by Piper Frost
“Fuck you doing over here, Fayer?” Brandt is staring at helmet face and I’m wondering why the fuck everyone is acting like this is normal. Why the fuck he’s communicating with these other three idiots who I now notice have weird earpieces in.
“We just came to see what Amber was up to. What kind of assholes she was hanging out with tonight.” The asshole that called me a guy looks around the group.
“Take her home if you don’t want her on our grounds.” Brandt is so pissed he’s shaking. And if he’s afraid right now, he has a hell of a poker face.
“They ain’t your grounds, Brandt,” another one of the guys says.
“They sure as hell aren’t yours. I’m pretty sure you guys are breaking a few laws right now.”
Helmet head starts to laugh, throwing his head back and even muffled through the helmet it’s deep and full of angered humor.
“Come on, Brandt,” Chase quietly says, taking another step away.
“Go on, Brandt,” the original asshole mocks. “Run away, pussy.”
I whip around to defend him 'cause for some reason I feel like only I can call him a pussy, but my arm is grabbed and I’m being tugged away. Fuck that!
“Who the fuck are these guys, Brandt?” I bark, shocked we’re actually retreating.
There are a hell of a lot more people here than this ‘motorcycle gang’.
“Run, little boy.”
When I look back, I notice the one I really fucking hate for calling me a dude was talking to me, calling me a little boy. I’m a weasel. I’ll fight if I have to. But let’s not kid ourselves, I’m not taking any dudes down. But this asshole has pissed me off on the wrong fucking day so I jerk out of Brandt’s grip and rush the fucker. Helmet head grabs the neck of my hoodie in his gloved hand and he yanks me to stand in front of him.
“Jo,” Brandt growls and is on my back, grabbing my arm but I’m still in helmet head’s grasp. “Let her go, Cash.”
“Stupid fucking name,” I say then swiftly smack the faceplate of his helmet up but it doesn’t budge and he just chuckles, shaking his head and releasing my collar.
“Who is she?” the other asshole asks.
"Donna's daughter,” Brandt growls and pulls me behind his back, having a stare-down with helmet head.
Helmet head lifts his faceplate but it’s too dark to see anything and he says, “I’ll see you around, Jo.”
“Fuck you.” I spit toward his feet and Brandt yanks me away.
“What the hell, Jo?” he quietly groans.
“You’re all a bunch of pussies. Take me home.” I realize I called it home, but I’m pissed they’re all intimidated by these idiots on motorcycles and probably only because they ride motorcycles.
“You don’t know anything about those guys. Stop trying to act so tough.”
“Let’s get something straight, I’m not intimidated by assholes. I’ve been through worse than them.”
The rev of motorcycle engines start to roar and helmet head leads the stupid pack away, looking in our direction so I put up my middle finger. When Brandt sees it, he yanks my arm down.
“You just caused a lot of trouble and all for nothing!” he growls at me.
“They called me a dude!”
“You had your hood up! They couldn’t see if you were a dog or a human!”
“They’re a bunch of kids! How old are you guys? Eighteen?”
“You’re not much older than us, Jo. And most of them are older than you.”
“Man, Jo.” Chase jogs our way looking at me like I’m crazy. “I know you’re new and all, but you can’t be doing that kind of stuff with those guys.”
“Why the fuck not? I’ve been punched in the face by dudes twice their size.”
“They won’t punch you in the face,” Brandt growls, jerking me to look at him. “They’re the type that’ll rape your dead body.”
“I’ve been around those types too.” I pull out of Brandt’s hands.
“They usually leave us alone. They’re just dangerous.” Chase shrugs and I scowl at him.
I don’t know what I’m so pissed about. I don’t plan on being around long enough for these people to be my friends, or this land to become my stomping grounds. I just hate pussies that won’t stick up for themselves. And I don’t want to admit it, but I don’t like Brandt being intimidated by people. Like I said, I don’t know the kid, and I didn’t plan on getting to know him, but he’s grown on me in these couple of weeks. I think if I ever wanted a friend around here, I’d want them to be like Brandt, until I saw his sissy display.
Before I can demand to go home we’re rushed by a beer bong and a shit ton of alcohol. As I reach for the whiskey bottle being passed to me, I catch Brandt’s eye and he’s not stopping me, but the look of utter disappointment on his face has me declining the bottle for some reason. I have to remain sober to drive this kid home. Surprisingly the night still turns out fun. Watching a bunch of southern kids get drunk is hilarious. They’re good people and I don’t fit in with them, but damn their proper upbringings and trying to make me feel at home.
As I kill the truck lights when we get close to the house I start panicking because I have to get a drunk Brandt into the guesthouse without his dad seeing us.
I open the passenger door and look at all the keys on this key ring. “Shit, I don’t know which key.”
He jumps out of the truck, stumbling and almost landing on his face but I grab him and almost get pummeled until he gets his footing. As he haphazardly grabs the keys from me, making way too much noise, I’m about to fight them out of his hands, but he holds one up and loudly tells me to “shhhh”.
When I head for the door he yanks me backward and I stumble.
“Brandt.” I shove him and he falls to his face, laughing the whole time. “Oh shit.” I grab him because I forgot how fucked up he is. He’s still laughing but he has blood coming from his nose. “Oh god. Dude, I’m so sorry.”
“Shh. Shhhh. Shh, shh.” His finger is over my lips and he leans in so close our lips almost touch until I pull back.
He starts to walk to the back of the house. I notice the back door is more isolated from Donna’s house and realize why he prefers this entrance. This is kind of cool. For him, I mean. Technically living with your parents but with your own privacy. I like that.
Know what I don’t like? Feeling obligated to tend to a puking nineteen year old. I looked out for my friends on the streets, but we were never so stupid we got too fucked up to look out for ourselves. I try to walk away five times but I feel too guilty when his groans fill the bathroom. I pop a squat next to him and he grabs my hand, still with his head hanging over the toilet. Anytime I try to leave the bathroom, he groans and grips my hand tighter. I sigh and lean against the bathtub. When he rests his head on the toilet seat I hesitantly reach out to touch his hair. His eyes are closed and he may be passed out so I slide my fingers through his locks and close my eyes. My hand yanks away when he shifts but he blindly reaches out and groans my name. His fingers curl around my wrist and he pulls my hand back to his hair. I shouldn’t be petting him like this but it seems to help with the sickness. That’s a good enough excuse.
When I finally get to sleep closer to four in the morning it doesn't seem like long before I’m woken up by knocking at my door.
“Hey, you decent?” Brandt’s strong voice carries through the door.
“Fuck!” I grunt covering my eyes because I just want to sleep! “Go away!”
“Coming in.” And the doors open.
“Fuck, Brandt. Fuck! Do you know what I haven’t done in years? Sleep. I haven’t slept. I want to sleep in until there’s no point in waking up!” I throw a pillow at him.
“It’s one in the afternoon, Jo.” Something is set on my stomach and I move my hands to see he brought some sort of breakfast peace offering thing. “I’m sorry about last night.” He smiles at me with that young, jovial smile. “And thanks. I thought you being here might kind of suck, but you’re aweso
me.”
“It’ll start to suck. Give it time. Thanks for breakfast,” I mutter and sit up.
“Take a shower then I’ll take you into town to look for a job.”
I start to laugh and place the plate on the dresser next to the bed before uncovering and heading for the bathroom.
“I’m not getting a job, Brandt. I’m not doing shit here. Donna and your dad can kick me out.” I shrug before closing the door.
“They won’t kick you out, but don’t you want money to…buy stuff?” he calls through the closed door.
Wiping, I roll my eyes and take my time washing my hands with this fancy soap.
“There’s nothing I want or need. I was homeless, Brandt. I haven’t bought stuff other than drugs for the past five years.”
“But that was before you showed up here. Now you’re turning your life around.” His positive smile makes me want to laugh in his face, but I get back in bed and grab the plate.
“Can I ask you something without sounding like a huge bitch?” I look from the plate to him.
“Shoot.”
“What the fuck do you care what I do with my life?”
“'Cause I feel like you could do way more with your life. Family shit... You know.”
“But I’m not your family. Not at all. And we don’t even know each other. You can’t possibly say that you really consider me family.” Because I certainly don't consider him family. Family doesn't check out family and let their horny brain dream about them. I don't want anything sexual with this kid, and the last thing I want is to have sex dreams about family.
“Hell, Jo," he huffs. "I don't know if I'd consider you family, but you showed up at my house. You’re my step mom’s daughter. My dad cares about you and your well-being because he loves your mom, so I feel some type of connection.”
“And what if I said I don’t want any of that? I want to be left alone?”
“I’d bother you until you accepted I'm not going away.” He grins and heads for the door. “Eat, shower, I’ll meet you in the living room in an hour. I’m gonna go feed the horses.”
“Oh my god.” I can’t believe this is my life. “I live on a fucking farm.”
“I heard city life is worse than this,” he says on his way out of my room.
“I’m not sure which is worse,” I grumble to myself and look down at the plate of eggs, bacon and a glop of peanut butter. “Certainly not breakfast in bed.” I look at the clock relieved because I thought it was like eight in the morning but he actually let me sleep until one.
It takes me a little longer than an hour and mainly because I haven’t showered in a shower that big until I showed up here. Not to mention I don’t have a time limit. I have limitless hot water. I have shit to shave with. Soap that smells good and actually washes away dirt. Shampoo that costs more than my entire wardrobe. It’s not surprising, seeing how most of my shit came from Goodwill, but my hair has never felt cleaner, which also means my blonde roots are showing enough I'm starting to look bald.
“Hey. Can you take me to get some hair dye?” I ask while walking into the living room. I don’t have money, but I usually get a five-finger discount.
When I’m confronted by my mom and not Brandt I huff.
“I told you I’ll take you to see Crystal,” she immediately says.
“I don’t want to go to your fancy hairdresser,” I groan heading into the kitchen. “Where’s Brandt? He was going to take me into town.”
“Garrison has a few things he needs Brandt to do. I’ll take you into town.” She’s like an excited kid right now and it makes me cringe.
“It’s cool. I’ll wait till Brandt can take me.” I grab the peanut butter.
“Come on, honey,” she whines and I turn around shocked that tone just came from her voice. “Let’s go do girl stuff! It’ll be fun! Just humor me, Jolene. I miss my baby girl.”
“Don’t call me that.” I prepare to wash the few dishes in the sink, but before I can soap up the sponge, she turns the water off.
“We’ll do some shopping, pick up whatever you need. Get our hair done. Maybe nails. Then dinner.”
I’m not generally a violent person unprovoked, but I want to slap the smile off her face. And yet, I don’t tell her no because I wonder what this feels like. Living with no limit. Maybe I can break Donna, and if not, I can try and break her bank.
Once Donna realized I wasn’t going to play house with her, she stopped trying to engage me in conversation and I got to listen to catty women gossip about other catty women while we got our hair done. I wasn’t going to get my nails done, but I was stuck there, so I got them cleaned up. No acrylic bullshit, but they were filed, cleaned up and painted deep red and I couldn’t stop admiring them. I’d never had my nails done and the last time they were polished was when I was around fifteen. They look pretty but are so out of place on my body I keep trying to hide them. I’m not pretty. This isn’t a ‘woe is me, I’m so ugly’ type of plea, I’m just not the pretty girl and I don’t want to be. I’ll admit I went out of my way to be exceptionally ugly at times because living on the street and running with the people I did, you don’t want to be the pretty girl. I learned my lesson on that when I first ran away. I continued to dress like a trashy sixteen-year-old girl and I tried to do my makeup for the first few months. It was all short lived after the attention I drew from some unfavorable people. Anyway, I’m just not the pretty girl and am totally okay with going unnoticed.
Unfortunately that didn’t last long.
“Jo!” The overly girly voice calling my name makes me hate Brandt right now because I know this is one of his friends. “Hey, Jo.” Suzy Homemaker pops up in front of me and I drop my head, planning Brandt's death. “Remember me? Kinlee?”
“No. I’m sorry. Do we know each other?”
“I’m Brandt's friend. I met you last night.” She’s giggling and her pink lips are glittery and…gag.
“Nope. I think you have me mistaken.”
“Oh my god. No! I’d recognize you. But you got your hair done. It’s pretty.” She’s pointing at my head and I quickly point my finger in her face.
“It’s not fucking pretty, okay,” I growl and she takes a step back as fear registers.
“Jo,” Donna comes out of nowhere and lowers my finger so I yank my hand out of hers. “Is there a problem, girls?”
“Hi, Mrs. Kenshaw.” Kinlee is smiling again.
“Hi, honey. Jo?” Donna says again.
“I met Kinlee last night.” I give a tight-lipped smile. “Later, Suzy.” I walk around her and head for the car.
“Honey.” Donna’s heels click as she hustles behind me. “Do you have a problem with Kinlee?”
“No,” I snicker because I doubt anyone has a problem with that bimbo.
“Okay.” She eyes me curiously. “Let’s get you some new clothes. Whad’ya say?”
I take a deep breath to bitch her out then remember breaking Donna’s bank is part of the game.
I’ve never actually shopped. I stole so I had to make hasty decisions when I needed something new, but we’ve been shopping for hours and she hasn’t stopped. I’ve tried on more shit than I’ve ever wanted to. She bought even more shit than I'd ever need. I won’t even wear this stuff. I have enough shit to wear that I’ll probably never need to wash clothes. I can wear something once and throw it out and still be set. This is ridiculous, but she’s still not stopping. The one good thing though, she picked up on my style fast. Not that I have style, but her country bumpkin bullshit wasn’t pushed. She’s sticking to the darker colors, plainer clothes, and I actually bought a couple dresses because it’s hot as hell in this hell.
“Let’s get some dinner.” When I see her frown after my eye roll, I huff. “We can head home.”
“I’m just tired, but we might as well eat because I’m hungry.” I cross my arms over my chest and follow her into a restaurant that seems like a burger would cost more than the wardrobe she just bought me. “Bathroom.” I hea
d in the opposite direction as she’s being escorted to a table.
The thought to ditch her makes me smirk, but we headed to the city to shop so we’re about an hour away from home. Washing my hands, I admire my nails and when I smile I chastise myself. Hearing the bathroom door I quickly grab a towel and avert my gaze because I don’t want to exchange casualties with the likes of anyone that would be in this restaurant. As I’m heading for the door I’m shoved against the wall and a strong hand clamps over my mouth, slamming my head against the marbled wall. I look into the eyes of a man I’ve never seen as he stares down at me, all emotions clean from his face. As soon as my eyes follow the scar that’s badly maiming down the left side of his cheek, he clamps his fingers tighter and shakes my head so I look him in the eyes.
“Hi again, Jo,” he says and my brows furrow as I try to think back to the night before and who I met at the bonfire and who fucking hated me. That would be no one. I didn’t say much.
He’s just staring at me since he’s said that and I can’t talk, my face is on fire from his grasp and I think my head might be bleeding.
“You’re not scared,” he finally says, dropping his head. “I don’t like that. You need to be scared.”
I growl the words, “Fuck you,” but of course they didn’t sound like much around his hand.
“When they’re not scared is when I have to do something to make them scared.”
I roll my eyes at his psychobabble and the fact I can’t take him seriously with that southern accent. It’s not as heavy as Brandt’s, but it’s there.
“I’m just kind of wondering where the fuck you came from.”
I roll my eyes again because this conversation is really lame only one sided.
“You’re here with Donna Kenshaw and you were with Brandt Kenshaw last night.” He drops his hand and I wince, raising mine to the back of my head.
“God, you’re a dick.” I look at him again and now that I’m not restricted from movement I can get a better look.
