I know it would seem like the thing to do would be to get chummy with the cops at the party, but I’ve always been reserved around them so the change in behavior would be odd. It’s best not to talk. Any seemingly innocent piece of information could slip and implicate me down the line. I could place myself near the scene of a crime on a certain day or mention something about The Night Prowler that only the man himself would know. Some of these guys, they are like hawks, always scanning people, always hunting. So while everyone is drinking and socializing, I find a way to hide out upstairs where the kids are playing, like a fucking weirdo. Now I'm the stuttering creep who hides from the party with kids. I can't fucking win.
When the sky begins to swirl with shades of blush and umber, I decide I've played this game long enough and hope to make a quick exit. By the time I get downstairs and peek out into the backyard, it's clear everyone is trashed. Tiki torches are lit. Pot and cigarette smoke wafts in the breeze. The off duty cops always seem to lose their sense of smell at these shindigs. And these suburban folk sure like to get loose on the weekends. I debate whether I should risk slipping out without saying goodbye.
“Saaaaam!” Milly slurs. I roll my eyes before turning to face her with a plastic smile, and am surprised to see her arm wrapped around Scooter. Her legs wobble on top of her high heeled clogs. I wonder if he's fucked her already.
“Hey, where the hell have you been?” he asks playfully. “I was just about to take her home. She's had a little too much. Why don't you escort her for me?” He winks out of her line of vision.
“I-I-I was j-j-just leaving.”
“Oh come on! Take me!” she says, throwing herself into my arms. “Your brother told me so much about you. I feel like I know you already.”
“Thanks, Sam,” Scoot says again, shooting me with a finger pistol and backing out before I can protest.
She's sloppy drunk, and a hint of her nipple is hanging out of her top. She disgusts me. Scoot thinks he's throwing me an easy lay, but I don't want these scraps. She's just delaying the delicacy I have back at the ranch.
Now I'm stuck with her and I have to play the whole gentleman thing, so I walk her across the street.
“Hey, I want to show you something,” she says, playfully pulling me to the side of the house, dark with shadows from the half-set sun. She stops and there is nothing in particular to show me, in fact we are in total privacy with most of the neighborhood being at my brother's.
She pushes me up against the house and presses her weight against me. She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a joint, and lights it.
“Here, have some,” she whispers mischievously.
I take it from her, suck in some, but don’t inhale. I don’t want a foggy mind right now.
“Shot gun me,” she laughs, digging her body against mine.
I shrug, taking another puff and blowing the smoke at her. She purses her lips and sucks it in, coming closer, closer, until her lips touch mine. She pulls back and smirks. “You're really cute. Your eyes, I saw them from across the street,” she giggles. She runs her hands up my right arm and the side of my face. She touches me like she has the right. I clench my fist, stopping the hand from grabbing her throat. “I like the scars. It makes you look tough. What happened? Your brother said it was an accident, but he didn't tell me what,” she asks as she unbuckles my belt.
What happened is none of her fucking business and my scars are not a novelty.
My dick is hard, but that's because it's still waiting to complete what I started with Vesp this morning and the slightest contact gets it at attention.
She kisses my neck. “You know, Scoot told me about your stuttering. How you get nervous around women and it's so bad it almost makes you mute. I don't understand it, you're gorgeous. Who cares about what you have to say? Anyway, I think it's kinda cute how you get all tongue-tied…”
She's thinks this is all a fucking joke. My speech impediment. My scars. As if those appeared out of nowhere. As if my scars don't come with memories of intense agony. Or a lifetime of never being taken seriously because the complex thoughts in my mind are butchered fragments by the time they reach my lips. Now both of my hands are balled and trembling, the ember on the end of the joint singeing the palm of my hand before it goes out. My breathing deepens as she lazily plops her body against mine. She smells of sweat-tainted perfume, beer, and cigarettes.
“You know, I don't care,” she says in her best messy seductive voice, as she runs a finger along the rough skin on my shoulder. “You're still sexy,” she adds, yanking down my pants. “Oh wow!” she starts laughing. Laughing at my cock.
I grip her hair at the roots and ask “What the fuck is so funny?” The beast is out. It shouldn't be. Not here. Not so close to Scoot's house.
Milly's body goes rigid against my pull. Her lazy breathing stops suddenly.
“Nothing,” she answers soberly. “I mean it's really nice. I was shocked at ya know, its girth,” she says, like a kid trying to get herself out of trouble.
“You think this is all funny? Huh? You want to tell all your southern society friends about how you sucked off a twenty-something stutterer who looks like he was dragged along the back of a truck?”
“I—uh—I didn't…”
“Then do it,” I say, pushing her down to her knees and shoving myself in her mouth. Let's see if she can laugh now.
At first she resists, but it's not much. I've had fighters. No, she relaxes and starts running her mouth along my shaft. It's a mouth and it feels good, but I don't want this. I planned on the perfect tableau. I have a better mouth and pussy waiting. A perfect one. Clear-eyed, not drunk and sloppy. Modest, not this tramp who expects every man to fawn over her sexuality. Someone who is subtle and nuanced, not this fucking human equivalent of a blow horn.
“Get the fuck off of me,” I say, pushing her to the ground.
“What?” she asks, wiping her saliva off her chin. I'm a little surprised she's mounting a resistance.
“Go suck Scoot's cock. I'm not interested. You're tired and pathetic.” I throw the joint at her face.
She stumbles onto her feet, and into the path of a floodlight, where I see mascara running down her cheeks. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asks. “One second you're nice and shy. The next you're fucking kinky.” She wobbles a bit, but finally plants her feet. “You know what? You should be begging me!” she yells.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” I sneer, stabbing a threatening finger in her direction.
“Fuck you. You're pathetic. Too scared to talk to girls,” she mocks in a baby voice. “I was being nice, you know? I can tell your brother was trying to push us together. Fuck you! You fucking freak!”
I should walk away. There are off duty cops at that cookout across the street. But it's like she has a fucking handbook for how to set me off and she followed each fucking rule step-by-step. I grab her forearm and pull her back into the darkness, slamming her against the house. My fingers wrap around her neck and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, doing what I always wanted to do against anyone who has ever called me that or something like that. Wanting to make her shut up. I asked her to be quiet and she wouldn't. I didn't ask for her to suck my cock. I don't want her pity. I don't want anyone's pity. It's me who should pity them. I rule them. I haunt their fucking streets and they don't even know it.
At first she fights, clawing, gurgling, but she begins to weaken under my grip. My power in the dark puts her beneath me, where she belongs. She thought she was doing me a fucking favor. Like I'm some fucking charity case. But right now, I am her god, holding her very breath in my hands. I stare into her eyes, they are huge and pleading and I have no desire to let go.
My nieces and nephew spill out of their house and it breaks me out of the trance. I loosen the grip around Milly's neck. She gasps for air.
“Shhh!” I lean in close with my finger over my lips.
“Listen closely. I know where you live. You aren't from these parts, but this is my home.
This is my fucking city. You know who we are. No one would believe you because you looked like a drunken fool leaving the cookout. I am a son of this city. And if you tell this story to anyone, you won't survive to repeat it. Understood?”
She nods frantically, but I keep my hands on her neck to control her.
“Do I sound scared of women now, bitch?”
She shakes her head as if she can't agree fast enough.
“Now, close my pants and belt for me.”
She does as I keep a threatening hold on her neck.
I walk to her back door. She can barely stay on her feet now, quivering like a plucked string. She opens the door with a shaky hand.
“You really should keep that locked when you leave the house.” I suggest wryly.
She stumbles through the door, trying to close it behind her as quickly as possible. I stop its momentum with my hand.
Her body shakes as she stares into my eyes. I put my finger to my lips in one final reminder. Shhh. I make a slicing motion with my thumb at my throat and smirk, letting the door close on me.
I exit the yard, wound up tight. So tight I could pop at any moment. This fucking party, this whore thinking she's better than me. My dick is throbbing so hard, my head is light. The whole fucking time I was here I wanted to be there, inside of Vesp. I am buzzing on adrenaline and sex and I need to release this stew inside of me before it spills over in a way I don't want to.
Fuck all these people. Fuck their houses. Their yards. Their little families that hide their repressed sexualities. Fuck Scoot for talking about me to her and making me out to be some sort of pathetic fool. Fuck him for conning me into this fucking cookout.
I head to my car feeling like I'm on fire. Like if someone were to touch me, their fingertips would burn off. Vesper is going to get it. This is her fault. I came here because I have to hide her. She's complicating my life. I had a system. I would have normally just taken the whore. Let her blow me. It wouldn't have been ideal, but it would have gotten the job done. But now, nothing else is good enough. It has to be her. I realize what truly made me mad looking at sloppy Milly was that I'm starting to feel sloppy. Vesper makes me messy.
As I head to my car I catch a glimpse of the kids playing down the street. All the adults are at the cookout and the kids have been allowed to roam after hours so mommy and daddy can play. I spot my nephew riding his bike. I used to love riding my bike when I was a kid. Physical pursuits have always been my strength. I don't need to talk when I use my body. My brain has trouble telling my mouth to communicate, but it's as swift as a whip when it commands my body. Growing up, the kids could poke holes in everything else I did, but I was always faster and stronger. Even my dad was proud of that. He used to call me Lightning when he was in a good mood towards me.
Watching him cools me down a bit as I lean against my car. Everyone says little James looks like I did at that age, with his light eyes and blond hair. I'll admit it's true. He's quick too. And he doesn't have my disability. He's a happy kid. Watching him is sometimes watching a remake of my childhood. Sometimes it hurts to watch, other times it's wistful. Today it's the latter. I smile, watching him pop wheelies on his one-speed like I did long ago. The boiling in my blood simmers and I take a deep breath. It's just then that I see a kid run and push him from the side, sending him flying off the bike and onto the pavement with a crack.
The doorbell rings. Scooter runs over to answer it. It's not for me, it's never for me, so I don't bother.
“Hold on,” he says to the kids at the door. “I'll be right back.”
“Mama!” he calls out.
“You know I don't like yelling, come over here and speak to me like a gentleman,” she scolds from the kitchen.
Captain Kangaroo blares on the TV set, but I can hear his whining from the kitchen.
“But mooooom. I don't want to take him. He's annoying.”
“He's your brother. You should never, ever pick other kids over him. You are going to be all you have some day. You're supposed to protect him when kids pick on him. If it upsets you, you don't get rid of him, you do something about it.”
“I'm tired of it. I'm normal mom. Why do I have to deal with his stuff all the time? I just want to hang out with my friends and not have to worry about him.”
“Scooter, this conversation is over. Either you go with Sam or you don't go at all. Case closed.”
There is a pause before he comes out to the living room. He opens the front door. “I'm coming. I have to get my bike from the garage. I'll meet you guys out front. Sam's coming too,” he sulks.
Scoot shuts the door, and mutters as he walks past,“Come on Sam, grab your bike, we're riding out to the creek.”
I jump up, pretending not to hear the disappointment in his voice. I wish Scoot liked me more, but I am happy to play with the older boys, even if they pick on me sometimes. They're not as bad as the other kids my age because they don't want to make Scooter mad. I make it a point not to say much around them. I just want to be by their sides.
I follow Scoot, but he races to the garage and grabs his bike suddenly, hopping on it and sprinting away. He waves the boys ahead of him. “Go! Go! Go!” he yells. They all laugh mischievously and jump on their bikes, sprinting as fast as they can.
“Wait!” I call out, trying to get some junk off my bike.
I'm confused, but I take it as a challenge to catch up, so I pump the pedals. They are far ahead and make a sharp right vanishing from my sight. My smile turns into a frown when I realize this isn't a game. They're trying to lose me. They don't want me, not even Scoot. I start crying. The wind blows the tears off my face as they leak from my eyes, one by one.
But I am fast. Faster than all of them. I will catch them and show Scoot he can't lose me because I am better than him at this. I turn the corner and see them. I stand on my pedals for leverage, my thighs burning, the tears fading away. I push hard, my lungs on fire. I'm gaining. Getting closer. Closer. The sadness turns to victory in knowing that these much bigger boys can't outrun me on their best day.
I'm going to win.
Then there's a screaming sound. No, not screaming. Screeching. The smell of burnt rubber. Before I can look over, I feel my body thud against the metal and glass. It's not pain I feel at first, more like an earthquake rumbling in my body. I can feel my insides shake. I actually see the man's eyes through the windshield—confused, scared.
“Oh shit!” I hear one of boys shout. The man looks back at them and then at me. That's when the aching starts. He's going to stop and help, I think. I understand he's shocked. I am too. I groan as I look up at the boys racing my way. Maybe they don't hate me after all.
But the car lurches back, and since I can't move, I just roll off the front onto the ground like a sack of potatoes. He drives forward and around me, the front tires barely missing my head. He's going to leave me here, but as the car screeches again, I feel myself moving, and when I look down, I see the leg of my pants is hooked onto something, a part of the bike, which is jammed under the car. The bike sparks as it pulls me along the asphalt.
This time the pain is instant, as my clothes grind against the pavement and turn into nothing. And then next, the skin on the right side of my body. I don't remember how I got free. I think I passed out way before that.
I don't feel myself walking over there. I just hear James crying, like an echoing chorus in my head. It sounds just like my own cries when they would change the bandages at the hospital on my raw skin. He's bleeding, but it's not him I'm walking over to. The kid who did it, the little prick who thought it would be funny to blindside a kid on the bike, he already made a beeline to cut through a yard because he's too much of a pussy to face the mess he made.
I have the mask in my hands. I don't remember grabbing it from the car but I guess I did. Rage is exponential and that piece of shit bully picked the wrong time and the wrong kid to fuck with.
I know this neighborhood like the back of my hand. Every yard, every fence. This is
one of my hunting grounds. I cut ahead of his path, my face shielded in a mask that will haunt him for the rest of his miserable life. I wait in a bush until I hear the oversized kid in his undersized shirt walking through the yard. When he's within reach I grab him, throw him to the ground, and cover his mouth.
“Listen you little piece of shit,” I curl the collar of his shirt in my fist, lifting him up and slamming him back down. “If you ever push another kid again, I'll cut off your little dick and make you eat it. Understand?”
My vision adjusts to the darkness and I see the glowing whites of his bulging eyes.
He tries to choke out a response, or a cry for help, but nothing comes out. Not so tough now.
“And if you tell anyone about this. Your mother, your father, anyone…I'll come into your house one night and I'll fuck your mother. I'll make her scream for help and make your father watch. I'll make you watch. You understand?”
Now he's crying like the little bitch he is.
“One day when you're older, you are going to realize who I am and you are going to know these were not idle threats. Now go home, you little shit,” I say, pulling him up to his feet. I push him away and shove his butt with my foot, so he falls on the ground. “How does it feel to be pushed around by someone bigger?”
He runs off, and now I'm fucking hotter than plasma hot. Levels of anger and pent up sexual frustration are mixing together into a violent stew. I take a deep breath and toss the mask into the bushes. By the time I am back on the sidewalk, flanked by perfectly manicured lawns and well-maintained houses, I am one of them again. I decide the best cover is to go back Scooter's house, show him a cool and collected Sam. He's in the kitchen, holding ice to James' head.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Some kid pushed him off his bike. He hit his head. He won't tell me who.”
“Something tells me it won't happen again,” I mutter.
“What's that?” Scoot asks, particularly interested in the clarity of my voice. The smoothness in speech that only comes in rare moments, when I'm scornful and singularly focused, or when I'm ready to fuck. Everything suddenly is clear. When the darkness eclipses me, the words flow without interruption.
Take Me With You Page 12
