Trashed: An Eastside Brewery Novel

by Mia Hopkins

  Slim walks us slowly to the front door and shakes our hands. Carmen stands behind her mother like a shadow, avoiding eye contact with me.

  “Any questions, please ask,” Vanessa says again as we stand on the doorstep. “When you’ve made your decision, if you think you’d like to work with us, please call me. I’ll contact a third-party broker to draft the lease agreement.”

  I walk down the driveway behind my brother. I climb into the back seat of Vanessa’s car and look out the window. I see a slice of Carmen’s face just for a moment before her father shuts the door.

  I let out a deep breath. One motherfucker of a headache is rising behind my eyes. “Did we—did I—just screw that up for you guys?”

  Vanessa lowers her sunglasses and glances at me in the rearview mirror. “We made most of our points before you two arrived, so I think we’re okay.”

  “Jesus.” Sal shakes his head. “Mrs. Centeno looked like she wanted to rip your head off and eat it.”

  I run my fingers through my messy hair. “Carmen’s twenty-five years old. Why does her mom treat her like that?”

  “Traditional household,” Vanessa says. “When you’re a daughter, that’s just the way things are. If you live at home, they’ll treat you like a little girl until you get married, end of story. She’s an only child too. They’re probably extra hard on her.”

  Sal and Vanessa drop me off at the garden. I want to crash, but watching Rafa work in the garden makes me feel lazy. I clean the trailer. I vacuum, dust, and sweep. I find Carmen’s blue lace panties under the sofa. I put them in my pocket like a classic pervert. I take all the laundry in the trailer to the Laundromat a couple blocks away. No one else is there, so I stay quiet with my thoughts as I wash and fold.

  Rafa makes us an ensalada de nopales for dinner. He also hands me a weird concoction of juices made with beets and carrots that makes my mouth look like a vampire.

  “Drink it all.”

  “But it’s gross.”

  “Be quiet.” He chuckles to himself. “She’ll thank me later.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “You know who.”

  I wash the dishes while Rafa puts on his hat and jacket.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “To see my compadre.” He means his pot-growing partner in Hacienda Heights. “I’m going to be gone all night.” He laughs a little. “Call your lady over. Have at it, mi’jo.”

  After Rafa leaves, I wait until dark. I watch TV, but nothing holds my interest. I take out my phone and stare at it.

  Carmen and I were together all night. You’d think I’d be satisfied, that I’d need a break, but the opposite is true. My hunger is double, triple what it was before.

  I’m sitting on the sofa in the dark, alone. I look around the living room. My hand rests on the armrest of the sofa where she bent over as I took her from behind. I look down at the carpet. That’s where she lay on her back with her long legs wide open, her hands gripping my hair as she came.

  As soon as the sun goes down, I call her. I listen to my own breathing as the phone rings. I’m already hard.

  “Hey,” I say when she picks up.

  “Hey.”

  She sighs. I want to kiss her and swallow the sigh.

  “Are you alone?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I’m in my room.” Her voice is tired and a little ragged.

  “Is everything okay? With your mom?”

  “Yeah. It’s fine.” When I don’t say anything, she adds, “Listen, don’t worry about me. I’m used to it. I’m okay.”

  I don’t believe she’s okay, but I know a way to make her feel better. “Can you come out and see me? Rafa’s gone. All night.”

  “I can’t. They took my keys.”

  “What? Really?”

  “I know. They changed the alarm code too. If I leave the house the alarm will go off.”

  She’s on lockdown. I adjust my dick in my pants. “Jesus. Is that even legal?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Will the alarm go off if I come in?”

  “Pretty sure it will.”

  “What’s a little breaking and entering?” I say. She laughs softly. I want to kiss her so bad my chest aches. “So, what are you wearing?”

  She snorts. “Are you serious?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Um, a T-shirt. And panties.”

  Goddamn. “Are you in bed?”

  “Yeah. Under the covers.”

  “I wish I were there with you.”

  She’s quiet for a little while. What is she thinking? “I wish you were here too,” she says.

  I turn off the TV. “I can be, if that’s what you want.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I turn off the lamp. “Want to try something with me?”

  “What?”

  “Go lock your door.”

  “Lock my door? Why?”

  “Trust me.”

  I hear her footsteps and a click. “Okay.”

  “Is it dark in your room?” I ask.

  “I’ve got a little nightlight on.”

  “Turn it off.”

  “What? Why?”

  I undo my shorts and take my dick out. The cool air hits my skin. I run my palm gently down the shaft and over the head. It jerks, getting harder. “No questions, Carmen.”

  On the other end of the line, I hear another click. “Okay.”

  “Which hand is holding your phone?”

  “My left hand.”

  “With your right hand, I want you to touch yourself.”

  She pauses for a moment. “How?” Her voice is so soft. She wants me to take care of her.

  Five years—that’s how long I was locked up. Over time, I learned how to live without sex. But sometimes, my body wouldn’t listen to me. The urge to fuck would overcome me like a demonic possession.

  Inside, some inmates found relief—and sometimes love—in each other. Others, the predators, forced themselves on their victims. Because of my gang affiliation, I was lucky. I was never assaulted. But the loneliness—that was mine to face.

  I masturbated twice, sometimes three times a day. I survived by living inside my head, by diving into whatever romance novels I could get my hands on, by creating fantasies so real they held me tight all those long, long years when I was alone.

  “Okay, baby girl,” I whisper. “Listen carefully.”

  Seventeen

  “After we slept together for the first time,” I say, “I would dream of you. I would dream of that long black hair. So straight and beautiful.” I take a deep breath. Like a ghost in the memory of my senses, the smell of her fills my lungs. “Undo your hair for me, Carmen. Make it loose.”

  I hear the phone rustle against the bedsheets. Against her hair.

  “Now run your hand over it. Imagine that’s my hand. Touch your hair like you’re touching it for the first time. You’ve never touched anything so soft in your entire life. How does it feel?”

  “Slippery,” she whispers. “Cold.”

  “Why is it cold?”

  “I washed it and it’s not completely dry yet.”

  “Comb your fingers through it.”

  I let a few seconds pass as she strokes her fingers through her hair.

  “Imagine I’m sitting on a couch and you’re sitting on the floor. You’re resting your head against my knee. And I’m petting your head. My sweet, beautiful girl. My good girl.” I pause. My cock twitches and gets thicker. I give it a stroke. “Are you imagining it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does that picture turn you on?”

  “Yes.”

  I lean back on the sofa and slide my hips forward. I’m fully hard. My cock lifts off my abs. Gently, I grasp it and slowly jack off the first few inches, back and forth.

  “Your door is locked, right, baby girl?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Take off your T-shirt and drop it on the floor. Lie back down on your bed. On top of the covers.”

>   She does it.

  “Imagine you’re here in the trailer with me,” I say. “Now you’re lying on the floor in front of me, where you were last night. Run your hand over your throat. Slide it down the center of your body, between your tits. Down your stomach. Now back up again—but slowly. So slowly. Let me watch you touch your skin. Let me feel it.”

  I let the quiet spread out between us. I imagine her long, brown body on the floor in front of me, beautiful and smooth. I imagine her breast brushing her forearm as she touches herself. “How do you feel?”

  “Good.” She pauses. “Cold.”

  I grip my dick harder. I want to run my tongue over the goosebumps I imagine on her skin. “I’m in front of you, looking down on you. Will you put on a little show for me?”

  “Yes,” she whispers. She’s breathing a little faster.

  “Slide your hand down over your panties. Rub yourself, slowly, up and down, over the fabric.” I wait. I strain to listen, but all I can hear are her soft breaths. “What do you feel as you touch yourself, baby girl?”

  Her words come slowly. She likes my dirty talk, but she doesn’t feel comfortable talking back. “Lace. It’s rough. Underneath that, I’m soft.”

  “What’s soft?”

  I hear her lick her lips. “My body.”

  “Use the word, Carmen. Say it.”

  Her voice is barely a whisper. “My pussy.”

  “Good girl.” I smile to myself. “I can imagine it. The soft mound of your pussy—that’s under the palm of your hand. Press down on it. Press the flesh against the bone. Fuck. I can imagine how it feels, Carmen. So good. Your fingers rest against your pussy lips, don’t they? I can see everything. Your middle finger rests against your pretty little clit. It’s getting harder and harder. I’m not even there and your pretty pussy is aching for me—keep rubbing. Don’t stop.”

  Quietly, in the dark, I jack off slowly. A minute passes as we touch ourselves, alone in our rooms, linked only by our phones and the same desperate thirst that makes my cock hard and her pussy wet.

  A drop of precome forms on the tip of my dick. I swipe it away with my thumb and lick it off. Sweet. Familiar. I wish I could put that taste in her mouth.

  “I’m watching you. From where I’m sitting on the sofa. You’re my beautiful girl. So sweet and dirty and perfect. Lying there on the floor, putting on a show just for me,” I say. “Now open your legs. Nice and wide. Keep rubbing yourself. Make the fabric wet. I want it dripping.”

  As she touches herself, I pull her panties from my pocket. I close my eyes and hold them against my face. I breathe in. Her scent fills my lungs. Blood pounds through my body. My dick stands straight up, electrified by the candy-sweet, narcotic scent of her cunt. With her panties in my fist, I grab my dick and jack myself off harder. The lace is rough against my skin. I tighten my grip. Pleasure shoots through me like fire.

  “Slip your fingers underneath the panties.” My voice is hard. There’s an edge to it now that my orgasm is in clear sight. “Now slowly stroke those swollen little lips. Up and down. So wet. So perfect. Tell me, Carmen. Tell me you were made to be fucked. Say it.”

  Her voice shakes. I can hear her panting. “I was made to be fucked.”

  “Say it again. Say my name.”

  “I was made to be fucked, Eddie.”

  “Say you were made to be fucked by me.”

  “I was made to be fucked by you, Eddie.”

  My jaw tightens. An orgasm threatens to rip through me but I put a strangle-hold on my dick and push my release back down. My stomach clenches. It hurts—physically hurts—to deny myself. But I do it, because pain tastes good with pleasure.

  “Take off your panties,” I grunt. “Open your legs as wide as they go. Show me everything, baby girl.”

  I hear the rustling of bed sheets and cloth. I hear her throw herself back down on the bed. She picks up the phone and waits for her next instructions. I listen to her breathing, quick and soft, and I swear I can feel it against my skin.

  “Are you doing it?”

  “Yes,” she says.

  “I know how wet you get. I know how much your pussy likes my dick. Put your fingertips against that little opening. Feel how wet you are.”

  I jack off as she does it, clenching my abs whenever I get too close to the edge of my orgasm.

  “Are your fingers wet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you aching? Are you aching for me the way I’m aching for you?”

  “Yes, Eddie.”

  Hijole. “Tuck the phone against your ear,” I say. “While your wet fingers play with your clit, I want you to slide one finger deep inside that tight pussy for me. Will you do that for me, Carmen?”

  “Y-Yes.”

  “Do it now.”

  She’s silent. I imagine her long fingers working away at her pussy, plunging deep and massaging her pink clit as she gets wetter and wetter.

  “How does it feel?” I say.

  “Tight.”

  I fling her panties away and wrap my aching dick in my rough, familiar fist. I grip myself without mercy, imagining how tight she feels around me.

  “Put a second finger inside.” My voice is shot, deep and ragged. “Fuck yourself hard. As you stretch your pussy, I want you to grip your fingers back. Push and pull.” I take a breath. “Make it hurt a little, baby girl. Just like it does when we’re together.”

  A few seconds pass. My ears strain to hear signs she’s getting close. Her soft breaths turn to whimpers. “I’m gonna come.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  I throw my head back on the sofa and close my eyes tight.

  There in the dark, I know we’re not alone—we’re together.

  She’s underneath me, hot and real and alive.

  I’m above her, slamming my dick deep, hammering away at her sweet spot until the whole world disappears around us. An orgasm vibrates at the base of my spine.

  As soon as I hear her desperate gasp over the phone, I explode. A pained and strangled yell escapes from my chest. Pure ecstasy slams me. I shoot come all over my abs and the sharp, clean smell of it blends with the scent of her. The orgasm roars through me and I think, desperately, this is what it means to lose control. This is what it means to lose yourself.

  “Are you still there?”

  I blink in the dark. I clear my throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

  I lift my head and take stock of my situation. I still have my dick in a death-grip. It’s still hard. Come cools in little puddles on my skin. Quickly, I clean myself up. I pull my shorts back up and stretch out on the carpet. All of my muscles are relaxed, and I’m feeling mellow as hell. I’m trashed on sex—trashed on Carmen.

  She makes a sound like she’s stretching. “That was amazing.”

  “Fuck yeah.” I rest an arm over my eyes and take a deep breath. Curiosity gets to me. “Ever do anything like that before?”

  “No,” she says.

  A bubble of pride swells in my chest. “So I popped your phone-sex cherry?”

  “Popped it? You pitted it, swallowed it, and tied the stem in a knot with your tongue.”

  I laugh a little. “You did good.”

  We stay on the phone together and say nothing. The silence is not awkward. It’s far from awkward—it feels right, almost like holding each other after making love. I listen to her breathing and imagine wrapping my arms around her as we drop off to sleep, just like we did last night.

  “Hey, listen,” she says.

  “What’s up?”

  “I really want to apologize to you. For my mom.”

  The last thing I want to talk about right now is Carmen’s mom. So I say, “You don’t have any reason to apologize. And anyway, we found a way to be together tonight. Sort of.”

  But Carmen wants to continue apologizing. “I hate that you had to see us like that. It must have been really uncomfortable for all of you.”

  “Yeah, really uncomfortable.” I smile to myself. �
��You know, my dad once threw me out of a moving car for tossing a switchblade at Sal. The tip stuck in his leg. His calf, to be specific.”

  That makes her pause. “Are you serious?”

  “Did you forget who I am? My last name? I’m a Rosas. We invented family dysfunction. What I saw today at your house? That was nothing.” I rub my forehead. “Let’s see. Okay, imagine I’m your mom. My only beloved, beautiful, precious daughter Carmen is living at home. She loses her job because of some dishwasher at her work. In spite of the fact that she’s a total babe—”

  “Oh my God, stop.”

  “Shh,” I say. “Don’t interrupt my scenario.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you going to interrupt my scenario?”

  “No.” She laughs softly. “Go ahead.”

  “Good. What was I saying? In spite of the fact that she is a total babe and can get any man she wants, she continues to see him. He’s a formerly incarcerated gang member with neck tattoos and a black eye. She spends the night with him and sneaks in the next day with messed-up hair and wrinkled pajamas. Does that sound right?”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “If I were your mom, I might be a little upset. Just a little.”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “Do you get what I’m saying?” I ask.

  “That gangster—he’s pretty cute, though,” she whispers.

  “He is pretty cute. Handsome. Fucking gorgeous, really.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” She laughs again. It’s music to my ears.

  We talk a little more, about nothing, about everything. Time slows down. I want to stay like this, talking to her, forever.

  I don’t really want to ask her this next question, but I have to know. “So what are you going to do now?”

  “About what?”

  It feels strange to say us—there isn’t really an us yet. “About me. About hooking up.”

  “I don’t know yet,” she says slowly. “But…I want to see where this goes.”

  I lie there on the floor of the trailer and look up at the moonlight shining on Rafa’s paintings of the saints, his bouquets of flowers and medallions and good luck charms meant to ward off the evil eye. I wonder if all of these things are finally having a positive effect on me. So I test my luck.