BRAKING HARD To Load

by Bloom, Cassandra

  “I miss my family,” I said, not realizing I’d said it out loud.

  “I miss ‘em too,” Danny said, patting me gently on the shoulder. “But look at us, huh? Kinda fucked, but all of us are family now, right?”

  “A whore, a gay redneck, a college grad, and the leader of a biker gang,” Candy said, laughing. “Sounds like my kinda sitcom.”

  “Mine too,” Mia laughed.

  Then we were all laughing. I smiled, enjoying just how peaceful things felt then. I could almost forget how bad things were as we sat together, enjoying both the company and food. This certainly wasn’t a typical family dinner, but in its own way, it was my kind of family dinner.

  “So, what should we do now?” Mia asked.

  “Huh? You mean they are staying?” I said, pouting.

  “Hey now, ya got us here so late, and ya got what? Three spare rooms?” Danny gestured around. “Ya got the entire floor here, I gotta imagine ya got space for us.”

  “Alright, fine, you guys can stay,” I said, sighing.

  “Good! Let’s get out the liquor! And none of that cheap shit!” Candy said.

  “Hey! Wait!” I protested.

  “Come on, Jace,” Mia smiled, pouting at me. “Just one drink?”

  I sighed, not being able to say no to Mia and nodded, knowing all too well that it would not be one drink. Not when Danny was involved and who knew how much Candy drank? I sighed, standing and heading to the kitchen to help get the drinks prepared.

  Twenty minutes later…

  Nearly twenty drinks later…

  I glanced over at Danny and Candy, snoring loudly against each other on the other side of the couch. Mia had moved to sit beside me after we had gotten the drinks and I glanced over at her, raising my eyebrow.

  “One drink, huh?” I whispered.

  “Alright, I had no idea that Danny and Candy were going to get into a drinking match,” she said, pouting.

  “Fair enough,” I said, laughing and glanced over at them. “They’d be a cute couple.”

  “I suppose in their own way, yeah,” she agreed and glanced over at me. “Shall we get to bed?”

  “Bed sounds perfect,” I smiled, standing and following her into the bedroom.

  Even with everything that had happened, I slept better than ever after the evening with everyone together.

  It really did feel like I had a new family…

  FOUR

  ~MIA~

  I could already tell that last night had helped Jace a lot. Though I had told him that I wanted Candy and Danny over to “punish” him, I had actually invited them over to help him relax a little. With how crazy things had been going, he needed some down time between everything else. I was glad to see that he was looking at things more logically, as well. I had been worried he’d go and get himself killed trying to do everything himself, but last night he told Danny he wouldn’t be working alone anymore.

  And, as an added (and unexpected) benefit, having a relaxed Jace made for a more relaxed Mia.

  Who would’ve guessed?

  After a lengthy and satisfying stretch from one of the best night sleeps I’d had in some time, I slid out of bed. I was glad to see Jace was still sleeping, and I wanted to make an effort to keep it that way. I leaned in, offering a light kiss to his forehead, and then turned towards the master bathroom. I hurried to finish my morning routine—brushing my teeth and hair, getting made up (but not too made up), and then getting dressed. I had a plan for the day, and I wanted to move as fast as I could to get things started.

  Danny and Candy were already awake and raiding our fridge. I watched for a moment, smirking at the sight of the two quietly arguing over what to make. They obviously thought both of us were still asleep and were making an effort not to be too loud, and the effort it took for either of them to operate in any semblance of silence was like watching a giraffe stagger across a tightrope: rare, strange, and nothing short of awe-inspiring. They both looked a mess and I could imagine were both suffering from the hangover to end all hangovers.

  “Morning,” I said, stepping in. They both jumped at my entrance and then tried to make a show of not being startled as I took a seat at the island table that separated the kitchen from the dining room. “Sleep well?” I asked, pretending to not notice for their benefit.

  “Would’ve if this slut here didn’t drool all over me last night,” Danny said, sticking his thumb out in Candy’s direction.

  “Yeah, well you ain’t any better, you gross faggot!” Candy growled, smacking his arm. “Fucking snoring and farting all goddam night long. Swear to fucking Christ, Mia, the absolute—the abso-fucking-lute—worst gas ever. Ever. Fucking ever! We’re talking off-the-fucking-charts toxic; ‘blow the fucking meter right off the wall’-levels of rank. I was surprised the Feds didn’t bust in with HAZMAT suits, fully-automatics leveled and at the ready, certain that the motherfucking terrorists hadn’t snuck some new and heinous sort of bio-chemical warfare onto US soil.” She made a show of pinching her nose and taking a step away from Danny. “The point being,” she said, working her voice to offer a professional summarizing tone that had me convinced she’d make an excellent on-air reporter, “this guy farts in his sleep.”

  Danny did nothing to argue this rant. He did nothing to deny its contents. He did not show any sign of embarrassment. Moreover, he did not show any signs of remorse. Danny, in fact, showed a grin of pure and unbridled pride and joy, offered a chuckle that seemed more appropriate as a rolling purr from a big cat, and folded his arms over his chest. In that moment, Danny looked downright victorious.

  “Had leftover ‘Nitro-Wings’ fer breakfast yesterday,” he announced. “An’ I was holdin’ ‘em in all day just fer ya, darlin.’” His chuckles became a full-on, bellowing laugh then. “AN’ I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW WE’D BE SHARING A SLEEPING SPACE!” he added, practically wailing with laughter. Then, wiping some tears that had formed in his eyes, he finished with, “The good lord couldn’t’a planned it better!”

  “Fucking faggot,” Candy groused, shaking her head. “How’s a used-up butthole like that still got enough tightness to bust out those cement-cracking things, anyway?”

  Danny loosed a second wave of laughter at that.

  “Charming,” I said, afraid that all the noise might wake Jace and trying to hold back my own laughter.

  I failed.

  As it usually did when one tried their hardest not to laugh, the laughter came twice as hard. I nearly fell out of my chair, breaking out into a hysterical giggle fit. The two saw me as I fell into hysterics, and then their own laughter was intensified all the greater by the effect they’d had on me. Before long, the kitchen was practically shaking with our cackles.

  By some strange miracle, Jace didn’t emerge at that moment.

  He must have really been tired, I thought as I started to come down from the throes of laughter.

  I finished, but my laugh-smile remained plastered with aching eagerness to my face. I couldn’t help but be glad that we were still able to have these moments even with everything that had happened; despite everything that was happening. I let that thought cycle a few times in my mind, relishing in it for all that it was worth. Finally, I was able to get it together and sat upright, glancing over at Danny.

  “Hey, Mercury, can I ask you a favor?” I asked.

  “Anythin’ fer ya,” Danny said, flashing an extra-wide smile. “‘specially since ya actually used my proper name.”

  “‘Proper’ as a name like ‘Mercury’ can be,” Candy muttered towards him with a cat-like smirk before taking a sip of coffee.

  “Says the skanky-ho who named herself after a children’s treat,” Danny shot back.

  “Never too old to enjoy Candy,” she rebutted with a wink and a not-so-subtle wag of her chest, proving (to any who might have actually had any doubt) that she was not wearing a bra under her Van Halen sleeping tee.

  He made a note of shuddering then, which, with his size, was an impressive display. “Can
certainly be too gay to enjoy it, though,” he said to her. Then, smiling, he said to me, “So what’cha need, darlin’?”

  Smiling back—trying for something that was both a charming, all-selling “whore smile” (as Candy would call it) while weeding out the vulgarity (and uselessness) of anything erotic or seductive—I asked, “Do you think I could borrow a car today?”

  “A car?” he repeated back to me, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Fer what?”

  “I wanted to surprise Jace with a date today,” I admitted, embarrassed, and averted my gaze down to my hands, which were folded and still managing to fidget against my best efforts. “And while I love riding with him…”

  “Giggity,” Candy interrupted, grinning.

  “Yes,” I sighed, “that was a ‘giggity.” I relinquished, laughing even as I rolled my eyes. “Anyway,” I turned back to Danny, “I want to drive this time; actually be in control of the ‘where’ without having to tell him. That way he doesn’t know where we are going. Do you have anything? Maybe one at the shop?”

  I watched as he moved his hand to his chin, obviously considering what he could do for me. I hoped there was something, even just some old junker car would work. After all the dates Jace had taken me on, all the places he’d surprised me with, I wanted to return the favor. And I had the perfect place in mind. When I was still working for T-Built and the Carrion Crew, one of my John’s, a regular, had a thing for getting off in public places. This being the case, he’d always taken me to the beach for our sessions, loving the “openness” of the setting. Despite this, because the beach was practically deserted after dark, the chances of being caught were low. I was never sure if this thought crossed his mind, and, not wanting to spur him into migrating to a more (dangerous) daring location, I made a point to never bother mentioning it. After all, being seen meant being caught, and public nudity and lewd conduct were serious enough charges without adding prostitution to the mix.

  But the beach…

  Though it bothered me in a strange way to admit to such a thing, those jobs were actually enjoyable for me. Uncomfortable as the thought was, being a whore wasn’t always a horrifying and saddening thing; the Johns weren’t always cruel or abusive. Sometimes it was just a lonely guy looking for a thrill or a moment of comfort. Those occurrences weren’t love, though—though a few of them might have confused it for such, it was only part of the illusion they were paying for—but they could be enjoyable for what they were. If some guy wanted to make an appearance at his high school reunion with a sexy, young date who’d go on to “accidently” be caught servicing him in the men’s room so that the guys who were mean to him a decade earlier might see him as a somebody now, it still meant an evening of wining and dining for me. Was the end result always the same? Sure, but there was something to be said about the Johns who brought a little class or creativity to my corner before sticking their prick into one of three available orifices.

  Loads better than the psychos who would threaten to open a fourth orifice, I used to think.

  And while these “creative” Johns were few and far between, the “dates” existed all the same. They were nice, albeit brief interruptions, and I enjoyed them as much as a whore could enjoy being a whore, I supposed. That said, there was always a flitter of excitement—was I really willing to call it “happiness”?—when the beach-John pulled up to the corner for me. And, mean as this might sound, it had nothing to do with him. He hadn’t been a bad looking guy, though I couldn’t for the life of me remember a single detail about him now, and he was, if I remembered correctly, a bit on the awkward side.

  But the beach!

  Oh my, how I loved the beach!

  And, much as I loved the beach, I couldn’t bring myself to love the memories I had of the beach. Well, that was going to change. I wanted to take Jace there; to create new memories of that beautiful place.

  “Alright, I think I got somethin’,” Danny finally said after a moment of thought. “But ya gotta promise that you’ll be careful with it. This particular car… well, it belonged to Jace’s dad. She’s a beauty, an’ I don’t wanna see ‘er get damaged.”

  “I promise,” I said, smiling widely at the idea of not only using a nice car to surprise Jace but one that he’d likely have some pleasant memories from already. “Thank you! Thank you so much, Mercury!”

  “Shall we go get it now?” Candy asked. “While Prince Charming is getting his beauty rest?”

  “Ha-ha, Candy,” I said, sticking my tongue out at her this time.

  “He needs it right now,” Danny said, growing more serious.

  “Oh, come on, Merc,” Candy said, pouting. “Don’t get all serious now, puh-lease!”

  “A’right, fine! Let’s go then!” Danny said.

  “How are we going to all get there?” I asked, tilting my head.

  “Well, I dunno where you’ve been,” Candy started, grinning snidely. “But they now have this fascination transportation system called taxis. You wave down these ugly-ass yellow cars driven by smelly troll-folk who speak in grumbles and groans, and they’ll take you wherever you want to go in exchange for pussy-coin. But, far as I can tell, everything happens in exchange for pussy-coin, so that’s nothing new.”

  According to Candy, because prostitution was one of the oldest human occupations and because money circulated as quickly and abundantly as it did, all money, in some way or another, stemmed from prostitution.

  “Every bill in circulation has been in the hands, likely more than once, of drug dealers, strippers, and hookers,” she’d explained on more than one occasion. “And since us whores have been around longer than the dopers or the polers, then it ain’t a stretch to deduce that them same bills have seen more hooker hands than the others. That makes it all ‘pussy-coin,’ if you ask me, which, if you’re not, you should.”

  It was a twisted, convoluted, and absolutely Candy-centric philosophy that, when it all boiled down to it, was just an elaborate excuse for the already eccentric girl to have an excuse to call money “pussy-coin.”

  An excuse that I’d once heard Danny shoot down by pointing out that everyone also buys toilet paper. “An’ if all them same bills’re bein’ used to pay fer TP, then all that cash could just as easily be called ‘ass-cash.’”

  At that, Candy had called him a “faggot” and changed the subject.

  “You are on fire today, aren’t you?”

  “Pussy like mine? How can I not be? I’m always on fire,” Candy said, grinning wickedly. “Get to know me. I’m amazing.”

  “There she goes,” Danny said, shaking his head. “Surprised she can hold that big ol’ head on her scrawny little shoulders.”

  “Hey, I don’t see men complaining about my shoulders,” Candy said, sticking her tongue out at Danny.

  “That’s because they aren’t staring at your shoulders, Candy,” I said, grinning at her.

  “Touché,” she said, giving one of those shoulders a shrug. “I’ll give you that one. We off then?”

  I nodded, getting up, and then paused. “I should write a note for Jace,” I said, reaching into my purse for a pen. “Just in case he wakes up before we get back.”

  “Good plan,” Danny said, heading towards the elevator and motioning for Candy to follow. “We’ll head down an’ see if we have any luck hailing one of of them fanciful ‘ta-xis’ that Candy mentioned. Or,” he said with a smirk and a snap, “maybe we could ask the guy at the security desk to call us an Uber!”

  “An Uber?” Candy sneered, planting her hands on her hips. “A fucking Uber? Your massive faggot-ass might wanna get itself serial killed, but ME? Nuh-uh. I’m the proud owner of the only brothel in town now, and I’m not about to deprive this city of that—of me!—by getting into some stab-happy psycho’s Prius!”

  Danny and I stared at her for a long, silent moment.

  “There…” Danny began before trailing off to sigh and shake his head. “There is so much wrong with what ya just said that I can’t even begin to
…” he scoffed and groaned, “Did you really just say ‘get serial killed’?”

  “That’s the part you had a problem with?” I asked with a laugh, pausing in writing my note to Jace.

  Danny gave me a look.

  “Just ‘cause none of you watch the news,” Candy jabbed.

  “That was, like—what?—a few years ago!” Danny challenged.

  “And it’s not like there probably haven’t been cab drivers who attacked people, too,” I pointed out.

  This time Candy gave me the look. Then, biting her lip at this thought, she said, “Guess Mercury’s treating us to a limo ride to the shop.”

  “A fuckin’ limo? When did you get all high and mighty?” Danny asked, starting once more towards the elevator with Candy close behind.

  “When I became ‘Mistress Candy’ and the Crow Gang swore protection to me and my girls,” Candy said, following after.

  I watched as they pressed the call button for the elevator and turned away, grabbing a pad of note paper and a nearby pen that sat at the dining room table for this exact purpose. I quickly jotted down a note.

  Went out with Candy and Danny

  (ugh! Mercury, sorry!) to run a couple

  of errands.

  Be back soon!

  Love you!

  Mia

  XOXO

  ****

  It took less than an hour to get the taxi (yes, Candy and Danny finally resolved their differences and settled on an “ugly-ass” yellow car), get to the shop, and get the keys to the car Danny had agreed to lend me. Another five minutes had been spent by me staring at the car in awe.

  A cherry-red 1969 Chevrolet Camaro ZL1, one of the classic cars my father used to rave about wanting before he died. Looking at it now, I could see why. I wished my dad were here, wished he’d gotten the chance to drive the car himself.

  Because, in that moment, I was suddenly terrified to drive it myself.

  Though I knew how to drive—though I knew I was a great driver!—I suddenly felt like I’d never even touched a steering wheel; like I’d forgotten how to even turn a damn ignition key.