13
Emily
Ipull jeans over my thick, velvet thighs. Fabric catches against my impurities as I put on a lacy shirt. I love the feel of it against my skin. My hair falls in deep, red waves down to my shoulders.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Hold on,” I shout.
I sweep the powder covered mirror, straw, and recently purchased pill bottle into the drawer before unlocking the door. Somehow my mother never notices the guilt on my face. David would be able to tell in an instant. I hate that he can do that.
Our dog runs in after my mother. He circles my feet as Mom sits on the bed. I reach down to pet his curly, golden fur, and his cold nose presses against my wrist. I avoid Mom's gaze.
“How are you doing with”—she clears her throat—“everything today?”
“Dad’s birthday?” I ask. “I’m doing okay.”
My father was the love of my mother's life. He was a kind man in a way that’s difficult to understand without having known him. An angel that walked among us. He was a better person than I will ever be. He was my mother's best friend, yet in typical mom fashion, she worries more about how I’m doing.
She waits for me to say something more. I can tell from the look in her eyes that she wants to reach into my heart and mend its brokenness. But I can’t seem to let her in. I hide every tear from her and leave awkward silences in the air between us.
“Okay, Emily. I'm here to talk if you need to. I need you, you know that?” She smiles weakly. “Come on, Maxwell.”
Max bounds out of my bedroom after my mother.
I wipe the wetness from my wrist. I pull out the mirror and pills when I can’t hear my mother’s footsteps in the hall anymore.
Lines. Thin and even white lines. My reflection stares back at me as I lean over and inhale. My racing brain slows to a standstill. A slow breath of relief. I lie back onto my bed with a sigh and look over at the bottle. Its label has been ripped off, leaving a white paper residue.
“Emily?”
David's deep voice pierces the silence of my room from downstairs.
“Yeah, what? I'm in my room!”
“Can you come help me for a moment?”
I grumble, not wanting to leave my escape yet.
His voice drags me outside. The sun hits my pale skin with force, and I squint to shield my eyes from the glare. David kneels beside the lawn mower. The sun kisses his skin as if it remembers him from the South.
“What do you need?” I ask.
He looks up at me and smiles. A cigarette hangs loosely from his lips. “I can't seem to get this damn thing to start. It worked fine when I used it a few weeks ago, and now it won't even turn over.” His voice is racked with frustration as he wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “I don't fucking get it.” He paces for a moment.
I walk to the overturned lawnmower. A bit of rope clings to some inner components. It’s looped around and wrapped up in the blades. I pull my pocketknife from my boot, flip it open in a quick motion, and saw at the rope. As I pull at the frayed pieces, I recognize the strings as one of Maxwell's rope toys.
David lifts an eyebrow at me and I smile. He rights the lawnmower and pulls the cord. It roars to life beside the torn up pieces of colorful rope. I squat down to pick up the remnants and toss them in the garbage pail, wiping my hands on my jeans when I’m finished. I look away for a moment. It’s beautiful out, but my skin can only take so much of this sunshine. The lawnmower cuts off again, and I turn my attention back to David.
“Thanks, Em. You always seem to know how to accidentally fix things,” he says. He smirks, placing the cigarette behind his ear. “Your mom was insistent I get the backyard done today. She spent the morning crying, so I sure wasn't going to give her shit about it, you know?”
He pulls his t-shirt up over his head, showcasing soft muscles beneath lightly tanned skin. His hip bones are prominent, his jeans hugging just below them. He leans over to restart the lawn mower, and my eyes fall on the small of his back. It’s curved and surprisingly erotic. I stare, eyes shielded by my hand like a tourist admiring one of the world's wonders. I shake my head.
“I'll see you inside, okay!?” I yell toward him.
He nods before getting to work on the lawn. I retreat inside, where my heated skin begins to cool off again.
* * *
David
I hate doing yard work.It reminds me of how out-of-shape I have become. I do it solely because Em's mom lets me stay here. I finish the front and back lawn, drape my shirt over my shoulder, and head inside.
I find Em in her bed, taking a nap. A mirror rests on her dresser, blanketed with leftover powder. She always gets sleepy when she's high, though the drugs aren’t the only reason she naps so much. She also sleeps to escape reality and find comfort in her dream world.
I admire her curves for a moment. She's an atypical beauty. I sit beside her and rub my hand down her side, past her hip, and rest it on her thigh. She moans softly, and I pull her into me as I lie against her. I play with her hair and brush it over her shoulder. I’m engulfed in her scent as I bury my face in the nape of her neck. She snores and drools a bit, yet I still find her stunning. I wipe the drool away from her slightly parted lips.
Emily is my weakness. I could never hurt her like I do others. Her hazel eyes mirror colors relative to her emotions. They constantly change from brownish green to bright green, making it easy for me to read her. When coupled with the way her pale skin reddens when her emotions become heightened, I can always know what she’s feeling. She hates it and often turns away from me to shield herself. She's such an embattled girl.
I know Em has feelings for me. I’m not totally naïve. I notice her stares. She absorbs even my subtlest expressions and reads me like a journal she has authored herself. She sees something in me that I cannot.
* * *
Emily
I wakefrom my nap to David's arm around me, behind my head. I lean up on my elbow and look back at him. His other arm is draped off the side of the bed. He's on his back, snoring with his face tilted toward me. I reach for my phone.
“Seven? Are you kidding me?” I whisper.
I roll over to face him. He reacts by pulling me further into him. I rest my head on his chest and feel his breath along the back of my neck. I put my leg between his. His hardness is against my inner thigh. He always gets hard when he's sleeping. I imagine him getting aroused because of me, as if it’s because of a yearning he has for me. I know it isn't true, but it doesn't change how my body responds to these thoughts. I feel a throbbing between my legs.
“Good morning,” he mumbles.
“Evening. It's actually after seven now.”
He kisses my forehead before sitting up and stretching. “Well, in that case, good evening!”
We share some lines. He inhales and falls back against my pillows with his hands beneath his head.
“I'm fucking starving,” he says with a roaring breath.
“What do you want?”
“Pizza. All the pizza.” He smirks.
I nod, open my phone, and order two pizzas—sausage for him and pepperoni for me, though we’ll end up sharing.
“It says thirty-five minutes. It takes about that long to get there if we leave now,” I say.
“Let’s go.” He sits up and wipes his face with his hand, then stands and grabs the truck keys off the dresser, handing them to me.
We walk to the truck with heavy footsteps. I lean against the driver’s door for a moment before opening it and sliding into the seat.
“You good?” David asks.
“Oh yeah. I’m straight.” I look at him and smile.
He nods as if he doesn’t quite believe me and hops into the passenger seat.
I drive a bit too slowly and keep pushing the truck to the line of the shoulder. We stop at a red light and I tap my hand on the steering wheel. I’m higher than I thought. The light turns green and my reaction is slow. The car behind us lays on their horn. David shows them the middle finger trick out the back windshield. I look at the driver in my rearview mirror as he lays on the horn again. I drive forward.
“There’s a car!” David yells.
“Oh, shit!” I yell back, slamming on the brakes.
A compact car shoots through its red light and careens into the intersection. My truck is older and takes a moment too long to come to a stop. The sound of crunching metal rings in my ears. The force jars us forward, and I hit my head on the steering wheel.
“Oh, my god! David, are you okay?” I look over and he stares at me with wide eyes.
“What just happened?” he asks as he touches the back of his neck.
“That car hit us.” I open the door, step out, and walk around the front of my truck.
The hood of the other vehicle is crumpled in on itself, and the airbags have deployed. Behind the driver’s seat, an alert woman yells at me through the closed window. I walk back to the truck and assess the damage. There are a few minor dents. I remember my dad telling me the truck was built like a tank, and it sure rings true now. I walk back to the driver’s side and find David sitting in my seat.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Let me be the driver. You look high.”
“And you don’t?”
“I can handle it.”
“The car is registered in my family’s name. There will be fewer questions.” I point to my nose, reminding him we are both high.
“Too late,” he says. I walk back to the passenger side and climb up into the seat, wiping the sweat off my hands.
A cop pulls and parks behind us, bright lights glaring. A female officer steps out of the car and walks toward us. Another squad car pulls up beside her. She says something inaudible to her backup and gestures toward the dog walker standing at the corner. By the time she approaches the truck, David is sitting calmly in the driver’s seat. He rolls down his window.
“Are you both okay?” she asks.
“Yes, we’re fine,” I say coolly.
“What happened?” she asks.