thought.

You wash up as best you can. You pin your hair as tidily as you can and find a hat that isn’t moth-bitten or ragged. Then a dress. The old moss green with the belt. The brooch that was once at the cinch of it is gone; Stuart pawned it. Better off, it would only bring more attention to the tension in the fabric that wasn’t there before.

Gloves, coat, shoes. All brown. All dull. All aged and worn.

You hook your purse over your elbow and walk out with the pie. Mary Lynn sits on her step smoking. Her head is in her hand as she puffs out. Another late night for her.

You pay the trolley for your ride and sit, ankles crossed, shoulders stiff. You transfer to another, your heart fluttering the closer you get to your destination. You try to think of the last time Stuart took you anywhere.

You disembark as you thank the conductor again. You step onto the cobbles and barely avoid collision. Riders squeeze by you as pedestrians don’t slow in their path. You stumble through and hide against the brick wall until you find a way through.

You pass a newspaper seller and ask which way to The Garrison. He gives you a look but tells you. You thank him and he asks if you need a paper. You feel bad declining.

You press on. You see the moniker demarking your destination. As you get closer, you notice a group of men smoking and chortling in the caps. Those caps. The caps worn by Shelby and many of his comrades. Stuart chattered on the last night you saw him about having one of his own.

The men quiet as you near. You sense their gazes. You know you must stick out sorely.

You approach the door and one cuts away from the rest to open it for you. “Ma’am. Lookin’ for something?” He asks.

You stop before the door as he holds it. You clear your throat, “Mr. Shelby.” 

“Which one?” The man chuffs.

“Thomas, I believe.”

“You believe,” he scoffs.

“Willy, leave off,”  gritty voice comes from within. A skinny man in a brown cap and suit stands just inside, “Let the lady in.”

“Art” the man holding the door nods and shows a palm in deference.

You set your feet and chin and enter. Your legs struggle to bend, your feet fight to turn back. The door falls shut as you step into the mostly empty bar. It’s early yet. 

There’s one man slumped over the trim of the bar snoring loudly and the one who bid off your accoster.

“Mornin’, sir, I’m seekin’ Mr. Shelby.” You say as you hug the pie dish.

“I’d be him. Less you mean Tommy.”

“Yes, I believe I’m looking for him.” You say. “I… I brought him a pie and… I hoped to speak with him.”

The man’s slender face lines in amusement. “Eh, you don’t look his type.”

“Pardon, sir?” You utter.

“Eh, nothin’, love, nothin’. Forgive me. An old soldier carries old habits.” He pulls the cigar from behind his ear and bites it. “Have a seat, then. I’ll see if I can hunt him down.”

“Thank you, sir. Uh, Mr. Shelby.”

“Arthur,” he offers before he spins away.

He goes behind the bar as you look around. You go to a table and sit. You keep your hands on the dish and sniff. Is this a mistake? Imagine you go home and Stuart’s right there waiting and this was all a big panic for nothing.

“Oi,” Arthur’s voice grinds. You glance over as he holds a phone receiver to his ear. “Tommy?... Well, get ‘im on. I’ve gotta talk to him.” He huffs. “It’s bloody Arthur. Don’t fuck with me.”

You look down. These men are rough. The kind you shouldn’t speak to. The sort that whistle at you when you take a turn down the wrong street. Well, not you anymore, but a lovely young women in a lovely dress.

“Lady here. She’s got a pie. Lookin’ fer ye…” you hear the low conversation. “I didn’t ask. I ain’t even slept yet, Tom.”

The receiver slams down. Arthur turns halfway and strikes the wheel on his lighter. He lights his cigar. He puffs rings. 

“He’ll be ‘round. Soon.” He lets the cigar hang between his lips as he pulls a pint glass from the shelf. “Want som’in to drink?”

“No, sir, it’s early.” You cheep. “Thank you.”

“Mmm,” he pulls the tap and pours the pint. “Polite one.”

You don’t know what to say to that so you say nothing. Arthur slurps loudly. You peek over as he wipes the foam from his mustache. He puffs from the cigar again. You stifle a cough behind your fist and look out the window.

“Ah, ma’m, forgive me.” He taps and you look over as he tamps out the butt of the cigar. He replaces it behind his ear. “Ya play cards?”

“At church,” you answer.

“Mm, yes, suppose we don’t play the same games,” he snorts.

“Suppose not,” you agree and trace the brim of the pie dish.

“Eh… I’ll keep an eye out for Tommy. Send him in when he gets here…” He moves out from behind the bar. “Make sure these other scoundrels don’t bother ye.”

“Thank you, Mr. Shelby.” You say.

He goes to the man at the bar and smacks his skull with his knuckles. “Georgie, get your ass up.” He grabs the scruff of the man’s wrinkled shirt and hauls him to his feet. “Go find somewhere else to sleep.”

He drags the drunkard out and you linger. The longer you sit there, the more your doubt floods your chest. You should just get up and go. What are you doing here? Stuart is not Mr. Shelby’s problem. When you find your husband, you will tell him to go back to the factory. He can’t be about with these men in their caps.

When the door opens at last, you look up. Mr. Shelby enters. Thomas. Tommy. He shuts the door gently with his hand as he sees you. He nods and removes his cap. He smoothes the black and silver strands over the top of his head.

You stand.

“Mr. Shelby, I apologise for disturbing.”

“Mornin’, ma’am,” he intones. He crosses to the bar and sets his hat down. “You’ve had a drink?”

“Bit early for me.”

“I could find some leaves.” He offers.

“Sir, truly, I mean no trouble.” You hover your fingers over the linen cover on the dish. “I wouldn’t mean to waste yer time. I only… my husbands, Stuart Cress, he’s not returned the last three… four days now.”

“No?” He reaches over the bar and pulls out a bottle. A thick walled glass bottle of whiskey with his name printed on the label. “Well, I wouldn’t know. I didn’t give him a job. I met him down the row, he got his cut, laughed, and went on his way.”

“Oh?” You blink, confused. “Of course, you must be busy…”

He uncorks the bottle and takes a swig. His throat bobs and he growls out the heat of the alcohol. He pushes the cork back in and puts the bottle down.

“I’m sorry to hear he’s not been around. I told him though, I’ve enough men in my employ. He’s better finding honest work. ‘Specially with a wife at home.” Mr. Shelby reaches in his coat and takes out his silver cigarette case. “It’s a big city. I do my best to keep the rabble in order but… things happen.”

Your eyes tinge and your cheeks pinch. Not only have you wasted his time and your own, you’ve been foolish. If Stuart got money, he went off gambling and no doubt got himself in trouble.

“I apologise again for takin’ yer time,” you grab the pie dish and step out from behind the table. You near Shelby cautiously. “I figured I’d bring ya something for it. And since you couldn’t stay th’other night.”

You place the pie dish up on the bar. He turns so his jacket brushes you. You back up as he reaches to loose the twine. He holds his cigarette between two fingers as he peeks under the linen.

“That’s rather kind of ye, ma’am,” he drawls.  His eyes flick up to you and he teethes the inside of his lip. “Don’t got many bringing me pies.”

You feel even more foolish. You clasp your hands so your purse hangs at your wrist.

“I… I don’t have much money,” you look down at your handbag.

“Wouldn’t think of it.” He looms close to you. “I’ll keep an eye out for Stuart. I’ll even send some of my men around.”

“You– Oh I wasn’t meanin’ no–”

“It’s nothing, ma’am. Birmingham’s my city. I take care of it.” He assures. “How’d ye get here?”

You swallow. “The trolley.”

“Hm. Well, I’ll have my brother drive you back. For yer trouble comin’ down here.” He gently touches your sleeve. “And for my supper. Thank you. I’ll be slavering for that mincemeat til tea time.”

“Not at all, Mr. Shelby. I ‘preciate you puttin’ up with a lady’s worries.” You dip your head. “I’m sure Stu will show up. He must.”

🖤

It’s days yet. A full week. Your husband remains absent. You remain fraught. More so with each passing minute.

You’ve not much to sell to make the lease. You’ve the tin of coins that won’t meet half of it. Nothing in Stuart’s drawers or tucked away his side of the mattress. You’ll have to pawn every piece of furniture or vacate… to where. And when he returns, what then? How would he find you?

You sit with a cup of cold tea. You brewed it but lost your thirst for it as you sat and mulled. You hold your head and exhale.

What are you going to do?

There’s a knock at the door. Please don’t be Mr. Brenton. You’ve not the heart to explain that you haven’t got his money. Not the stomach to admit that you’re as good as vagrant without your husband.

You get up after the third series of raps. You answer the door. You hiss out a gasp. It isn’t Mr. Brenton and his greasy grey hair.

“Mr. Shelby,” you great. “Ahm, good afternoon.”

“Ma’am, I hope I’m not imposing.” He says.

You shake your head. “No, sir. Can I help ya?”

“Might I come in?” He glances past you then peeks over his shoulder. Mary Lynn’s smoking with Danny next door.

“Yes, sir, please.”

You back up to let him inside. He takes off his cap. You shut the door and sidle back by him.

“Would you like me to hang that?” You offer.

He puts it on the rack himself. “You’re a good woman but I can deal with my hat.”

“Pardon, I only–”

“No apologies. I’ve come to issue my own.” He takes off his coat and hangs it.

“Oh?” You breathe slowly. “Would you like some tea?”

His lips curve grimly. “Ma’am,” he says softly and stares at you. “Well, I can’t deny that kindness.”

You back up and turn to lead him through to the next room. You direct him to sit in the front room. The beaten old armchair creaks with his weight. You retreat to the kitchen to boil the water and gather your nerves. There’s enough time for you to steady yourself.

You come out with cup and saucer.

“Splash of milk, ye take, do I ‘member right, sir?” You set it on the table by the armrest.

“That’s right,” he rolls a cigarette between two fingers. It’s unlit.

“Sir, what’ve you come for? Stuart? I’ve not see him yet.” You clasp your hands.

“Please, sit, ma’am,” he gestures.

You sit on the couch, right on the edge. He takes the tea cup, his cigarette cradled between his fingers, and he blows away the steam. He sips.

“Lovely steep,” he praises. “As lovely as that pie you brought me.”

“Mr. Shelby,” you plead weakly.

He sighs and stares into the tea. He puts the cup down and slowly leans forward. He drags the tip of the cigarette along his lip then presses his lips around it. He thinks better of it and takes it out. He looks at you.

“I’ve not seen Stuart. My men report they haven’t either.” He says firmly.

You nod. “I didn’t think so…”

“It’s been a week now…”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s a long time.” His throat tightens and he sits straighter. “Do you work, ma’am?”

You shake your head. His eyes are thoughtful as they drink you in. His jaw clenches.

“He’s not here, that means… his money won’t be.”

“Sir. I… I’m looking… for work–”

“Yes, I supposed you would be. You’re a clever woman. You found me out at my bar, after all.” He wiggles the cigarette as he talks.

“But I can’t find… him.” You look away.

He sighs again. He puts the cigarette down and you flinch as he reaches across the space to touch your hand.

“I don’t know what happened to your husband. He was happy to have his money and he skipped off. I don’t know where. I’m trying.” He proclaims. “I can’t help feel some guilt…”

“Sir, my husband…” you look at his hand then in his face. “My husband wasn’t always… wise.”

“You are kind.” His lips twitch and he pulls back. “Much too kind for him or me.” He swipes up the cigarette again. “Let me give some back to ye. For it all.”

“It’s… you don’t–”

“You saw how empty my bar was, didn’t ya?” He interjects.

“It was early.” You shrug.

“Yes, it was. But I was thinking, people needa eat. Break their fast, sit for lunch, tea…” he explains. “It’s not much of a business opening six hours a night to drunks. So… I’ve thought a proper restaurant during the day light…” he lets the thoughts hang. “I’ll need a cook.”

You stare at him, confused. He reaches for his cup. He drinks again.

He hums as he lowers the brim. “Fine tea, indeed.” He muses and licks his lips. “Ma’am, you need work, I need a cook.” He tilts his head.

Your lips part and your lashes flick. “But I never… worked in no kitchen. Not a proper one.”

The farmhouse is just ahead at the end of the dirt path curling to the left. The owner said something about a red post and you're fairly sure the one with the peeling coat you just passed is the one. You idle right before the branching lead off to check the map one last time.

The fields are so endless and the back roads so empty that you hear the car coming before you see it. You lower the map and look in the rearview. An iron grey truck spits up dust as it follows the subtle up and down of the unpaved lanes.

You wait for them to pass but they don't. Instead, they signal and pull up behind you. A large hand signals through the windshield. You squint and check the locks on the door.

The driver gets out and approaches. You roll the window down and inch before he can tap on the glass. You lean over to peer up at him.

Dark curls, a dark beard, some silver laced through both, and two bold blue eyes above the thick bridge of his nose. He wears a long-sleeved cotton pullover with sweat around the collar. His forearms are exposed under the rolled sleeves as he grips his hips and bends to see you.

"Lost?" He asks.

"Not really," you crinkly the map.

"You sure?"

"Um, yep. Pretty sure the farm I'm looking for is that one right over there." You nod to the north east.

He scoffs. "Hard Top."

"That's the one." You fold up the map.

"Uh huh. Well you just follow me on." He reaches to tap the roof of your car. "It's mine."

You flick your brows and his mouth slants.

"Walter Marshall. You were talking with my partner, Curtis." He explains.

"I was."

"No use keeping him waiting." He drags his hand away. "He's a bit of a grump."

He turns and struts away. You watch him in the mirror as you roll up the window all the way. That's lucky.

You wait for him to get in his truck and pass you. You follow him slowly, crawling along the curve and the subtle incline of the road. You glance over at the fields as you let your foot hover on the brake.

He leads you to the dusty clearing in front of the farmhouse. You park next to him and get out. You open your back door to take out your bag, your water bottle clinking against a buckle as it hangs from a carabiner on the strap.

“Curt!” Walter cups his hand around his mouth as he booms toward the house.

You uncap your bottle and drink as you wait. He turns to you as you twist the top back on. You let it dangle again and rest your hand on your bag.

“I told him to wait outside for you. I had to run into town and get some wire.” He clucks.

“No problem.” You assure him as you turn to take in the expanse.

“We bought this place off a family. Been passed down for decades.” He explained. “We’re thinking vegetables, herbs, some fruits. Buddy has an organic juice business….”

“Hey.” The front door snaps on its hinges.

You turn to the man that stands in front of it. His black shirt is smeared with dirt, the emblem of some metal band mostly obscured. His thick arms and sides are completely exposed by the cut of the fabric. His dark hair is buzzed short, his beard only slightly longer. More stubble than anything.

“I was dealing with the pipes.” He says as he wipes his hands on a rag. His attention darts between Walter and you. “You must be… I’m Curtis.”

“That’s me.” You assure him. “I got everything ready to go.”

“Cool. So, we’re thinking veggie patches—”

“Already gave her the breakdown, bud. Maybe next time, you won’t be late,” Walter interjects.

“I was here.” Curtis growls.

You shift awkwardly.

“What was planted before?”

“Wheat? Grains. There’s a few pear and apple trees still around and healthy strawberry patches we’ve kept going.” Curtis comes down the steps of the porch and tucks the rag in his pocket.

“Mm. Well, today I can do a quick test. I have a few kits in my bag. I’ll need to take samples back for more intensive testing and compare to the topology of the fields. Do you have a map of the plots that belong to you?”

“Huh, she’s thorough,” Walter comments.

You barely twitch. This is your work. You know what you’re doing. If you really wanted to be complicated, you’d speak like you do at the lab.

“Have to be. You’re paying for it.” You assure him without a look.

“Well, let us show you around. It’s a pretty big place so no use wasting time.” Curtis says and gets a snort from Walter. “I can get you a map of the plots. Might have to draw it out but I’ve got the deed here. There’s some coordinates on there…”

“No problem.” You nod.

“Here, it’s a bit of a walk,” Walter startles you as he grabs the strap of your bag.

“Oh, I got it.”

“Looks heavy.” He tugs and you cling for just a moment before you let go. “Come on. It’s only gonna get hotter out here.”

You repress your irritation. It wouldn’t be the first time the old-fashioned type treated you like ‘a lady’. Sometimes it can be endearing, mostly it’s demeaning.

Walter waves you ahead of him as Curtis points to the east. “We’ll start over here.”

You follow him around the house and along the strips between the patches of turned soils. When you come to the border of their holding, you turn to Walter and ask for your bag. His hand twitches on your water bottle then slides up the strap. He hands it over.

You dig inside for a quick kit. You put on some gloves and start the process. You’re overly aware of them watching, standing side by side just to your right.

“This will mostly check the PH of the soil,” you explain. “It’s typically easy enough to balance it out or at least plant according to the results. Once I have the lab results back for my other tests, we can determine anything that isn’t viable this season. Unfortunately, it can take a lot of time to revive arable land.”

Curtis hums. Walter shifts in his boots.

“You been doing this a long time?”

“Almost fifteen years.” You put in the neutralizer and wait for the results.

“Fifteen? You don’t look that old…” He muses.

You ignore that. Comments like that also aren’t unusual. You’re surprised he hasn’t commented that he expected a man but then again, you think your name might have spoiled the surprise.

You continue around the farmland. It’s tedious work. Quick tests then scooping up soil to deposit in your labeled vials. At points, you dig down deep into the sediment.

You pause to grab your water bottle and gulp. Sweat stains your scalp and dampens the insides of your gloves. You put the cap on and press on.

“More water in the house if you need it,” Curtis offers.

“Thanks. It’s a big bottle.” You counter.

As you make your way around the strips of land, the sun beats down, ringing in your vision. You try to blink away the glare as even your lashes feel sweaty. You squat down to get another sample but as you stand, you sway and stumble.

“Woah, you good?” Walter asks.

You flick your lashes and look at him. “Fine.”

You fumble to seal the sample and tuck it in your bag. You take another swig from your bottle. It’s empty. You put the cap on again and sigh. You’re almost done.

You try to lift the bag and the weight tips you over before you can stand. You fall onto it and groan. You shake your head. Something’s not right.

“Hey, you okay?” Walter asks as you’re pulled back.

Curtis lets you fall onto your back in the dirt. You grumble as your arms fall limp at your sides. You can’t move. What the hell is going on?

Curtis stares at you, touching your cheek then your forehead. Your eyelids flutter and he holds his fingers under your nose to check your breathing.

“How much did you put in?”

“Enough.” Walter answers as he unclips your bottle and shakes it. “I didn’t think she’d drink it all.”

Curtis sighs.

“We need to get her out of the sun.”

🌼

Black lightens to grey. Your mind slowly grinds back into motion as your body comes back into being. You climb out of the pit of your unconscious up into the gloom of your current predicament.

Your finger twitches. That effort alone aches. You bend two, then three, then curl up a whole fist. You raise your hand and let it fall as the weight thrums in your forearm.

You smell dirt and sweat. Your mind flashes with your last memories. Laying in the dirt, writhing and weak, the sun beating down, two shadows looming above.

You open your eyes and quickly close them again. It’s not real. It has to be a dream. These things don’t happen like this. It was a job, not…

No, it was a trap.

You look again. You stare at the wooden slats of the wall. The dark stain is faded and a few scratches mark the passage of time. You turn your head. The space is typical of an old farmhouse, but not airy as you would expect. The small room is stagnant and damp.

You know that scent too. A basement. You shudder as your chest locks up. Breathe.

You press your hands down and sit up with a grunt. The effort is enough to make you dizzy. You fall onto one elbow before you can keel over the side of the bed.

You take in the space. A wooden wardrobe, the bed, a night table with a lamp on top, a threadbare rug. There’s a small sink in the corner and a mirror. It’s all very simple.

You push yourself up again and angle your legs one by one over the edge. You’re not stupid enough to stand. You hunch forward and hug your middle.

You remember Walter taking your bag, walking behind you. You never heard a thing. He was quick.

But why? Why all of this?

You don’t see any chains or torture devices but maybe they’ll bring those out later. You doubt these things are as dramatic as those dismal Netflix miniseries. It’s not all aesthetic, it’s just a woman locked in a sad room in a basement.

You wallow in the silence. Your breath is the only sound until the grind of metal scrapes from the door. You wince and peek over as the hinges whine.

You grip the edge of the mattress. Walter tuts and shuts the door.

“Try to stand up and see what happens.”

You lift your chin and scowl at him. There’s no point in asking what or why. You look at his hands. No knife, nothing. Well, he’s big enough to kill you with his own strength.

He closes the door. You watch him. He faces you and stares.

“Well? Questions?” He prompts.

You glare at him. He waits. You don’t say a word.

“Alright, well, I suppose we’ve all waited long enough.”

He turns and goes to the wardrobe. He opens it. He takes out a dress with a dandelion pattern. It’s cut in an old farm style with buttons down the front.

He offers it to you as you stare. You don’t move. He steps closer.

“You’re in no shape to fight.” He warns.

You tilt your head up and grimace. “What is wrong with you?”

His lips curve slightly.

“I’m just like every other man. I’m just honest about it. I know what I want and need.” He bends and places the dress on your lap. His nose almost touches yours. “You can deny it in yourself but you’re a woman and women need men.”

You swallow tightly. His hands spread over the dress and feel your thighs through the fabric. He leans in to drag the tip of his nose up yours.

“I’m the nice one, sweetheart, so do yourself a favour and get changed.”

He squeezes then pushes away. He turns and marches to the door, not looking back as he leaves. You huff and bite the insides of your cheeks.

You drop your head and touch the dress. Your hands hurt. Your veins are tight but hollow, tendons strained. You feel the cotton and shiver. You know he’s right. You don’t have a choice; well, you have one. To make it worse for yourself.

You slowly unfold the dress. The effort alone is enough to make you shake. Or maybe that’s the fear.

You put the dress aside and undress. Your boots are already gone; your jacket too. You strip down to your plain cupless bra and high-rise panties. You take a deep breath and let it out as you stand.

You sway and remind yourself not to lock your knees. You grab the dress and unbutton it. You pull it on and pull through each button one by one. It’s tight and the buttons pull against the holes. When you finish, you sit again.

What do you do now but wait? You feel useless and helpless and stupid. Are you just accepting this? Everyone has a plan but how do you really plan for this?

When the door opens again, you don’t react. The shadow approaches you and grabs your arm. Walter sighs.

“You need help?” He asks.

You shake your head and stand. You try to shrug him off but he clings to you. He takes you through the door.

It’s brighter in the next room. The aromas in the air make your stomach grumble. You’re hungry. Something’s cooking.

There’s a dining table on a patterned rug; a kitchenette along one wall; fridge, stove, sink, cupboards. You notice the locks on all of them. Curtis has his back to you as he uses a spatula to transfer food from a skillet to a plate. Walter makes you sit in one of the wooden chairs and stands behind you, his hands on your shoulders.

The details start to tweak in your head. Curtis wears a black button up and slacks. Walter has changed too; a grey button-up and dark shade of pants. They’ve both cleaned themselves up.

Curtis turns and brings over two plates. He places one before you on a crochet dish mat and another at another seat with the same setting. Walter lets go of you and sits. Curtis returns and takes the third plate. He joins you at the table, his hands framing his plate as he looks at you.

“That dress is nice on you.” He says.

“Bit small.” Walter remarks. “Tight.”

You grit your teeth.

“Bit older than I expected too…” Walter adds.

Curtis sniffs. “Shut up. She’s… beautiful.”

You look away. Stolid silence roils around you. Walter is the first to move. He picks up his fork and stirs the penne on his plate. Curtis taps his fingers on the table.

“Eat,” he commands.

Your eyes meet his. His jaw is set. Walter eats without pretense.

“I’m not hungry–”

“I can hear your stomach. Eat.” He demands. “No use drugging you again, is there?”

You stare at him and take your fork. You poke a piece of zucchini and lean forward slightly. You push it into your mouth. He picks up his own fork.

“You really do look good,” he snarls as his eyes narrow, his lip twitching. “Doesn’t she?”

Walter hums and swallows. “Tits are nice.”

Curtis sighs. “Jesus.”

🌼

Your hunger is replaced with unease. Your stomach churns around the meal as you remain in the chair. Curtis gets up and gathers the empty plates. Walter stands and slaps his stomach. He nudges you.

“Come on.”

You hesitate then stand. He takes you back to the small room and shoves you inside. The door shuts heavily behind you.

You go back to the bed and sit. You climb up into the corner and fold your arms over your knees. You slump and close your eyes.

You stay like that until the door opens again. It’s Curtis. He has a zip-up bag in his hand.

“You need to get ready for bed.” He says as he shuts the door.

You stare. He goes to the sink. He puts the bag down beside the faucet and unzips it.

“Get over here.”

You stay. You’re annoyed. You’re not a dog. He speaks to you like one.

He sighs. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You don’t move.

He pulls his hand out of the bag and marches over to the bed. He grabs your ankles and drags you across, the blankets rumpling beneath you. You cry out as you try to kick free.

“One last chance to get on your feet or I will drop you on your ass.”

He lets you go. Your ankles throb. You let your feet dangle and stand.

He grips your shoulder and walks you to the sink. He pulls out a tooth brush and tooth paste. He wets the bristles then puts the paste on. You reach for it and he slaps your hand down.

“Open.”

Your lip curls before you force yourself to obey. It’s so strange. He brushes your teeth as you try not to gag. He finishes and fills a plastic cup and tells you to rinse. You do.

Next, he pulls out a jar of face scrub. He tells you to wet your face. Then he applies the exfoliant. You flinch. His large hands linger on your cheeks. His eyes dip.

“You really do look… good.”

You avert your gaze. He rinses his hands then grabs the back of your neck. He bends you over the sink and splashes water over your face. He rinses off the beaded wash and hands you a towel. You pat dry as he squeezes moisturiser from a tube.

He rubs his into your skin and down your neck. His hands circle your throat and linger loosely, he hums. He exhales a hot breath over you.

“Change.”

He lets go and crosses to the wardrobe. He opens it and pulls out a linen night gown. It’s about long enough to reach your knees; plain white with straps.

He brings it to you. You reach for it and he shakes his head. “Take the dress off.”

You swallow and look around. “I can do it–”

“Stop. Do it.”

His voice sinks into like an anchor pulling you to a halt that nearly upends you. You lower your chin and close your eyes. Your hands shake as you unbutton the dress. It falls open and reveals the cushion of your chest, stomach, hips, and thighs.

You twitch as his fingertips brush down your neck to your chest and trace the top of your bra.

“Everything.”

You gulp as he takes the dress away. You unhook your bra and he tugs it off your arms. Then you push down your underwear until they fall to your ankles. He bends to snatch them away too.

He looms close then throws the night gown over your head. You bring your arms up to poke through the holes. You open your eyes as he pulls the sheath down your body. It’s tight too, hugging your tits and ass.

His breath scrapes audibly. His hands hover around your sides then drop. He gathers up your clothes and heads for the door.

“Lay down.”

He slams the door behind him.

🌼

You lay in bed but don’t sleep. The lamp is on. You can’t bring yourself to face the dark.

You watch the door. Reality skews as time passes without notice. No tick of the clock, no numbers to count, only those walls and your fear.

The door jars then opens. You sit up. A figure fills the frame.

You stare at Curtis as he tilts his head. He’s naked. You brace yourself.

“Please…”

“Hey…” another voice comes from behind him. “Starting without me?”

Curtis winces and turns. You look away from his naked ass as he faces Walter. The other man snickers.

“Couldn’t sleep, big boy?” Walter taunts.

Curtis shakes his head and turns back. He enters the room. Walter follows and sheds his tee shirt. The door shuts with a loud click.

You push yourself against the wall, curled up as you hold up a hand in defense.

“Please, don’t–”

“Shh,” Walter hushes you as he shoves his flannel pants down his thick legs. His dick bobs up shamelessly as he stands and stretches.

Curtis approaches the bed and latches onto your ankle. You whine as he jerks you away from the wall. You flail as he drags you to the edge. The night gown rolls up above your thighs, exposing you.

“She looks good,” Walter praises as he strokes himself. “Give me her mouth.”

“Take it.” Curtis says as he drops to his knees and pushes yours apart.

You whimper. He grips your knees then slowly kneads up your thighs. Walter climbs up from the foot of the bed and strokes your cheek. You sway him away and he catches your hand. He snickers as he pulls it toward his pelvis.

“Stop! Please–”

“It’s not going to hurt if you’re good,” Walter chides.

You gasp as Curtis’ touch crawls between your thighs. His breath grazes your pelvis and you flinch. You reach down to stop him but once more, you’re slapped away.

Walter pumps himself with one hand as his other grasps your chin. He turns your head and you lock your jaw. He squeezes until your entire skull pulses.

“Don’t be bad.” He warns.

Curtis frames your pelvis, his thumbs stretched down the creases of your thighs.

“Listen.” Curtis growls. He leans in and his breath plumes against your cunt. He nuzzles you and purrs.

Walter presses his tip to your lips as his grip gets even tighter. You open your mouth and whine. He pushes inside and you close your eyes.

Curtis’ tongue grazes along your lips and you shiver. You sink into yourself as he tastes between your folds. The coolness of his mouth flows through your veins.

You tell yourself, beg yourself not too feel. But you feel it all. As Walter dips deeper into your mouth, smothering you, sliding down to your throat. As Curtis flicks his tongue up and down, swiping circles around your clit.

Your body vibrates as they violate you. Curtis reaches up your body, groping and grabbing at your stomach, then your chest. He fondles one tit as Walter grabs the other, still guiding your mouth up and down his length.

Your muscles spasm as you gag. Curtis tickles along your cunt with his fingers and teases your entrance. Walter pushes past your reflex and your eyes water as drool stains your lips and cheeks. Curtis pushes two fingers into you and you squeeze both of them as they invade your body.

They work in tandem, licking, lapping, tugging, thrusting. You can’t breathe, you can’t think, you can’t do anything but let them use you. For all that you can’t do, you feel it all.

Your insides twist and tie up. The tension coils around and around. You press on Walter’s thigh as he dips deeper and deeper and Curtis’ tongue swirls around and around.

You arch your back, toes curling, and the pressure bursts. You whine around Walter as you spasm and cum. Your orgasm dominates you, conquers you, and shatters the last of your resistance.

Neither stop. Walter fists your hair as he fucks your mouth and Curtis rams his fingers in deeper and hard. He sucks on your clit as you clasp at the tangled blanket and choke. You cum again.

He eases you through and drags his wet mouth across your pelvis and hip. He growls.

“Get her up.” He snarls.

Walter pushes in one last time then slides out of your mouth. He pulls you up by your neck and moves you off the bed. Curtis angles around to sit on the edge as Walter guides you onto his lap.

You push back against Walter and he grabs your hip. He leads you down as Curtis’ hand grips your other side. They force you onto Curtis’ dick as he groans. His hand slips to your rear as your walls clench him and you push on his chest.

Walter shoves you down until you cry out. He chuckles and moves your hips. You whine again.

“Is she tight?” Walter growls.

Curtis groans. He leans forward as the night gown droops below your chest and he takes a nipple in his mouth. Walter moves his hand up your back and pushes lightly. Curtis lays back, taking you with him.

Walter keeps your motion. He rubs your ass as guides you up and down Curtis’ length. He steps closer and bends over you.

Curtis reaches down as he nibbles at your chest. He frames his intrusion with his fingers, opening you up as Walter presses against your entrance. You twitch and try to move away.

They hold you in place as Walter pushes into you. He stretches you so much it burns. Just his tip has you trembling and pleading. Curtis hushes you and pets your head.

Walter inches into you, crowding your cunt as it strains around both of them. He presses against your back as he plants his knees between Curtis’ to kneel on the bed. He bends over you and snaps his hips, bottoming out.

You squeal and Curtis grunts. He hisses. “Fuck, she’s… fuck…”

You stare out the window longing to be out in the night air. The motion of the car hums through you as he steers off campus. You watch the signs pass and the tension quickly locks in your joints. You sit up and look around.

“Where are we going?” You ask. You are so tired. You just want to go home and sleep. You have so much to catch up on, you need to go to bed.

“Just around. I like spending time with you, princess,” he reaches over with one hand and pets your cheek with his knuckles. “Don’t you like being with me?”

“Uh, of course, Nick, but… that lecture was really long and…”

“You’re still worn out, huh?” He strokes along your jaw. “I’m not surprised. The way you took me. Mm, good girl.” He taps the brake as he comes up to the red light. “You know I can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t you see, baby? I’m desperate. I’m a mess. For you.”

“Oh…” you rub your arm, shielding your chest as your heart hammers. “I… I like you too but…”

“Like me?” He clucks and flicks his thumb under your chin before rescinding his arm. He slaps his hand back around the steering wheel. “Yeah, I like you too.”

His words are rigid. You’ve done something wrong. Said something wrong. But what else can you say? You’re confused by all of this.

You don’t get these things. You’re not like the girls who giggle at the student cafeteria about the boys. You’ve overhead them talking about one night and nothing more. But this thing with Nick. That was almost a week and then… this?

What does he want from you? You want to ask but you’re so scared. Whenever someone does want something from you, you always just fall short.

You sniff and crane your head. You don’t know this street. You roll your shoulders, trying to loosen them. You hug yourself, squeezing your upper arms.

“Nick, are you taking me home? You said–”

“I said we’re just going for a drive,” he snaps. “Baby girl, what’s going on with you?”

“N-nothing,” you eke out. “I’m… it’s late. That’s all.”

“You don’t wanna hang out with me?”

“No, that’s not–”

“You told me you weren’t that type of girl. I felt you. You’re not. I know it.” He grips the wheel tighter. “Why are you being bad?”

The word falls like an anvil in your lap. Bad? No, you’re his good girl. That’s what he said.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Nick. Really. I don’t mind.” You sink down and bring your thumb up to chew. You inhale and slowly let it out. You drop your hand into your lap. You whisper, “I’ll be good.”

He’s quiet as he turns onto an avenue. He sighs. “You are good, princess. You are. I’m just… You make me like this. I think about you and nothing else and it marks me a bit… uptight.”

“I’m… sorry. I don’t–”

“No, no. It’s not a bad thing. I couldn’t have thought this could be like this but it is and… I’m just thinking about the beach house. About us. About… if that could be forever.” He rasps.

You swallow. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he echos softly. “Yeah, we got things to figure out.”

He rolls back to the main road and turns in the direction of your neighbourhood. You feel better as your surroundings grow more familiar. He’s taking you home.

He pulls up, across the street, at the corner, just like always. He huffs and shifts into park. You bend to lift your bag up into your lap.

He starts you as he reaches across and spreads his hand around the side of your head. You turn to him and his lips are on yours. His grips you with the other hand, locking you in place as his tongue invades your mouth.

You nearly gag around him. His intensity is wrought in his tight grasp and the sloppy eagerness of his lips. He leans into you, curling his fingers into your scalp.

He parts, breathless, and his breath balms over you. Your lips are wet with his spit. He shakes as he squeezes your head until you think it might split.

“I don’t want you to go, baby. Please.” He drawls.

“I have to,” you touch his thick fingers and wince. “Please, Nick. We can see each other tomorrow–”

“Come home with me. Please.” He begs.

“Nick.”

“I can’t sleep without you,” he kisses you again, tugging your lip between his teeth. You wriggle and rub his chest soothingly.

“Nick,” you wisp. “I have class. I have to shower.”

“I have a shower. I have a nice tub with jets, you can soak in there.”

“Please,” you push on his chest firmly. “Nick, I– I need space. I need it.” You shove him with both hands. Not meanly, but enough to breathe. “Please. Okay? I– I’m behind on everything and I need to catch up. After… we can figure this out.”

He’s silent as he lets you go. He slowly recoils and sits straight in his seat. You flinch as if you’ve been struck. You can see you hurt him.

The doors click loudly and unlock.

“Nick, we can talk–”

He buckles his seat belt and grabs the steering wheel. He doesn’t say a word as he shifts into drive. You take the hint.

You undo your seat belt and open the door. You get out and shut it. He drives away without waiting, the tires narrowly missing your toes. You turn and watch his headlights. He doesn’t stop at the sign and veers around the corner with a screech.

Your eyes singe. You messed up, just like you expected.

You squeeze the strap of your bag over your shoulder and traipse across the street. You go up the porch steps and unlock the front door. You take your shoes off and hang your jacket.

“Home late.” Your father’s voice nearly makes you shriek.

You swallow down your fright and turn to him. “You’re… home.”

“Sure am.” His nostrils flare.

“Uh, uber had to take a detour,” you utter. “I had class.”

“I’m aware of your schedule.” He says flatly. “Your brother is sleeping. Has been since before I got here.”

“Oh?” You pout. “I didn’t–”

“You could’ve woke him up for practice. There were League scouts out today.”

You snap your mouth shut. You nod and rock in place. “I’m sorry, dad. I didn’t know he was still here–”

“Uh huh.” He sucks his teeth. “And how’s that? Where’ve you been?”

“What?”

“You’re always around so you would hear him come and go. Right?” He asks.

“Yes, but I…. was studying.”

“In your room?”

“Well, yeah–”

“I told you. You should do it downstairs. You can focus better.” He insists.

“I know. I will. I’m sorry–”

“Doesn’t matter now. He missed it.” He shakes his head and backs up. “Go to bed. After the week I had, I’m over it.”

You slump and back up. “Good night, dad.”

He doesn’t answer you. He’s already heading back into the den. You hear the liquor cabinet and the clink of a glass.

Back to normal. Maybe that’s for the best.

💜

You rub your eye with one hand as you yawn at your textbooks. You didn’t sleep well. Not after arguing with Nick, then your dad.

You barely follow the words on the page. You have to keep going back, over and over. You sip the lukewarm coffee and grumble. You keep forgetting that too. You’re a mess.

You make notes but you don’t know if they make any sense. Nothing does in your head. Oh, god. Why didn’t Nick just bring you back when you asked?

You are so stupid. You should never have done any of that. You’re not like that and to think that it could ever be a good idea. You let yourself get swept up in all that. And it was nice. So nice. You felt special but now you just feel like you again.

Focus. You have class in the afternoon and an assignment you need to get done. Maybe if you go into the library.

You look up as you hear footsteps. You know by the weight and rhythm who it is. It’s your dad.

He enters. He’s in his usual attire. A button up and slacks, but no tie. He steps up behind the chair opposite you.

“Just talked to your brother,” he grips the top of the chair.

“Oh?” You put the pen down. “Is he okay?”

“Wasn’t about him.”

“Okay?” You frown.

“He said you were gone.” Your dad glares at you. You hate that look. That anger in him.

“I had classes when you were away but–”

“He said you didn’t come home at night.” He continues.

“Dad, I was here,” your voice cracks. You’re not a good liar but if he knew the truth…

“I checked the security system. Every key in and key out.” He snarls as he leans forward. “Unlock your phone.”

“Dad?” You sniffle. “It’s–”

“You were in class. So show me. Bring up your gradebook. Now.”

You stare at him. Your eyes glisten. You know you can’t lie to him. You can’t pretend any longer. You’re in big trouble.

Your cheeks tug and you get up. You get your phone from the front room where you left it to charge. You never let him catch you with it while you’re studying.

You login to the learner system and bring up the attendance. You put the phone on the table.

“Sometimes, they don’t update it until late…” you suggest.

He snatches up the phone. He scrolls over with his thumb. His face constricts in fury.

“Where were you?” He looks up at you.

“Dad. I went to class. That’s wrong–”

“Where the fuck were you?” He growls.

You lean back against the chair, hoping to fall right through it into nothing.

“Please. I’m doing good. I got good grades and–”

“Tell me the fucking truth,” he barks. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing–”

“Just like your mother!” He sneers and you wince. He never, ever mentions her. Your lip trembles.

He looks down at your phone. He flicks around. You stand up reflexively and reach across the table. He keeps it out of your grasp.

“Sit down.” He commands.

You drop back into the chair heavily. You watch him in dread. You mop up your tears as they spill down your cheeks.

“I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t.” You babble.

His face is like stone as stares at the screen. You don’t even see him breathing. He drags his thumb up. His eyes slowly rise over the phone and he looks at you. His eyes are filled with disgust.

“Prince Charming…” he utters. You sink down and put your forehead on the table in defeat. He clears his throat. The silence is suffocating.

“Daddy…” you eke out.

“Fowler,” he says staunchly. You lift your head up to look at him. He keeps your phone in front of him as he holds his to his ear. “Got a favour to ask. Intel. You busy?”

You fold your arms around your head and cower. No, no, no.

“Yeah, just got in this morning. I’m beat. Hope you don’t mind I feel and look like shit.” Your dad chuckles breezily. He is so convincing it’s scary. “I’ll have the whiskey ready.”

He hangs up and slides his phone into his pocket. He keeps yours in his hand. He grips it tight as his jaw clenches. He turns the screen to face you. There’s a photo of Nick in almost nothing.

You sip as you tidy up the food. Nick grabs some used skewers before you can and slides them on the cardboard box you're using to hold them. You thank him.

"You really don't have to help." You insist.

"And why do you have to do all the cleaning up?" He wonders. "Doesn't seem fair."

"Well, no one wants ants or hornets invading." You shrug.

"Guess not. How's that seltzer? I grabbed the raspberry. It's... A choice." He grabs his can and eyes it.

"Oh, it's lime I think. I can't really tell the difference."

"Right." He puts the can back in the sand and helps you collect the empty ones.

You're quiet as you work together. It's nice to have help but you're still uneasy. You glance over at the water. Everyone ran back out the moment they got their fill. They're all giggling and touching; Sophie is as good as straddling Colin.

"So... You like your men like you like your alcohol?" Nick asks.

You blink and look at him. "Huh?"

He chuckles. "Strong?" He winks and laughs again. "It's cheesy but I'm trying here."

"Ah, hah." You eke out. You're not sure how to respond.

"Actually, the fake laugh feels worse." He puts the bag of empty cans aside. "All clean, so are you gonna come out in the water now?"

You stare at him. "What?"

"It's hot as hell out here and you've been up on the hot sand all day. You gotta," he insists.

"It's fine. I'm not much of a swimmer."

"I am. I'll make sure you don't drift off to sea."

You soften a sigh. "It's a lake."

"You know what I mean. Come on." He pleads.

You look at him. He's muscular and lean and handsome. He doesn't have to worry about anything.

"Let me just... Take off my cover up and I'll meet you out there.

"You're coming with me," he counters. "So..."

Melina is right. You're a party pooper. This is a vacation and odds are after today, you won't see any of these guys ever again. They aren't there for you.

"Alright." 

You turn and strip off the cover-up hesitantly. You drop it and brace yourself before you turn around. You pass him and head for the water.

Before you can react, he comes up behind you and scoops you up. You cry out as he carries you toward the lapping water. You can't help but cling to him.

"Please, don't --"

Before you can beg him not to drop you, you're in the water. You don't feel so precarious as it lightens the load. But you're embarrassed.

"Please," you wriggle free and put space between you.

"I'm just having fun with you." He says.

"I know. I... I'm just not... I don't like being picked up. It's..." You cross your arms as the water splashes up over your shoulders. "Look at me."

His cheek dimples and he wades closer. His eyes crinkle. "I'm looking." He smirks. "I have been."

You flinch. He's drunk. He's three drinks in and so are you. Let it go and just let him talk. Soon enough, the others will tire themselves out.

"Uh huh," you say as you sink down until you're immersed to your neck.

"Tease," he chuckles and mimics you. "You can't hide forever."

You stare at him. He's really trying to get to you but you can't tell if he really means any of it. If he does, would he just laugh about it after with all his fit friends?

"So... You have a place up here?" You ask, hoping to shift focus.

"Nah. Colin." He drifts closer to you. "It's not bad. Secluded but I prefer the Carribean. You been?"

You shake your head. "Too hot."

"Eh, the less you wear, the less you notice," he winks.

Your lashes flick. "Do you think you should have some water?"

"I'm buzzed," he waves you off. "I'm fine."

"Hm, okay." You accept. "But I think I might need some."

"Sure, babe, sounds like a plan."

You wade around him but he moves with you. You stop.

"You can wait here. I'll be right back." You assure him.

"I don't know. I feel like you're tryna run away." He grins.

"I'm just getting water." You promise.

You back away cautiously. You turn to head for the shore and as you come out of the water, it soaked down your thighs as your swimsuit clings to your skin. You're too self-aware to reach back and fix it as it rides up your butt.

A whistle sounds from behind you. You glance over your shoulder as Nick waves. You quickly spin back and hurry to the cooler.

Maybe it's you. Maybe you had one too many. You take out a water bottle and twist the cap. You take a deep gulp and gasp at the coolness.

You turn and peer out at the water again. Nick is watching you. You’re less annoyed and more uneasy. Something about him is off. Most guys would take a hint by now.

It’s not anything to do with his looks, you just didn’t come here to hook up. And definitely not to be the DUFF. You put the bottle down and drag your feet through the sand. Just a little longer. The sky is starting to dim.

You push your legs through water as Nick reaches for you. You evade his hand.

“Brr, getting chilly, huh?” He drawls.

“A little, you say as you stir the water with your hands.

“Come here,” he gets close and wraps his arms around you. You let out and oomph and put your hands against his chest as he draws you in. “Just relax, sweetheart. You gotta try to enjoy your vacation.” He sways with you in the waves. “Look at your friends. They’re having fun.”

You glance over. They’re a bit further away than you expected. Sophie and Colin are headed to the beach, Melina and her guy are close and chatting near the sand bar, and Lindsay is entwined with her match.

“Don’t you want to have some fun?” He asks.

You look at him and flinch as he crashes his lips into yours. You grunt and lean your head back, gasping up at the sky. “Nick–”

“Shh, baby. You’re gonna ruin it for everyone else.” He growls. “I’m not doing nothing. Just easing you in.”

“Can you let me go?” You wriggle in his grasp, your arms bent and trapped against him. He’s stronger than you expect, not that you wrestle men often.

“Sh-sh-sh,” he hushes you as he keeps one arm around you and the other snakes down. His hand brushes down your side and he grips the meat of your hip. You buck against him.

“Nick,” you yelp.

“Shut the fuck up!” His eyes darken as his voice grits in his throat. “Don’t be a fucking drama queen and calm down. Your friends aren’t gonna be too happy if you cockblock them.”

“What–” You crane to see Lindsay as she grinds on her guy in the water.

“Probably why they left you up on the sand so be a good girl…” he feels along the front of your swimsuit. “And just be quiet.”

He pushes his fingertips against the wet fabric along your crotch. You twitch and spread your hands over the top of his chest. You look him in the face and wince.

“Why are you doing this?” You hiss.

“Because you got me fucking hard wiggling that ass around. Why do you think?” He shoves his fingers between your folds, the wet suit chafing your cunt. “Fuck, you’re so soft.”

He pushes the fabric aside and slips between your lips. You flinch again. He rubs you as you try to find your footing as the silt slips between your toes. He purrs and flicks his fingers back and forth. Heat thrums beneath his touch and your slickness glazes his fingers.

You gasp in shock and shame.

“Please…” you beg.

He smirks and leans in. He once more presses his lips to yours. You whine as he pokes his finger inside you. You squeeze your eyes shut and dig your nails into his skin. He prods you with another finger and dips it in with the other.

You clench his hand between your thighs. He pushes against your clit as his fingers sink in deeper. He rocks his hand as his other crawls up your back and cradles your head. He keeps you trapped against him, even as you claw down his chest.

He chuckles and drags his lips across your cheek. “You’re going to cum. I can feel it.” He rasps. “I know you can too.”

You close your mouth and whimper. Your thighs tauten as you crush his hand. The water churns as his motion grows frantic. You gnash your teeth and drone as your walls pulse around him. You orgasm silently as you choke on your voice.

“See?” He snarls as he nuzzles your cheek. “You can stop acting like I’m the bad guy sweetheart.”

🏖️

“They’re going to come back and have some drinks,” Sophie slurs.

You gulp and resist the urge to look over your shoulder. You know Nick is there, with the others, waiting, watching. The scratches on your thighs burn.

“Do you think you need more, Soph?” You ask.

“Oh, stop,” Lindsay whines. “Some of us actually want to get laid.”

You frown. “That’s fine, Lindsay. I just don’t know about having them around the cottage.”

“It’s not your place,” Lindsay sneers.

“I know. It’s just–”

“Nick’s cute,” Melina nudges you playfully. “Don’t be shy.”

You sigh. No one is listening to you. No one ever pays attention to you. You bet if you told them what happened in the water, they wouldn’t believe you. Why would Nick do that? A guy that looks like him doesn’t have to do that.

“Okay, whatever,” you shrug and spin away.

You finish packing up the cooler. You can go to your bunk and tell them all to piss off. What other choice do you have?

As you shut the lid and haul the much lighter cooler across the sand, Nick grabs the handle of the wagon. You try not to show your disappointment. He winks as you approach.

“I’ll help.” He insists.

You nod and drag the cooler past him. The sand clogs the wheels. The others are loud. The girls squeal and the men chuckle.

As the cooler bounces up after you, you slip. Nick catches you behind, his hand firmly on your ass. “Woah, careful.”

You quickly pull away and keep going. The trees are swathed in darkness as you follow the trail back. The air is frigid as your damp swimsuit clings to your skin.

“Scared?” Nick wonders as he gets closer.

“No,” you mutter. “It’s just… we should get back soon. Before the animals smell the food.”

“I’ll protect you, baby.” He snickers.

You don’t respond to that. You continue along as you stare ahead at girls and their men du jour. They’re all too drunk and horny to know better.

The cottage comes into sight. Sophie spins and extends her arms as she welcomes in her guests. She says something snarky you can’t hear but the tilt of her head is enough. She leads them up the steps as you guide the cooler carefully down the incline.

The back door snaps shut. Just a little further. You yawn and cover your mouth. Suddenly, the cooler stops and you’re yanked back by the abrupt stop.

Before you can turn around, there’s a hand over your mouth and an arm around your middle. Shoot. Why did you stay so close to him?

You garble into his hand and slap his side. You writhe and kick your feet around blindly. He hushes you and pulls you back into the trees.

“Please, sweetheart. We both know the others aren’t gonna come looking for you.” He taunts.

You bite the heel of his hand and he hisses. He rips it away and grips your hair. You shriek and he shakes you by your roots until you quiet. Your eyes gloss with tears as you grasp at his thick wrist.

“Please. Don’t do this.” You beg.

“Don’t do what? I know the kind of girl you are. You mope in the corner and cry about how no one wants you.” He scoffs as he twists your hair in his hand. You whimper as he forces you down to your knees. “And the moment someone does, you’re playing the nun.”

He gets behind you and bends to snarl against your ear. “I fucking want you, baby. So fucking bad.”

He grabs your chin and forces your head back. He presses his crotch against you and rocks his hips. You quiver as your scalp burns.

“Down, down, down,” he urges you forward. “On your stomach.”

You let him lower you onto your front. The scent of dirt invades your nose with the dingy tint of the lake clinging to your skin. You lay flat, arms bent, palms to the ground. 

He drops onto his knees and straddles you. You sniffle as he bends over you.

“Listen…” He hushes you.

You can hear a buzz. Music. It’s blasting inside the cottage.

“So you go ahead and make all the noise you want,” he sits back on your thighs and slaps your ass with both hands. He pushes your cheeks together and growls. “Fuck, look at you.”

Your lip trembles as you let your head fall down. Your cheek rests on a patch of grass and you stare off into the greying shadows. He kneads your flesh and growls again.

“Come on, baby, I’m a good guy. So good I’m going to eat this cake up.”

He spreads his hands across your ass and jiggles it.  He brushes up around your hips and along your sides. He flips up your coverup and hooks his fingers under the straps of your swim suit. He peels it off, inch by inch, jerking you as he rips it down in jolts.

He strips you completely and flings the wet fabric away. You lift your head and push your knees down into the dirt. You try to raise yourself up only for him to shove you back down.

He tuts and pushes his hand against your cunt. He rubs you harshly as he hums and pulls his knees between your thighs. He slides down and his hot breath tickles your flesh. You twitch as he frames your ass with his large hands and spreads your cheeks.

You squeak as his tongue circles your tight ring. You twitch and reach back, shocked by the sensation. He snaps at your fingers, pinching a knuckle, and you recoil.

He buries his face in your ass and swipes his tongue down. You squirm and ball your fist, whining as he teases you, swirling and swirling. Your body responds even as your mind resists. Even as you brain screams for you to stop him.

He hums and laps you up hungrily. His spit stains your flesh and mingles with the slickness dripping from your cunt. You groan and cover your head with your arm, trying to hide, from him and yourself.

He drags his tongue, spreading it wide, and lifts himself up. He sighs and lets you go. You shudder and peek back at him. He rips his shorts down and catches your hips as you try to get up again.

He pulls you back, raising your hips as he rams your ass against him. He chuckles and wiggles against you. His dick brushes between your cheeks. He slides a hand down your back and grips your shoulder. He pins your chest to the dirt as he keeps your ass aloft.

He guides his tip down to your cunt. He glides along your wet folds, up, down, up again. He wets himself with your stolen arousal and groans. He lines himself up with your entrance.

He pokes his wide thumb into you. You clench. He laughs again as he prods at you with his tip. He stretches you around his thumb and tip. You whine and claw at the dirt.

He pulls out and pushes back in. His voice crackles in his throat. “Mmm, you’re so tight.” Once more, he dips in only his tip and pops back out. He squeezes your shoulder tight.

He slides his thumb out of you and grips himself. He guides himself deeper. Not much. Just and inch. He rocks. Fucking you just a little. Just enough.

His voice rises, swallowed up into the silence of the trees. The night seeps between the tree trunks and clothes you in shadow. The moonlight leaks through the rustling leaves above.

“Baby,” he purrs and sinks in further. Still not all the way. He continues his steady rhythm. In, out, in, out. Your cunt twitches around him.

He leans over you as he snakes his hand under your pelvis. He rolls your clit under his fingertips. You whimper as your eyes roll back. No, no, no,. Not again.

You cum. You can hear it as he continues to fuck you. He delves in further. Just until you cry out.

“Too much, baby?” He snickers. “Huh? That pretty little pussy needs patience, huh?”

He swirls his fingers as you shake. You bite your tongue and grasp at your hair. Your voice tumbles out in broken moans.

“Yeah, baby,” he slides back to his tip, “I can go slow.”

He pushes back in. Little by little, deeper and deeper. Deeper than before. He bottoms out and holds himself there. You quiver around him and groan.

“Come on, already,” Sophie pulls open the screen door.

“I’m coming,” you sigh. “Soph, I’m just making sure we got everything.”

“You worry too much.” She sips on her travel wine glass; a perfect shade of rose gold. She’s already buzzed and it’s not even noon.

“Yes, yes, I got it. Who has the cooking gear?” You unfold the handle from the lid and drag the cooler after you.

“Lindsay, maybe? I dunno.” She rolls her eyes. “We’re just going to the beach. It’s not that far. We can always run back for whatever we need.”

She’s right but at the same time, you know better than to think it’ll be her coming back. You shrug it off. Oh well. Whatever you forget, you forget.

You roll the cooler outside as she bounces down the wooden steps. You haul it down to the ground and follow her around the cabin. It’s her family’s place. They let the lot of you infest it for a week every summer for your annual girls’ trip.

“Are we set?” Melina asks as she stands by the wagon; it’s loaded with folding beach chairs, an umbrella, the mini grill, towels, and everything you kept in a list on your phone.

“All good,” you say as the cooler rumbles behind you.

Sophie, Lindsay, and Melina walk ahead of you. Right past the wagon. You grab the handle and pull both it and the cooler with you.

The bumpy path evens out near the dock but angling your tow through the woods is a challenge. The three of the gab mindlessly as you follow.  

You’re sweating and nearly falling out of your sandals. You knew you should’ve worn sneakers but Melina made fun of you. It’s the beach not a marathon. Maybe not for them.

You don’t mind. You’re a bit of a busy body. It keeps you from wallowing on the things you can’t change. On things you’ve tried to change. Get out of your head, you’re here to have fun. It’s a vacation.

“What do you think?” Lindsay turns and opens her striped caftan, showing off her strapless blue bikini with the fringe beneath the bra cups. “Too much?”

“Who are you showing off for?” Melina pokes her toned stomach.

“One more drink and your tits will be out,” Lindsay shoots back. “I talked to Marlo down across the lake. Her husband told her he saw you.”

“Free show. Perv.” She chuckles.

Your cheeks burn. You remember that. They all ended up skinny dipping last time. Despite their babbling invitation to join, you insisted on cleaning up the mess on the shore. That persistent motto plays again; someone has to.

They get further from you as they head down the incline to the beach. The dirt loosens and the wheels start to clog. You have to make a choice.

You leave the wagon halfway up and lift the cooler. You bring it down to the flat and set it down. You wipe the sweat from your face and stand up.

“Uh, where’s the umbrella?” Sophie shields her eyes, even as they’re hidden behind nearly opaque sunglasses.

“One sec, I gotta go back up.” You heave.

You wait. None of them offer to help. Lindsay puts down her sunbag and searches inside. “Sun screen?”

You relent and climb back up to get the wagon. You push it through the sand at it sinks further and further. Finally, it’s close enough. No thank you, no comment. The other girls scavenge it around you.

You lay your towel out next to Sophie’s. She takes off her sheer coverup. She’s in a bikini which consists of only a few triangles. You try not to stare.

Lindsay drops her caftan as Melina spreads sun lotion over her back. The strapless bikini hugs her pert chest perfectly. Melina wears a one piece which is barely that. The only thing connecting the top and bottom are a few criss cross straps.

You sit and put cream on your exposed bits. Up to your knees, just in case your cover-up slips; all the way up your arms since the sleeves are thin, and across your face, neck, and chest. 

You snap the cap down and look out across the water. It’s a nice day. Just enjoy it. Don’t worry about everything. Not the food, or the girls’ or even yourself.

You pull your hand away from your stomach consciously. You frown and sit on the towel. The girls open the cooler and search for a prize.

“Gimme,” Sophie snatches one of her mini bottles of sparkling wine.

Lindsay takes out a colourful  can. “Oooh, do you want one of the rocket pop drinks?” She offers you.

“Oh, no, I’ll just have one of mine.” You assure her. “Any grapefruit left?”

You know there is. You’ve had one drink since you got in last night. They sat and played poker, or their interpretation of it, and got drunk while you unpacked. You could’ve been here earlier if they didn’t sleep in.

Lindsay hands you one of the sugar-free seltzers. They are awful. You can barely taste the citrus but anything that tastes good is loaded with sugar. If you’re drinking alcohol, you may as well try to cut out the other vices.

“How’s Dom?” Sophie asks Melina.

“Wouldn’t know. Last I saw, he’s on Insta with some OF girl in Bermuda,” she scoffs and takes a deep gulp of her vodka mixer.

“Oh, Melly,” you say.

“It’s whatever. He’s stupid.” She shrugs as her golden skin glistens in the sunlight.

“What about Zeke?” She hurls back at Sophie.

Sophie giggles then rolls her eyes. “No.”

“No?” Lindsay muses.

“No.” Sophiie says firmly. “Forget about them. Girls’ trip.”

“Yeah,” you agree. You’re happy you didn’t have to say it. You probably wouldn’t, out of embarrassment. You don’t have any guys to talk about. Or girls. Or anyone.

“I’m ready to swim,” Sophie gets up. “Anyone else?”

“I’ll go later,” you assure her. Like last year, you probably won’t but you don’t want to spoil the fun.

Lindsay hops up. “Come on. I haven’t been in water all summer.”

They run off and you look down at your can of seltzer and vodka. You drink cautiously. Melina sighs and spreads out against her beach chair.

“What’s up?” She asks from under her sun hat.

“Nothing,” you frown. “What’s… up with you?”

“Come on, you know we don’t judge.”

“I don’t know…”

“Why are you hiding?” She pushes the brim of her hat up. “You should enjoy the sun. The water. Don’t worry about anything else.

Well… someone has to.

“I know. I’m just… easing in.”

“Alright,” she says doubtfully and lets her hat fall down. “It’s just, we came to have fun. We don’t need any dark clouds.”

You chew your lip and mull her words. She’s right. You don’t want to be a damper on girls’ week and it isn’t fair to let your issues dim everyone else’s shine.

You clear your throat and throw back half the can of seltzer. You hiss at the sting in your throat and check the label. That’s strong. 15%? Jeez.

You balance the can in the sand as your stomach burns. Whew. You get up on your knees and tug the tails of your cover-up from under your knees. You peel it over your head. It’s a weight off your shoulders.

You sit back in just your one-piece. You do like it. It’s cute. Barbie pink with polka dots. You were hoping for something elegant with floral but it was on sale. And it fits. Ish.

“That’s it, girl,” Melina chuckles and slurps down vodka. “Get wild.”

🏖️

While you found the courage to come out from under the shield of your cover-up, you still haven’t gone in the water. Instead, you lay on your towel, stretched out on your stomach, and read the comic you’ve been bingeing on your work breaks. Now, you have no limits.

As you work on your second can of seltzer, you find you’re having to reread certain frames. You probably won’t get through much more or you won’t remember what happened. The seltzer is strong but it’s easier to put back the more you drink. It even tastes better.

You close your eyes as the bluetooth speaker buzzes with the classic pop playlist. Typical girls’ nonsense. Basic bitches to the core.

You hear splashing in the water and Sophie’s giggles get closer. You roll over and sit up, the comic falling closed, forgotten. Your face falls as you find her not alone.

“Hey, look who we found.” She proclaims.

“Um… who?” You grab your cover-up and pull it over your thighs.

“This is Colin,” she chimes. “His parents own a cabin out here too. He’s got his whole posse out here.”

“Posse?” You lean and look around them. Sure enough, the other girls are hanging off other strange men.

“Cool,” you eke out. “Should I start on the food?”

“Don’t worry about cooking right now. We have snacks. I’m just getting Colin a drink.”

She stumbles through the sand and throws up the lid on the cooler. She reaches inside and takes out a whiteclaw. You smile at Colin then look away.

He’s tall and muscular and by all standards, a hunk. Your face burns but it isn’t from the sun. You’re embarrassed. How long had those men been hanging around?

“You should come out in the water,” Sophie whines as she hands him the can. “It’s so much fun.”

“In a little. I want to finish my drink.” It’s a lie but she’s too drunk to care. She’s already latched onto him and dragging him across the sand.

You swoop your cover-up over your head and lift yourself up to pull it down your legs. You grab your can of seltzer and empty it. So much for a girls’ trip.

You ignore the voices in the water. You search Melina’s phone for a new playlist. You keep your back to the rabble as you try to block it out. You put the comic back in your bag. You should just start lunch.  The alcohol will catch up with all of you eventually.

You get up and go to the cooler. You flip the lid and take out the skewers you prepared that morning. It’s a good thing you packed extra. Even if you didn’t expect company, you hate to be rude.

You take out the mini grill and find a good spot for it. You unfold the legs and twist the small propane tank onto the hook-up. You light it and wait for it to heat.

“Hey,” a deep voice turns your spine rigid. “Anything I can help with?” You focus on what you’re doing. “Hey?”

You turn to look at the man. You hoped he might be with one of the others. Talking to them, not you.

He’s tall too. And muscular. Thicker than Colin. The hair on his head and chest is darker too. More chestnut than sandy. His eyes are a bold blue and his cheekbones and jaw are perfectly hewn.

“Not really,” you shrug. “Just skewers.”

“Oh, cool,” he says. “Well, I’m a bit bored getting splashed in the face.” He flicks water from his hair. “You look a little lonely so…”

You swallow a cringe. You know what he’s doing. He’s the odd man out. You really hate this whole charade.

“Do you prefer chicken or steak?” You ask.

He chuckles as he gets closer. “I got a decent appetite. I’ll eat whatever.”

“Mm, um…. Did you want a drink or something? They’re in the cooler.” You point without looking up. You feel him looking at you. You know what he’s thinking and you try not to think the same.

“Guess I should join in. I was tryna be good this weekend but…” he strides over to the cooler. “Didn’t expect to meet you girls.”

You nod. You don’t know what to say. He doesn’t have to worry about you. Not like that.

“What do you recommend? Orange creamsicle?” He reads a can. “Sounds like a pukey hangover.”

“I… the seltzers are mine. I haven’t tried anything else.” You say as you place the skewers on the grill and close the lid.

“Hm, fifteen percent? Wow. Heavyweight.” He clicks his tongue. “Mind if I snag one?”

“Help yourself.”

He closes the cooler and cracks a can. He takes a sip and coughs. “Ooh, bubbly.” Your lips curve and you choke on a laugh. He nears again. “Got you.”

You squint and look up at him, shielding your eyes against the sun. “What?”

“You smiled. I got a smile.”

You shake your head. You plant a foot and nearly slip. He offers his hand. Shoot. You really don’t want to fall on your face.

You grab his hand and let him help you up. You sidle past him to the cooler and open it up. You check the container of potato salad and the macaroni salad. Got all the condiments too. Good, you were starting to doubt yourself.

“Mm, those smells good,” he says.

“Yeah, they do.” You fan out a blanket over the sand and start setting out the plastic plates and the sides. Your stomach growls loudly.

“Hungry?” He asks.

You look up sharply and sit back on your heels. You instinctively tug on your coverup. You shrug and go back to what you’re doing.

He nears and smooths the corner of the blanket as it folds under. You just focus on your task. You want to tell him to go back in the water and have real fun.

“I didn’t mean it like that. So you know.” He says. “I’m just tryna get to know you.”

You’re quiet as you get up and go back to the grill. He hovers over you.

“I probably should have started with my name.” He says. “I’m Nick.”

You nod and check the skewers. You turn them with the tongs. You enunciate your name.

“You don’t have to stick around. Food won’t be ready for a bit.” You assure him.

“Who says I don’t want to?” He gets down to his knees across from you. “One of the others, Laura?”

“Lindsay?” You correct him.

“Yeah. She said you work with animals. That’s pretty cool.”

“I’m a vet tech. I mostly deal with sick ones,” you explain. “It’s not that cool. Trust me.”

“I think so.” He says. “Sounds like you earned this vacation.”

He takes another swig and sniffs. “Wowee. That is potent. How are you doing, sweetheart? You need a top up?”

You look around and grab your can. You check it. Maybe a mouthful.

“Got a bit left,” you say and put it down.

 “What number is that?” He points to the can.

“Second one.” You reply.

“Ah, well, seems like I need to catch up,” he chugs more. As he lowers the can, he covers his mouth with his fist and suppresses a burp. “Mmph,” he slaps his chest. “Don’t worry, I can do it.”

You look at him. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“You worried about me, sweetheart?” He winks.

You crinkles your brow. “I’m worried about having to drag you out of the sand.”

He chuckles. “I love a woman who can take care of me.”