Take Me With You

by Nina G. Jones

  “Hey guys!” one of the girls says as she opens the back door.

  “Hey Cindy,” Scoot says playfully. She's got flaxen hair. Long and wispy, so that it looks like a halo when the light shines through it.

  The other girl slides in behind her and slams the door shut.

  “Hi,” she says in a less familiar tone.

  “This is my cousin, Phoebe,” Cindy adds.

  The confines of Scoot's car are tight and I wonder if it's too much to spin around completely to get a look.

  “Hi, I'm Andrew, but everyone calls me Scooter. This is my brother, Sam.”

  “Sam doesn't get a fun nickname?” Cindy asks playfully.

  “I guess my dad never gave him one…” Scoot thinks aloud.

  I take this as my cue to turn around. And when I see Phoebe, it's like a bucket of ice water is splashed on me. It's been almost a year, but I would never forget the face of the first girl I watched. The thin girl with the tiny tits. Except this year, she's filled out a little more, her body sprouting breasts I can see through the low neckline of her top.

  I think she sees the look on my face, or maybe they all do. Or maybe they’re all staring because I'm supposed to say something but I don't. It's your turn Sam, say something. They are all waiting. But the shock of my worlds colliding makes my throat tense in a way I haven't felt since the last time I saw my dad. So, all I do is give a friendly nod.

  Fuck. I already blew it.

  “Well, I hope you guys want to party,” Cindy says, waving a little baggy in the air.

  There's not much to do in these parts at night. I assumed we'd go back down to the city, but instead, Scoot turns up the radio and we drive back towards our place.

  As I'm still trying to figure out if Phoebe will recognize me when she gets a better look, Cindy asks where we're going.

  “My family has property out here. There's a pond and we can party without worrying about police or anything. I'm trying to be a cop one day, I can't get in any trouble.”

  I'm not sure I like the idea of bringing them back here. This is my home. My land. Scoot was always just a visitor. I don't like how he didn't ask. How he has just invaded my ground zero, the place where the rest of the world doesn't exist.

  We drive up to a dirt road that leads to a gate with the sign No Trespassers. They are trespassers, I think to myself as he pulls it open. We drive down the rear access road as close as we can. But there's about a quarter mile left to go on foot.

  He gets out the car and we all follow.

  “I'm not dressed for this!” Cindy laughs.

  “Give me your hand,” Scoot offers before leading the pack.

  Immediately, I see Phoebe struggling through the dark forest, the foliage I can run through with my eyes closed. I should offer but I don't want to speak. I'm all wound up now because this is all too real. It's easier to be the guy hidden behind the window, but when she can see me, I don't know how to handle myself.

  “Do you mind if I…?” Phoebe asks coyly as she reaches out for me.

  I shake my head and give her my arm. She must have no idea.

  Now she's touching me and I've never had a girl touch me. Not skin to skin. In my mind's eye, I've touched dozens of real women. Watched them in their most intimate moments and imagined running my tongue up and down their wet pussy lips. But this is different. Because she's not the same person as she is when no one is looking. No one is. I don't like having to deal with these different layers. They confuse me. They make me think too much. Then suddenly, my throat gets tighter, and the words get lodged, and I'm the fucking idiot with the scars. Has she even seen my face? I mean really seen it, the ropey thick scar that runs along my cheek? Or the rough marked skin on the arm she's not holding? Evidence of the time my life changed. When my head hit the pavement, and I woke up, weeks later, as someone else.

  I'm so lost in my head that she's just an accessory during the walk. When we get to the clearing where the water is, I barely notice when she lets go.

  We sit around a lantern Scoot brought as Cindy pulls out a joint. I've never done drugs. I've never done any of this.

  She passes it around, and when it gets to me, I pass.

  “You don't say much, huh?” Cindy asks.

  I look at my brother.

  “He's the mysterious type,” he chimes in.

  “That's funny, because you looooove to talk Scooter.”

  Phoebe grabs the joint and takes a few puffs.

  “You're more than mysterious,” she adds. I tense up. Does she know something? “I don't think I've heard you say a single word.”

  Scooter can't cover for me anymore. They are stare at me. The silence of the woods, which isn't silent at all, only makes the void larger. I have to speak up.

  “H-h-h-h-h-h-he t-t-t-t-t-t-t-talks f-f-f-f-or…” Oh shit this is bad. It hasn't been this bad since I was a little kid. But I'm too far in and I have to finish this sentence. “T-t-t-the b-b-b-b-b-b-both o-fffff usssss.”

  There's a moment of silence as I wait, my stomach turning with anxiety. I hold down the puke rising to the back of my throat. I can't do this. I'd rather watch. Participating is too painful. These fucking girls have it so easy. I bet everyone just worships them because they're beautiful and fit right into the cesspool of humanity. And the truth is, I want nothing more than to be like Scoot, who can just blend right in, and wanting it so badly is exactly what turns me into this mess of syllables and consonants.

  After that one second that feels like minutes, when their wheels turn and they try to understand who this bumbling mess is in front of them, Cindy cracks a smile and looks over at Phoebe who seems relieved to see it. And they start laughing. They think I was joking.

  I look over at Scooter as humiliation and rage swirl together and pick up speed like the formation of a tornado. I could kill those bitches right here if it wasn't for Scoot.

  He looks embarrassed for me, for them. But he wants to get laid, so he has to be easy on them.

  After a few seconds, the girls realize I'm not laughing and Scoot is only uncomfortably smiling along.

  Cindy's giggling slowly stops. “I—oh my god—I'm so sorry,” she says. “Scoot didn't tell me.”

  I nod, only accepting the apology on the surface. Phoebe looks too mortified to even muster up the words.

  “Well, this is incredibly awkward,” Scoot sighs. “Let's break the ice again?” he pulls out a bag of pills.

  They each pop one. I'm so fucking pissed, I don't even know what it is, but I take it. I just want to find a way to disappear without the walls.

  The night quickly descends into drug-fueled chaos. Cindy and my brother find a dark spot on the shore to hook up. Despite the darkness, the moonlight provides just enough light to show the outline of their intertwined bodies.

  Phoebe sits along the edge of the pond, her eyelids barely parted, her body swaying. She smoked a lot and took a lot of pills.

  I look over at her. I can feel her disappointment; it floats around her like a force field.

  “Cindy, I have to pee!” she shouts.

  “What?” Cindy calls out.

  “Come with me to pee in the woods. It's scary out there.”

  The outlines of Cindy and Scoot part into two. He pulls her back down to him and she tugs away. I watch in silence as Cindy comes over and helps Phoebe up.

  “Hurry up,” she groans as they wander into the woods. On the way over, Cindy gives me a forced smile.

  I look over to Scoot. He's wasted, lying on the ground, waiting for his lay to return. I look towards the woods where they went. The craving strikes. To watch. To listen. To see Phoebe when she doesn't know I'm watching. They are about twenty yards in. I can hear them giggling, yapping away, completely unaware of my presence.

  “So is he?”

  “I don't think so. Scooter said he's normal, it's just his voice. I don't think he's retarded or anything. Do you think he'd bring a retard to be your date?”

  Phoebe laughs. “Ugh, I woul
d kill him. To be honest he's really cute, I was pretty excited when I got in the car, but that was zapped right down when he opened his mouth. What about his face? Did you ask Scooter?”

  “I didn't but he told me when he was explaining the stuttering. He says he was run over by a car and dragged down the street. He was in a coma and everything,” Cindy slurs in a slow cadence. The irony of then mocking my speech when they are so sloppy.

  “Oh my god. That's crazy. Now I feel bad.”

  “You should fuck him. Think of it as charity.”

  “Community service. Do you think he's a virgin? He's obviously not smooth with the ladies.”

  “It's the least you could do after laughing at him.”

  “Me? That was you! I laughed because you did first!”

  They both begin laughing as if this whole thing is a joke. As if I am a joke.

  “I'm gonna do it,” Phoebe declares. “He doesn't even have to say a word.”

  “Do you think he stutters when he comes?” Cindy giggles.

  Phoebe snickers. “I’m c-c-c-coming!” she says in a husky voice.

  “Okay, let's go back. I want a round two,” Cindy says.

  I give myself a head start as they gather themselves and sit where I was previously, seething yet anxious. I am a virgin. And as much as I want to snap that Phoebe girl's neck, I'll take her pussy if she'll give it to me.

  They emerge from the brush and Cindy waves coyly. “You two kids have fun!” she says, fanning her fingers as she waves goodbye.

  Phoebe and I sit in silence as Cindy becomes just another shape in the darkness. This time, though, she's closer.

  “We shouldn't let this high go to waste.”

  I look over at her. “Come on, then.” I even shock myself at the drastic change in my speech pattern. Just hours ago, I struggled to eke out a sentence, and now I am confidently inviting Phoebe to the woods. And I think I know why. I'm the one in control now. I heard her words when she had no idea I was listening. I know what is to come. I'm angry and I am in charge. A calm rage has come over me, similar to the contrast of emotions I feel when I watch people through their windows.

  Her eyes register surprise.

  “Okay.”

  I stand and reach out my hand, taking her further away from Scoot and Cindy.

  “Modesty. I like that,” she flirts.

  I don't let her say another word as I push her up against a tree and kiss her. Her body goes rigid but then relents to my dominance. I know she wants to fuck. I heard her say it.

  She pulls away just long enough to say, “Who the hell are you, Sam?”

  Bitch, you don't have the slightest idea.

  I pull off her dress, and she's there, just like that time I watched her, except I can touch her. I can say the words. But all I want to do is make her remember me. Make her hovel at the thought of me. She'll never laugh when she thinks of me again.

  She pulls my cock out of my pants and hoists a leg around me. I'm not nervous. I don't care about pleasing her. I don't care about my performance. This is about me. I push myself into her, and it feels good. It feels damned good.

  “Fuck! Sam!” she cries out. I like the way she says my name. Not like a joke, but like I'm her master. Though, it's not enough. My head swirls with the drugs and the words she said. Her laughter. Her pity. The way she imitated me. My cock swells just like my anger.

  “So, you think this is charity?” I sneer.

  Her eyes, hooded with drugs and sex go clear with realization.

  “You think this is a pity fuck?”

  She tries to wriggle under me, but I hold myself firmly inside of her. “You're the only one who’s going to need pity,” I growl, each syllable, each word, as crystal clear as the anger I have kept deep inside of me all these years.

  I pull out of her and turn her against the tree.

  “Do you feel bad for me now?” I ask.

  “Sam, stop! I'm sorry,” she says. I cover her mouth before she can continue.

  “What? I'm just a fucking retard. A harmless, little retard. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  She grunts and screams into my hand, the words dissipating into my palm. I spit into my other hand and shove my dick in her ass. Her cry vibrates into my palm, it's loud, so I press down harder. It's tight in there. I could barely get it in. She's bucking like an untamed horse, but she's a skinny little thing and my dad made me strong.

  I pump a few times until I come in her ass. It feels like an explosion of every bit of energy in my body. I pull away and she spins around. It's dark, but I can see the sheen of her tears along her face.

  “Can I go?” she asks. The false charm and sass have completely abandoned her. She's just a shaky, scared girl. Now she can be the object of pity.

  I snatch her wrist. “Don't tell anyone. No one would believe you would they? You’re trippin’ out of your mind. And I'm harmless little Sam. I can barely get a word out, right?”

  The power. It makes me something else. It makes me the person I hear in my thoughts. And now that I know the secret to being the person I only thought existed in my head, I'm never going to stop.

  I’m making spaghetti and meatballs. I am capable of cooking when I put my mind to it, and when I pull out one of my mother’s old dusty cookbooks from the pantry. I usually feed Vesper well, to keep her healthy and attractive, but a pregnant woman has her cravings and I am sure this will be something that will make her light up. So I jotted down the ingredients I needed before leaving and picked them up on the way home. She'll appreciate the gesture. She'll appreciate me.

  As I toss the meatballs and spaghetti in serving dish, the phone rings. I let the answering machine take it.

  “Hey Sam, it’s Scoot. Thanks for finally calling back. Of course it was on a Sunday morning, and you know we’re at church. Anyway, give me a call. I just want to talk, okay?”

  I’ve been avoiding his calls. I know I shouldn’t, which is why I called on Sunday morning. I knew he’d likely be at church. That way, I could say I did, he’d know I was alive, and maybe he’d take a break from being on my ass. I made sure to give him all the necessary information I know he’d ask on a call anyway: I’m fine, working a lot, busy. It’s enough to keep him from stopping by. It would take too much effort to drive the hour trip unless he thought there was an emergency. I’ve just been in a groove lately. I’ve found a state of mind that’s a version of peace, at least when I’m here. The intrusive thoughts aren’t constantly taunting me and I have a beautiful woman who is the closest thing I have ever had to a friend. We listen to music together, she reads to me, we go swimming at the lake. For the first time, I might have everything I need. Scoot brings me down; I just don’t want to fucking talk to him.

  With a pair of oven mitts, I grab the casserole dish and leave the house. As I hike to the cabin after a long day of work, that calmness takes over me. When I'm out there, I never feel at ease. I'm an impostor, and it is exhausting work. But with Vesp, she knows it all. She is the fusion of the things I want from out there, and the person I truly I am.

  But as I get closer the house, I grow cold. My instincts tell me something is wrong. I've always been in tune with my gut, it's what has prevented me from being caught for so long. I think it comes from spending so much time in solitude. Vesper though, she's like a force field that throws off my calibrations. Taking her, keeping her—those things went against those instincts. But now, in the dark of the forest, they are strong and won't be ignored. I pick up my pace, but don't run. I don't care. She's just a prisoner. I have to tell myself these things. Because I can't afford to put her before me. If I do, I'll end up in prison.

  When I open the door, it's clear my instincts haven't failed me.

  Vesper is crouched on the floor, her arms crossed in front of her stomach. She's grimacing. The crotch area of her white dress is red with blood.

  Blood.

  The baby.

  It's dead.

  “Sam?” she says weakly.

 
I hear the casserole shatter as it hits the floor but I don't feel it leave my hands.

  I didn't realize how much stock I had put in this: the idea of having a child with Vesp. How much I allowed myself to fall into a stupid fantasy. That I could have a taste of normalcy. That any of this could fix me.

  She's looking away from a mess on the floor like she can't bear the sight of it. I creep towards it and at its center, I see the small thing on the floor. It's a shock, the little boy, lying there. He has a little body, closed eyes— his tiny feet, ears, lips and fingers are formed. He's not ready to be out in the world, still translucent, still alien in many ways. Yet, he's perfect. He's not deformed or in pieces, he looks like he's sleeping in blood.

  I did the right thing. I didn't abort him. I fed her. Gave her things to keep her occupied. Took her to the lake so she could breathe fresh air.

  She did this.

  She starved herself. She hit her womb against the chair. I bet that all caught up to her. Or even worse, maybe I trusted her to be alone and she's been playing me. Twisting my emotions all the while trying to find her own way to get rid of me inside of her.

  This is on her.

  I clench my fists as my body trembles with rage.

  “Sam?” she asks again, this time a thread of fear in her voice.

  I lunge towards her and stop when she cowers.

  She did it on purpose while you were gone. She never wanted you. She would never want your child.

  I want to hit her. I want to make her bleed and make her look like how I feel inside. I want her to sleep in a mess of blood and tissue. But I hold it in. Because something has been growing inside of me. Something I can't purge or abort. And it's changing me. But not everything changes—the rage that has slowly aged within me since before I could even speak. The impulses, the ones I can't control because something happened to me when that car collided with my body and my head hit that pavement. The emotions, because love is hate—my cruel father whom I so desperately wanted to look at me with pride, my mother who cared so much she made me into this fucking freak—so I can't tell the difference between the two. All that energy has to go somewhere. It can't stay in me. It has to go out. It has to be transferred.