by Bella King
At this point, it might actually be better to walk back to the school and crawl through the broken window of Amber’s car to sleep inside. Nobody is going to attempt to remove that hunk of metal from the parking lot in this weather. I’d be safer there than under this bridge.
I crouch down, placing my skateboard on the slanted ground to sit on it. The water in the creek is nearly pinning me against the wedge where the bridge meets the soil, creeping up to the tips of my feet and washing over the wheels of my skateboard. This is seriously bad news.
I look out from under the bridge, watching the thick white rain pour down so hard that I can’t see a damn thing past it. I’m boxed in by the threat of getting soaked to the bone, but I must leave soon or risk being washed away by the raging waters of the creek. What was once my safe haven could become my grave if I don’t move quickly.
I listen to the rain as it begins to slow. The white noise of a million drops hammering against the earth has lessened enough for me to make a run for it. It will take at least ten minutes of sprinting to get back to the school, but I think I can handle it. As long as the rain stays steady or gets lighter, I’ll be able to reach safety and sleep well tonight.
Call me an optimist.
I stand up the best I can with such a low ceiling, trying not to scrape my head against the soggy wooden boards above me. They’ve already begun to drip dirty water into my hair, unable to hold back the sheer amount of rain that’s hitting them.
I grab my skateboard, holding it like a football as I hesitate to run out. I’m left with no other choice as the water reaches my shoes, soaking into the fabric and running between my toes.
I dig my feet into the mud and spring out into the open. I may get soaked, but it’s better than drowning.
Chapter Seven
Amber
I made a mistake.
The rain is cold, and the hoodie I have on is soaked so badly that it weighs me down as I walk. I’d be warmer not wearing it at all, so I slip it out over my arms, shrugging it past my bookbag and letting it plop onto the sidewalk behind me.
I’ve been walking for half an hour, and I’m going to die before I reach my mom’s house. This is no joke. The rain is so cold that my fingers and cheeks are numb. I can’t even feel the aching pain of my feet anymore because my toes are numb too. I must find shelter immediately.
I stop walking, wrenching at the gray matter in my brain for some memory of a shelter that I might have passed. Anything, whether it be a large tree or an old shack, would be better than walking in the open under the cruel downpour of rain.
I’m going to kill whoever fucked up my car. I’m going to make them pay.
I turn around, jogging back down the sidewalk toward the skate park. It hasn’t been that long since the rain started, and maybe Flint will be heading out. Maybe he took shelter at the skate park, and I can join him there. I don’t remember seeing anything that could be used to hide from the rain, but it’s worth a shot.
Jogging back will bring me there quicker than walking. My side hurts as my feet hit the hard ground, but I ignore it. Blake said I might enjoy pain, but he’s wrong. I hate it. I hate it so much that I block it out of my head, pretending like it doesn’t exist while it begs me to give up jogging and walk back under the pouring rain instead.
I won’t give in.
I’ve been through bruises and bumps, punches and kicks, divorce, and emotional agony. The pain hasn’t killed me yet, and it won’t kill me now, but the rain might if I don’t get out of it.
I wonder what my mother is going to think when I don’t show up at home. She’ll probably call the police, but she’s the one who canceled my phone plan, making it impossible to tell her where I am. She said when I get a job that I can get one on my own, but there’s nowhere to work in this awful town.
The only good thing about this rain is that it’s washed most of the blood out of my shirt. It’s going to be stained, but at least it’s not that nasty rust color it was before. My clothes aren’t especially dirty anymore, but they’re soaked to all the way through, plastered to my skin like wet toilet paper.
My jog turns into a run as I get close to the skate park. I can barely see in front of me, but I know I’m almost there. I cough out the rain in my lungs as it flies into my nose and mouth, attempting to drown me even though I’m not swimming. I heard you could drown in an inch of water. I wonder if I could drown from the rain in the air.
I don’t want to find out. I take a turn into the skate park, squinting through the rain rolling off my eyelashes as I look for a place to shelter myself. There is none. I’m going to die here and it’s all because of those stupid girls that destroyed my car and beat me half to death in the bathroom.
My car.
It’s still there, sitting in the school parking lot with the windows smashed out of it. The rain has probably blown inside and soaked the front seat, but the back might still be okay. It would be better than turning into a pale raisin in the rain like I slept in a full bathtub overnight. It’s not that far from the skatepark either.
I dash out of the park, my white shoes slipping on the smooth concrete. I nearly fall down, but I catch myself on my fingertips and keep going. There’s no time to waste. I’m going to catch pneumonia out here in this weather.
The rain stings my eyes, and the crack of lightening causes me to jump several times on my run to the school, but I get there without being drowned or fried. My car is easy to spot. It’s the only one left in the lot, and the bright pink SLUT on the side is visible through the rain. I don’t know why they would even write that on it. I’ve only had sex once before, and that was with my ex-boyfriend before I left the comfort of my private school.
Damn, it seems like such a long time ago. It’s like I’ve been transported into another woman’s life, where nothing goes her way and the world is only out to destroy her. It’s a bitter existence, and a stark reminder that good things don’t always come to good people. Sometimes, the world tries to kill you instead.
The rain starts to slow as I hurry to my car. The straps on my bookbag have rubbed my shoulders raw, and it weighs twice as much as it did when I started walking home before the rain. I’ll be glad to get the damn thing off. I’m pretty sure there’s even a blanket in my car that I can wrap myself in until the rain stops.
But right before I reach my car, I see movement inside of it. I stop walking, my heart beating fast as I watch the car for more sign of movement. I would hate to have to chase a wild animal out of my car, but I’m prepared to do that if I need to. I’m not going to give up my only safe spot against the rain.
Another movement from within confirms that something has gotten into my car, but that something reveals itself to be none other than Flint. His head pops up at the broken window, his expression turning from surprise to confusion as he sees be standing outside, soaked to the bone.
“What the hell are you doing in my car?” I yell through the noise of the rain.
“Get inside,” he replies, opening the dented door.
I’m not going to argue. I don’t exactly trust Flint, but I’d rather be in there with him than outside freezing my tiny ass off. I jump into the car and slam the door behind me. I’m safe from the foul weather at last.
“What the hell were you doing out there?” Flint asks, scooting back on the seat to give me enough room to sit beside him. He’s turned to face me, leaning his back against the opposite door.
“I would ask you the same thing,” I reply.
“You’re not very good at conversations, are you?” he says, raising his thick eyebrows at me like he’s challenging me to think of a clever comeback.
I don’t have any. Truthfully, I’m not that great at conversations. That’s why I try to avoid them the best that I can. I shrug. “I was trying to get out of the rain.”
“I guess you don’t live very close,” he says.
“No, I don’t,” I reply, keeping my answer short. I don’t especially want him, or anyone else,
to know where I live.
“Bummer,” he says.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re in my car?” I ask.
Flint leans in, a drop of water falling from his nose. There’s a slight smirk on his face, like he’s just caught me in some sort of trap. But there was no way that he knew I would be coming back to my car. “I’m here for the same reason you are, to get out of the rain.”
“So, you also live far from the school,” I say, trying to continue the conversation now. I don’t like the look on his face.
“I used to, but now I don’t live anywhere,” he answers. “I think your car is pretty nice though.”
“Well, you can’t live in it,” I reply with a small laugh.
“Why not?” he asks, pulling his bookbag up from the floor.
“Well, because it’s mine, first of all,” I reply. “Are you homeless or something?”
“I’m not homeless,” he grumbles, but it sounds like he is. He pulls a sleeping back out from his bag and shakes it out in front of me. The soggy end of it slaps against my legs. He doesn’t apologize for it.
“Are you going to sleep in here or something?” I ask.
“Yep,” he replies. “I suppose you want to join me.”
“Definitely not, and I don’t want you sleeping in here either,” I say, pulling my legs up on the seat toward my chest. I adjust my skirt so that I don’t flash my panties to him, but I may have been a little late on my execution.
His eyes flicker up from the sleeping bag to between my legs, then he looks up to my eyes. He squints at me. “I’m sorry you don’t want me sleeping here, but that’s just too fucking bad.”
“You can’t stay here,” I say, adjusting my wet skirt again. “I’ll call the police.”
He laughs. “Go ahead. Jail would probably be nicer than this load of shit.”
“Why are you being such a dick?” I ask, the color finally returning to my cheeks. It was taken out of my body from the cold rain, but annoyance has put it back where it belongs.
“I’m not the dick, sweetheart,” he replies, leaning in too close for my comfort. His breath is warm against my icy skin. “And you better watch your little slut mouth before I slap you into next week.”
My stomach sinks, and my throat closes up at his words. His voice is so deep and aggressive that I believe he’ll go through with his threat if I don’t start being nicer to him. Whether it’s my car or not doesn’t matter anymore. I need to keep the peace before I go from one danger to another.
“I’m sorry,” I squeak.
“You better be,” he replies, leaning back.
I take a deep breath. “But I’m not a slut, just so you know.”
“You look like one to me,” he replies.
I look down at myself, noticing how see-through my wet t-shirt has become. It used to be white, and now it’s practically clear. That, coupled with my skirt, is revealing an awful lot of my slim body. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to hide the obvious pattern of my pink bra underneath.
“Are you sleeping here with me or not?” Flint asks, jerking his sleeping bag open.
“I just wanted to wait for the rain to stop,” I reply meekly.
He chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes. The rain isn’t going to stop anytime soon.”
I look out the window, still able to feel the light splash of droplets bouncing off the edge of the broken glass. He’s right, but I don’t think I’m going to get a wink of sleep with how frightened I am of him. I have no idea if he intends to take advantage of me tonight, and I don’t really want to find out.
I look around the car for something to put over my shoulders, but there isn’t anything. Flint seems to have the only thing warm in the whole car. His sleeping bag is rolled out to my butt, and he’s already trying to slide into it.
“Move,” he says, kicking his legs inside the bag and hitting my ass with them.
“Where the heck am I supposed to move to?” I ask, getting up from the seat.
“Anywhere but here,” he replies, sliding down the rest of the way into the bag and taking up the entire back seat of the car. “That’s better,” he sighs.
“No, because now I can’t sit down,” I reply.
“Yeah, but I like the view from here,” he says, grinning while he places his hands behind his head. His soggy shirt reveals an impressive array of muscles, and his biceps flex as he talks to me.
“Stop being a pervert,” I scold, shoving the fabric of my skirt between my legs with my hands.
“Some women don’t match, you know. They think nobody is going to see their little panties, but they’re wrong,” he explains, a cocky grin spread over his handsome face.
I feel like punching that face and rearranging his features. He might think he can get away with talking to me like that because he’s attractive, but he’s wrong. I was raised differently. I’m not like the other girls at Blackstone.
“Pink. I like that. I bet the inside of your pussy is the same color.”
I swing my fist at him, catching him off guard. Yeah, I bet he wasn’t expecting a small woman like me to hit him. I intend to knock the lights out of him but in the quickest movement I’ve ever seen, he watches my wrist in the air.
“Don’t fucking do that,” he growls.
I shrink back, trying to pull my limp fist away, but he holds onto it with an iron grip.
“Don’t hit me,” he repeats through clenched teeth, his hazel eyes like daggers through my skull.
I nod. “I won’t,” I reply in a whisper.
He lets go of my wrist, and that’s when I swing the other fist.
Chapter Eight
Flint
I was expecting the first punch, and I caught it with ease. The second one came out of nowhere and caught me completely off-guard.
Her small fist hits my cheek, but it’s not the first punch I’ve taken. Compared to what I’ve felt from Dean, it’s laughably weak. This woman must have a death wish, trying to hit me like that. Doesn’t she realize that we’re trapped in a car together and I’m more than twice as big as she is?
“Are you done?” I ask, maintaining composure under the temptation to tear her to shreds. My first instinct toward violence is to double it in return, but I hold back. She’s a small woman, and I’m no monster. I may threaten her, but I would never hit her.
“Fuck you,” she spits, wrinkling her nose at me.
“Now I’m beginning to understand how you’ve made enemies so quickly at Blackstone High,” I muse.
“I haven’t done anything to anyone, and everyone already hates me,” he replies.
“I beg to differ.”
“Beg all you want,” she snaps back, crossing her arms tightly over her wet shirt again.
It’s a shame because I was rather enjoying the view. It’s not everyday that you get to see such a pretty and pristine woman dragged into such a humiliating situation. It makes me want her, but I have to be careful. I don’t exactly know who I’m dealing with yet.
“One day, probably soon,” I say, settling back down in my sleeping bag, “You’re going to be the one begging me.”
“I’d rather die,” she replies, glaring at me like I ruined her whole night just by existing. She’s a feisty one, alright, but nothing I can’t handle.
“Do you smoke?” I ask, reaching for my bag. She’s gotten me all excited again, and I’m going to have a hard time sleeping if I don’t finish what I started earlier. The rain ruined my last joint, but I keep my weed in a sealed plastic bag, safe from the water.
“Smoking is bad for you,” she parrots, just like everyone who has never had to deal with stress before. I expected nothing less, but sometimes rich girls like to play rebel and smoke a pack. I wasn’t talking about cigarettes though.
“You know what’s worse for you?” I ask, pulling the bag of weed from my bookbag and watching her eyes grow. “Being a tight-ass is worse. I hear it takes years off your life.”
“Is that marijuana?” she
asks.
I laugh. “Never seen it before?”
She shrugs. “I tried it once.”
“Oh, really?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. Now, this is interesting.
“Yeah. It’s not like I’m a square. Come on, people here are judging me left and right and I haven’t even gotten the chance to show them who I am.”
I open the bag, inhaling the piney fumes of the bud. I close my eyes, savoring the smell before looking up at Amber. “You’ve shown me plenty.”
She falls silent, watching me in what I can only assume is fascination as I pull a gram from the bag and break it up into a thin rolling paper. I take my time with it, enjoying the audience I’ve obtained. Not only is Amber’s car trashed, but it’s also going to smell like weed. I wonder how her parents will like that.
I roll the joint, twisting the end and popping it into my mouth. I pull a lighter from the pocket of my jeans, holding it out to Amber. “Light me up, baby.”
She frowns but takes the lighter in her delicate hands. He light-blue painted nails tap pleasantly against the plastic shell of the lighter. That alone is arousing to me, which is equally confusing and exciting. Amber isn’t like other women I’ve known. That much is certain.
I lean forward, my eyes drawn down to her pink bra again as she leans toward me to light my joint. She might hate me, but she’s submissive. I can already tell by how quickly she went from trying to hit me to doing me an unnecessary favor. It’s delicious victory in my eyes.
I inhale the smoke from my lit joint, once again reveling in the bitter itch in my throat. I stare at Amber as I let smoke out of my mouth, inhaling it back through my nose in a loop. It’s called a French inhale, and I’ve perfected it to the point where I lose no smoke in the air when I do it.
Amber’s blue eyes are like saucers in her head, her pupils so large that they threaten to swallow me whole. She can claim that she doesn’t like this situation, but she’s mesmerized by it. She’s a lost soul in a town of demons, and I’m going to be her tour guide.
