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detectiveinchicago · 4 years ago

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SPARKS FLY: Chapter 5

Chapter list here

Note: Hi guys! I was inspired so I wrote this chapter even if I’m with my exams! I know I said that Kenny will be on this chapter but I promise that on chapter 6 he is coming. English is not my first language. THANK U FOR YOU BEAUTIFUL COMMENTS!!! Enjoy xxx. DISCLAIMER: GIF IS NOT MINE.

LAURA JAMES AS CAITLYN HALSTEAD

Caitlyn parked the car, took out the keys from the ignition, and placed her hands on the steering wheel, taking a deep breath. “Come on Caitlyn, you’re an adult and you need to get this over with” she told herself getting out of the car and walking up the hill.

“I didn’t come here to see you, I came here to end all these feelings and emotions that I have about you” Caitlyn said talking to the wind and looking down at her father’s grave. Pat Halstead had died more than a year ago and Caitlyn had left the family home over ten years ago, but the memory of Pat kept coming back. As Jess told her, she needed to get past that and move on. “Even when you are already gone you keep coming around to haunt me.”

“You couldn’t even apologize after what you did to me,” Caitlyn started looking at the name engraved on the gravestone. “Not even one phone call after all these years, most likely you couldn’t even remember what you did to me, you kept ruining my life and you couldn’t even remember it the morning after! What a father!”

----flashback----

Her mother had passed away last month, and Caitlyn’s family was broken. Her family was broke long before but that was the confirmation Caitlyn needed to know that she had to run away from Chicago. She had always been very good at sports, but since she entered high school, Caitlyn was on the track and cheer team. The University of California had offered her an athletic scholarship for the next year, Caitlyn knew that was her Chicago getaway ticket.

That month had been crazy. After her mother passed away, her brother Jay had applied for an army license and returned home. Her older brother Will had decided that he was “too busy” in New York to go home, Caitlyn wanted to be mad at him but if she had been in his place, she would have done the same. Their house was a living hell, their mother was the only thing keeping them together, and lately not even that, she had been sick for three years, cancer consuming her. Jay did not last long in Chicago. As soon as he attended their mother’s funeral he left again with the excuse that he needed to go back. But Caitlyn knew better than that. He wanted to run away from their father. In less than a week her father and Jay had fought more than in their entire lives.

Soon after, her house returned to normal. Family and friends stopped visiting, her brother was gone, and her father drank more than usual. Caitlyn didn’t mind because she was hardly home if she wasn’t at school, she was training or with her friends or studying in her room. She always had to clean and wash the mess Pat left. Dirty dishes were the first thing Caitlyn did when she went down to breakfast every morning, and at night she tidy up the living room and throw away the beer cans. Watching the game was her father’s excuse to drink.

That night she had stayed out late training and then went to a friend’s house to a small party she was throwing, When she returned home the lights were still on. Caitlyn went up the stairs and saw her father walking out of his room into the hallway with a bottle of beer in hand.

“You keep drinking huh?” she said looking at him.

“Shut up! Stop bothering me!”

And what happened then Caitlyn did not expect it, her father turned around and threw the beer bottle in his hand with such force that Caitlyn lost her balance and fell back down the stairs rolling down. She heard a door slam upstairs and tried to move from the strange position where she was but she gave a cry of pain; her left leg was killing her. She looked down but all she could see was her knee which had a vast bruise; she tried to reach it, but her wrist also hurt. She reached for the cell phone in her pocket to call 911. When the ambulance came, Pat didn’t even bother to get off.

When the doctor asked her what had happened, she said that she had lost her balance with her heels and that she had fallen down the stairs; it was not very far from what had happened. Caitlyn had already turned 18 two months ago, she did not need Pat to sign anything and despite Dr. Caitlyn’s questioning; she remained firm in her version of events. But for Caitlyn that night was the beginning of the end, she had dislocated her knee and kneecap which had rehabilitation for six to twelve weeks; she had sprained her ankle and broken her wrist. That night she said goodbye to her scholarship, she did not have enough time to recover on time and her getaway ticket had been destroyed.

----flashback----

“You deserve the hatred I gave you all these years because you turned the year that was supposed to be the best of my life into a living hell,” Caitlyn said as the memories hit her and she raised her voice “You were the reason I made so many bad decisions”

After that night, Caitlyn was lost without the scholarship and her future in California but also entered a path without direction. She felt that she had nothing to lose, so she started going to parties with her friends before she could never go to parties because she always trained early the next morning but now that she couldn’t, she started going out more. She couldn’t recover completely from her sprain; Caitlyn went to the doctor twice because she had fallen, because her ankle was still weak. One night when she returned from a party her father was still watching television and when she is an attack of anger tried to take away the beer from Pat, he twisted her wrist, causing it to break again. A week after that he threw a bottle into her again making a big cut into her arm and hand “You never showed even a little piece of sympathy for your only daughter, you didn’t even care”, she said with her broken voice, “You keep sending me to hospitals and you couldn’t even remember it, do you know how frustrating that was for me?”

Way long before that Pat was an especial person, the verbal abuse was the worst part, to Jay, to Will and to her “You broke this family, you turned it apart before mom died by underestimating Will and picking up on Jay”, she said while she kept talking to his grave “I couldn’t stop wondering… Why me?”

Autumn was beginning and living up to its name. The wind was blowing, and the leaves that flew around covered the cemetery. Caitlyn’s hair moved in the wind as she placed her hands in the pockets of her coat “You made me hate myself, being angry and so insecure all the time”, Caitlyn continued, “God! You even were part of my marriage, I wasn’t able to love anyone after you feared me apart, I deserved a great love and I let it go because I couldn’t get over you” Her tears fell while she remembered what it could have been of her marriage.

Caitlyn listened to the sound of the leaves of the trees moving as she took a deep breath “I wish you could have been a better father; you own my past but I’m tired of you defying my future”, she ended up lifting her chin and staring at the name engraved on the grave “You can’t control me anymore”

Caitlyn took a deep breath and turned away from Pat’s grave and walked back to the car. Her phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. She gulped and tried to calm her voice before answering.

“What’s going on? I’ve been calling you for hours? I need to tell you something about the case, I found a clue,” Caitlyn to her partner when she answered the call.

“You can tell me on the scene, they found another body,” O.A informed her.

“I’m on my way”

When she hung up the phone, Caitlyn had lifted a weight out of her. She had not realized how much she needed to talk to her father and tell him what she thought even though he was already dead. She could finally move forward.

--------------------------------------------

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daggerzine · 4 years ago

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Early DC hardcore gent Rob Moss tells us what it was like then....and now.

When I became friends with a Rob Moss on Facebook a year or so back I knew the name sounded familiar. Then, I’d heard he was a musician (as well as an author) and releasing a new record under the name Rob Moss and Skin-Tight Skin. Hmm….very interesting band name. I then began digging a little deeper and found out it was the same Rob Moss who had been in the Washington, DC-area pre-Marginal Man band called Artificial Peace and had later played in Government Issue for a time.

Apparently Rob hadn’t played music since those old hardcore days, but was now back in the saddle and living in Portland, Oregon (where he’s lived for several years). With Rob Moss and Skin-Tight Skin he put together an interesting concept, a different guest guitarist for each song. Some of the names you will definitely recognize from the punk rock days and beyond. It’s certainly a unique sounding record (and I reviewed it here on the site a few weeks back).

I wanted to ask Rob about the old days and have him bring us up to the present and everything in between. He was more than happy to oblige.

You’re on Flex Your Head and were in two iconic Washington, D.C. hardcore bands, were you born and raised there?

We moved from Boston to Wheaton, Maryland in 1966 – I was three – and to Bethesda a year later. The Bethesda I grew up in had a downtown of mostly old two- and three-story buildings, and there were cows in the field across from Walter Johnson High when I went there. I’ve not lived in the D.C. area since the fall of 1983.

Do you remember your earliest exposure to music?

My first memories are my dad playing records, like Edvard Grieg’s Hall of the Mountain King and Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf. I think he chose them because that kind of music’s so visual. In the mid 1970s I discovered WPGC, a Top-40 station. I had a Radio Shack cassette deck that I’d put up against the radio to record stuff like The Night Chicago Died (Paper Lace) and Blockbuster (Sweet).

How and when did the punk rock bug hit you?

The how and who was Marc Alberstadt (original drummer in Government Issue). We’ve been friends since kindergarten and went to Hebrew school together. We used to hang out at his house and listen to his older brother’s records. Like Can’t Stand the Rezillos, the first Generation X album and the Sex Pistols. The when was 1978 or ’79.

Back then, Kenny, Marc’s brother, would sneak us in to see bands at the Psyche Delly and at the University of Maryland. There were no underage shows then. We saw the Slickee Boys, the Bad Brains, Tina Peel, Sorrows – bands like that.

But as far as really getting bit by the bug, it was when I saw how much fun the Slickee Boys had on stage. I had to start my own band, even though at that point I didn’t play a guitar or anything. This was before the Teen Idles, Dischord, or any of that.

When did you first pick up an instrument?

Marc was already playing drums, and Brian Gay played guitar. They convinced me to get a bass. Brian and I started getting together at his mom’s place in 1979 to write songs. They were pretty crude, we were taking our cues from the :30 Over D.C. compilation album.

How did you meet the Artificial Peace guys?

Let’s go back further. I was away for two weeks in the summer of 1980. And during that time, Government Issue had formed with Brian on bass and Marc on drums.

Brian and I already had a bunch of songs, and he still wanted to play guitar. So we formed another band – he played in both. We knew Mike Manos from school and learned that his brother had a drum set. Mike didn’t really know how to play. Marc gave him some tips, the rest was on-the-job training.

But we still needed a singer. This new wave-looking girl, named Sandra something-or-other, appeared in our school. She’d just moved from New York. None of the other girls at school looked like her. We asked her to sing. We called ourselves The Indians – it was supposed to be ironic.

Our first show was at American University with the GIs, S.O.A. and Youth Brigade. But it got cancelled at the last minute. So everyone met up at Roy Rogers. Fifty, maybe seventy-five, punks walked into the place within a few minutes of each other. The manager came out from behind the counter, he thought we were up to no good. But all we wanted was something to eat and to come up with a plan-B.

We ended up playing that night in the basement of a house in D.C. It was the first time we actually got to hear Sandra sing, because she’d kept pulling a no-show to our practices. John Stabb said she sounded like a dying parakeet.

After that we replaced her with Steve Polcari, who we’d known since junior high school, and changed our name to Assault and Battery. We played some shows like the infamous Pow Wow House gig, which I had set up, and recorded a demo a few months later.

But at the end of the summer of 1981, Brian went to art school in Chicago and I started at the University of Maryland. That meant the GIs needed a new bass player and we needed a new guitarist. Minor Threat had just broken up for the first time, and Brian Baker joined the GIs on bass, he later moved to guitar. Red-C had also just disbanded, so we welcomed Pete Murray to join us.

Artificial Peace was the name of one of our songs. I don’t know if we’d played it with Brian, I may have written it after he left. But we felt like we needed a new band name. We became Artificial Peace.

What were some of Artificial Peace’s most memorable shows?

Opening for the Bad Brains at the Peppermint Lounge in New York City. H.R. called the number he had for me, which was the pay phone down the hall from my dorm room in College Park. We drove up the day of the show, unloaded our gear and discovered H.R. gave me the wrong date. It was the next day. The show itself was terrible! The soundman screwed us. There was nothing in the monitors, we couldn’t hear a thing.

We played another show in NYC at the A7. The first band went on at midnight, we went on around five in the morning. Cheetah Chrome played that night, all I remember was that he was pretty messed up.

We also opened for Black Flag in Baltimore on their Damaged tour. We played well, but the power went out twice during Black Flag’s set. Henry recreated the Damaged album cover and punched out one of the mirror tiles that edged the stage. Lots of blood. How punk rock (laughing)!

As far as D.C., we played some shows at the Wilson Center, which were probably our best. We also played a talent show at the high school that Mike, Steve and I went to. We’d graduated the year before – I don’t recall how we got on the bill. A lot of punks showed up, it was pretty funny.

Only known color photo to exist of Artificial Peace. Wilson Center, 1982. Photo by Davis White.

How did the band end?

Pete called me on the phone, telling me that he and the guys didn’t want to play anymore. It was a surprise. He gave no reason. A few weeks later I heard about Marginal Man. I guess they couldn’t be straight with me.

Was G.I. next? How did that happen? Stabb was my first D.C. hero that I ever met (1985 in Trenton).

Before I joined the GIs, I got together a few times with Kenny Alberstadt, who’s a fantastic guitarist, as well as a female guitarist, whose name escapes me. She looked like Joan Jett and played great! But it didn’t go anywhere.

Then Mitch Parker left Government Issue in the spring of 1983, and I got a call asking if I wanted to join. I played on the GIs summer tour. Our first show was at CBGBs. We had John’s dad’s Buick and a U-Haul trailer full of gear. Just us, no roadies. Tom and I did nearly all the driving. John never got a license. We’d let Marc drive only if Tom and I needed a break. We’d crash at people’s houses after the shows. Some nights it was at nice place and we got to do laundry. Other times, it was more like a squat. Tours were grueling then.

Marc Alberstadt, Tom Lyle, Rob Moss, Tuffy. Outside Shamus O'Brien's, South El Monte (Los Angeles), 1983. Photo by Jordan Schwartz.

John Stabb and Rob Moss, Sun Valley Sportsman's Hall (Los Angeles), 1983. Photo by Ted Ziegler.

How did your tenure in G.I. end? Did you stop making music?

Around the end of the tour I heard that my transfer to Boston University got accepted. I told the guys. Tom, understandably, was not happy. Once I moved, I stopped playing. And by that time, I felt the scene wasn’t fun anymore.

How did Rob Moss and Skin-Tight Skin come about? Had the idea been brewing for a while?

I’d always wanted to do something more in music. About three years ago I picked up a guitar, started writing songs and posted a few on Facebook. Dwight Reid asked if I wanted to record them at his home studio. He’d play bass and we’d find a drummer. That’s how it happened.

Why did you get a different lead guitarist for each song?

I can get by playing rhythm guitar and singing, but not leads. And I wasn’t ready to commit to forming a touring band. Under those circumstances it would’ve been too big an ask to interest a great lead guitarist to get involved.

But what if, instead, I asked a different guy to play on each song? So I called up old friends and friends of friends, and nearly everyone agreed to help.

What made it such an incredible experience for me is how many musicians I’ve long admired said yes. In your question earlier, about when the punk rock bug hit me, I told you about seeing the Slickee Boys when I was 16 and hearing the first Generation X album. To have guys from those bands – Marshall Keith and Bob ‘Derwood’ Andrews – play on my new album is tremendous. I feel the same about Nels Cline, Don Fleming, Franz Stahl, Stuart Casson, Billy Loosigian, Dave Lizmi, Saul Koll, Chris Rudolf, Marion Monterosso, Spit Stix and everyone else who took part.

How’s the response to the record? Are you happy with it?

Many people comment on the song quality. That even after hearing the album once, they find themselves humming the songs. The earworm thing. To me that’s the best compliment.

What’s also made me happy is hearing from the guys who played on it. That they really like the album as a whole, not just their work on it.

Did you consider recording a hardcore album?

Listening to proto-punk and pub rock made me happy as a kid. And when I speak with friends who were there, many say the same thing. That’s why I make that type of music now, not hardcore.

With all that’s going on, isn’t hardcore still important?

As protest music? I suppose but it seems like preaching to the converted. Bob Dylan’s entire career is protest music, but he grew as an artist to express himself and reach more people. When he went electric in 1966, the folkies booed, they called him a traitor. They expected him to play the same Woody Guthrie songbook forever.

It's the same with hardcore. It had its place. I’m glad to have been part of it. But I no longer want to play it. Still, plenty of my new songs contain the kind of messages I wrote when I was in Artificial Peace. There’s also humor, like Ugly Chair and A Maltese Falcon. Or humor and tragedy, like Got My Ass Stuck in a Tree. Some are about getting older (Tony Alva’s Pictures) or being a kid (Life at 33 1/3 RPM).

How do you discover new music?

Recommendations from friends, mostly. But when I lived in Manhattan in the mid-‘80s to early ‘90s, I had a neighbor in the music business. He’d set down stacks of albums, mostly promo copies, by the trash. I saved what I liked and traded the rest.

That’s how I discovered a band I missed growing up. Willie Alexander and the Boom Boom Band. They were incredible, should’ve been huge! The intro to Rock & Roll ’78 still makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Years later I met the guitarist from that band, Billy Loosigian, through Facebook. And now he’s played on one of my songs. Experiences like that really made the album special to me. I hope it does for everyone else.

What’s next? More music in the future?

Anything’s possible.

https://skin-tight-rock.bandcamp.com/

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secretpianer · 6 years ago

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Apple Juice

hey look another bunny fic where butters runs away

Hell in Butters’ mind was never a pit of fire that burned for an eternity, or an nightmarish abyss roiling with the souls of the damned; it is a flat, infinitely expanding plane of frozen, desolate loneliness; a spearing cold that eats brutally at your flesh, then your muscles, then your bones, until they turn brittle, crumbling to ugly flecks of dust and blown into the windchill where they’d become part of the iced, hard landscape.

This is Hell; broken down five miles past Stark’s Pond at four in the morning with a snowstorm on its way. All of his possessions are in his car– well, the important ones are, like blankets, pillows, clothes, his laptop, some food and even toilet paper, enough to pack the entire backseat full, and as smoke plumes from the hood of his poor sedan all he can think is how cold it’ll be when he opens the door, and that if he can’t fix the engine the heat built up in his car will escape and his fingers will freeze off before he has a chance to figure out what went wrong or what to do next.

He can’t risk it. He’ll have to call someone. He takes out his phone, ignoring the tremble in his hand. His parents? He’d rather die of frostbite than ask them for help. His “friends” might be up– he considers Stan, but Stan’s reliability depends on Kyle, whose moral compass is radically skewed by whatever mood he or his mother is in, and at four in the morning it might not be so peachy. Cartman would come, only to laugh at his misfortune and then leave him to be buried in the storm. There’s only one option, the only one that was there from the beginning.

Butters prays for the signal to go through, and then smiles as the phone begins to ring. It rings for a long time. Butters is on edge, the muscles in his tensing jaw causing his teeth to chatter. The heat is rapidly draining from inside his car. Soon, he’ll have no choice but to consider about walking–

A click.

“Hello?”

The voice is groggy and agitated, but it’s there. Warm tears of relief brim his eyes.

“Kenny, I’m so sorry for waking you up, b-but I’m in a bit of a pickle here and I need your help.”

“Is it important enough that I have to get out of bed at four– shit fucking hell, it’s four in the goddamn morning–”

Butters sniffles. The tears brimming his eyes threaten to fall– it’s painful to hold them in, but he does. “I’m broken down. Dead in the water. I wouldn’t have called otherwise, but I’m out of town and it’s gonna snow soon, not just any snow but a storm and I might get trapped here a-and turn into a popsicle or get murdered by my parents and then turned into a popsicle–”

“Slow down.”

Butters hears a grunt and some shuffling, then Kenny is back on the receiver, more alert but more irritated.

“Where are you at?”

His pulse quickens with hope. “The interstate outside Sewell Park, about ten minutes out. I’m so gosh darn sorry about this, if I had just gotten the stupid thing maintenanced before I went out–”

“Hush. You owe me for this, Stotch.” Butters hears what he’s sure is a suppressed yawn. And then, in a gentler tone, “Hang tight, and stay warm. I’m on my way.”

Kenny ends the call and Butters sets his phone down. Streetlamps line the white roads. Through the orange glow, snow begins to fall.

Powdery and light at first, he knows, but soon it will rain in heavy torrents from the sky. The clouds have been blocking the sun and stars for days. He wanted to leave town before then, but like always, things didn’t turn out how he wanted. At least he’s not going to freeze. He leans his head back in the chair, closing his eyes.

Being buried in snow is not as fluffy and soft as Butters had used to imagine. It’s a slow, suffocating weight, a cold so dry and consuming that it burns. He used to love rolling in fresh falls of it, because it was so pillowy, light, and shallow enough to trudge through knee-deep, but ever since he bought his own car he’s dreamt of driving to Arizona, basking in its blistering heat, or even California, lounging on a breezy beach with burnt shoulders and sand in his hair.

Kenny arrives to him curled up tight into one of his extra coats. The engine has stopped smoking, and Kenny is looking from it to Butters, who is slow blinking awake in the driver’s seat and stiffly unwinding his frigid limbs. Kenny knocks on the window.

“You still alive in there?”

Butters opens the door and whimpers as ice cold air floods into his car. Kenny does not look pleased; he’s wearing his parka, snow caught in its fur, with his iron man pajama bottoms and unlaced hiking boots. Butters bows his head.

“Unfortunately.”

Kenny sighs heavily. “Don’t say that. Are you okay?”

“Dandy.”

He peers into the backseat. “Uh, going somewhere?”

Butters sniffs. “Not anymore.”

Kenny scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I honestly don’t know how to fix something like this. If it were a tire change, that’d be different, but...”

Butters can’t lift his gaze from the ground. “I just need a ride back home.”

Home. The thought hits him in the gut with cold nausea. He can feel Kenny looking at him, unyielding to the cold, his hands in his pockets and the wind picking up through his sleep-mussed hair.

“I’ll take you,” Kenny says, nodding towards his truck. “Hop in. We’ll call a tow-truck in the morning. Anything in the back that you need out?”

Bewildered, Butters stares at him, his answer delayed. “Uh, yeah...”

They transfer some of his more valuable possessions into Kenny’s car. Kenny suggests bringing the food as well, and then the blankets because it’s so cold, and then eventually they’re unpacking the entirety of Butters’ supplies under the tarp of the bed of Kenny’s truck and driving it all back the way he had left. He’s completely silent as he sits in the passenger’s seat, and Kenny offers nothing to fill it, focused on the road with one hand on the wheel and the other propping his head up against the window. The windshield wipers sweep dreamily in front of them, swiping snow out of the way as it piles up.

They pass the park, and then the old elementary school, but Kenny keeps going, missing the turn to Butters’ house. Butters sits up.

“What? But my house is–”

“You think I’m taking you back there? Really?” Kenny doesn’t look away from the road. Butters admires his stern, unrelenting profile.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he says, his voice small.

“My place.”

Butters mouth hangs open. Kenny’s apartment. It became a sort of legend ever since the rumor started going around that Kenny had his own place, which was just his older brother’s apartment, to party and hang out. Then, when he was around 17, he made plans to move in, but no one believed that he’d go through with it until the day he turned 18 and sister was completely settled into his old room. He works to help pay rent and utilities, keeping his brother company, while not being too far from Karen. Butters couldn’t be more envious.

They pull into the apartment lot, which is across the street from a Target and Walmart shopping district. This late at night (or early in the morning) the rows and rows of windows and doors give off a threatening eeriness that Butters would never want to intrude upon if Kenny weren’t with him. But they are nice; he’d give anything to live alone in a place like this.

“It’s really nice,” Butters says, stepping out of the car and following Kenny up a short flight of stairs. Kenny’s keys jangle as he shakes the chains.

“I got lucky.” They climb the stairs to the second floor and then step into a hallway for a bit before stopping halfway through; the number on the top says 23. “It’s a really good gig.”

“Will your brother be mad that you’re coming back this late...er, early?”

“Kevin? Nah. He’s a heavy sleeper. Though he might be surprised to see that I brought you home.”

“Huh?” Butters’ anxiety spikes. “Why? I’m not intruding am I?”

“No, that’s...that’s not what I meant.”

Kenny is illuminated by a single hallway light that flickers feebly as he jams the key into the lock. He never finishes his thought, and Butters is too nervous to ask him to, especially since Kenny’s gone a little pink in the cheeks and he might not want to. Butters would never push anyone to do anything they weren’t comfy with, especially someone whose opinion he holds so highly. Kenny opens the door, and Butters follows the way in.

The kitchen light was left on. Kenny doesn’t say anything, heading straight around the corner to what Butters assumes is his bedroom. Butters takes a quick glance around; there’s leftovers sitting on the counter, a few dirty plates and an opened bottle of vodka, but otherwise, it’s pretty tidy.

“Kenny?” he calls out, afraid to step anywhere out of his welcome.

“Come on in,” he says, and Butters heads through the hall to Kenny’s room.

Everything is completely clean. Butters isn’t sure what he expected, but having seen his room at his parent’s house he might’ve anticipated some games lying around, dirty clothes out of the hamper, something, but every sock has its pair and every drawer is closed and dusted. The layout of the furniture is a little unusual, just because there is none; what could be the nightstand is pushed into a corner far from the bed, and the bed itself has no frame or base but sits plush on the floor with all of Kenny’s sheets. It’s completely bare, except for a couple of sexy posters, the least surprising feature of the room.

��U-Um,” he says, holding his hands close to his chest. He brought a bag with his pillow and some sleeping supplies, but he’s not sure what to do with them. The bed looks too small for them both, and Butters distinctly noticed that there was no sofa or futon in the sitting room.

Kenny sheds his parka and collapses onto the mattress, pulling the sheets over himself. “You can sleep here with me. It’s a tight fit but I don’t mind.”

Butters does. He minds very much. “I-I think I’ll sleep out in the living room, it’s carpeted and I have some blankets–”

“There’s no heater out there. You’ll freeze.” Kenny’s eyes are closed and he faces the wall. “I’m too tired to argue about this. You’ve been shivering ever since I picked you up. If you don’t stay warm, you’ll get sick for sure.”

Butters lower lip trembles. It’s scary. Sleeping means dreaming and dreaming is scary. But...he’s tired of being cold. The bed looks so soft, so safe, especially with Kenny in it, a cozy body completely at ease in Butters’ presence. With some dread he sets down his bag and sheds his outer layers and boots, immediately seized by the chill and dropping down to the bed. He hurries to get under the blankets and gives Kenny a wide berth of space, so far on the end of the mattress that he could roll off simply by shifting his leg.

It’s still cold.

The blinds don’t block all the light that comes in from outside. Occasionally a car will pass, shadows sliding across the walls and then fading out. Butters hears Kenny breathing deeply beside him, feels the heat of his back seeping into his own. He’s squeezing his eyes tightly shut, hoping that the harder he presses the faster he’ll fall asleep.

Soon, he hears voices.

Far off ones, like he’s hearing them from another room or downstairs. Their whispers scrape against his eardrums, a sinister, incessant pressure that simmers under the surface of his anxiety. Their volume grows, from an urgent, compressed undertone to a shrill scream that booms through the house. Butters buries himself under his pillow, hoping the sound will be muffled or go away, but it only gets louder. He can hear every word clearly.

They’re wrong, he tries to tell himself over the voices. He’s not worthless. His mom isn’t a whore. His dad doesn’t wish he had a different son, doesn’t wish that he had a different family, doesn’t think that Butters will never contribute anything meaningful to society and will always be an embarrassment–

The door slams open and Butters jumps, wide awake. He listens hard for several minutes, until he realizes that he’s not in his home, and the door to his bedroom didn’t really open.

“You’re a piece of shit. Fucking useless sack of shit. You and your mother.”

Butters can’t repress a small whimper. He cowers under the sheets, rubbing his hands hard over his cheeks to try and hold back the hot wetness that trickles down them, but it won’t stop. If it were just a dream, maybe the voices would fade more quickly, but the memory of his dad’s spiteful tone won’t leave his head, ringing like a terrible alarm.

“Butters?”

Lord, it keeps getting worse. This is exactly why he wanted to sleep in the living room.

“Sorry, just...had a bad dream.”

The sheets shift around him as Kenny turns. Butters feels his warmth, less than an inch from touching him, but Kenny keeps his distance. “What about?”

“I...” He sniffs, immediately wincing at his own inability to control himself. He’s such a wuss. “I just...I just wanna sleep. But I can’t. It’s cold, and I...keep having nightmares...”

A hand comes down on his forearm. Butters jolts, his sniveling stopping short with his breath.

“You were running away, weren’t you?”

Butters stares at the far wall. It’s too early for the sun to start rising but he knows it will soon. He starts to shiver.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s cool.” Kenny yawns, and Butters feels a puff of it near his ear. They’re so close. “But I’m here if you want to.”

He doesn’t have it in him to respond. Kenny’s hand is heavy on his shoulder, and he knows if he doesn’t address it Kenny never will, so Butters gathers all the courage in him that he has and slips his hand over it.

“Kenny?”

“Yeah?”

Tears fall freely down his cheeks. “Can I stay here for a couple days?”

When Kenny doesn’t answer immediately, Butters takes his other hand and slips it over his mouth to muffle the noises. It’s just sad. He wants to hide, bury himself under the blankets, under snow, suffocating beneath bitter-cold sheets of it until he’s left to crawl out of the pile by himself and walk home wet and shivering only to get sick and yelled at by his parents.

He hates this town and everyone in it. He hates the cold, permanently embedded into his bones, inside his chest, his gelid blood. He hates everything, except for Kenny, who has started to scoot closer, is slipping his hand from Butters’ shoulder to wrap around his waist and pull him against his chest. Kenny’s warmth encases him, melts the snow into the water that gathers on Butters’ pillow.

“You’ve always been such a crybaby,” Kenny murmurs into the tangle of Butters’ hair, “because you hold shit in like this.” He sighs; he could be falling asleep again. Butters focuses on the heart beating slow against his back. “Stay however long you want. I like having you around.”

“You...” Kenny’s words float around in his head, dimming the others. “You do?”

“Mhm.” Involuntarily, maybe, or maybe on purpose, Kenny pulls Butters closer. “You smell like apple juice.”

Butters is too stunned to think of a reply, but when he does, soft breaths tickle down his neck. Kenny’s fallen asleep. Butters smiles to himself.

He’ll tell him what happened in the morning. For now, he indulges in the touch that Kenny has given him, snuggling into his welcome heat.

It’s a lovely moment, or several hours, of peace, until the door to Kenny’s bedroom opens and Kevin finds them wrapped around each other like pieces of tangled string and snoring soundly.

Except Butters had no idea. Kenny tells him about it later, after everything has settled and they’re sitting comfortably in the living area watching cartoons while the storm blankets South Park.

Kenny had looked at his brother, and Kevin looked back, saying nothing. And then he left them to continue sleeping.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Kenny says over a bowl of cereal. “You definitely needed the sleep.”

“Thank you, Kenny.” Butters smiles, filled with his own warmth. “For everything.”

#south park #sp bunny #kenny mccormick #butters stotch #some sweet sweet fluff #disgusting #my poops

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fanfictionobsessednerd · 8 years ago

Text

Juice Ortiz/OC Part 2

As Lex attempts to get comfortable in her situation and with those around her, Gemma introduces her to a new job.

Warnings: Some teenage angst.

In case you missed Part 1 of this story, here's the link: http://fanfictionobsessednerd.tumblr.com/post/155836728965/juice-ortizoc

Chapter 2 ________ The sun was setting by the time I was finished putting all of my things away. I'd found a small spot on the balcony to stash my weed where hopefully Gemma wouldn't notice, and besides that I just had my medications to put away. I heard a small knock on the door and it gently opened.

"Hey sweetheart, you alright?" It was Gemma.

"I'm fine. I just wanted to get all my stuff unpacked, you know. Feel more at home."

"Bullshit, but that's ok. You'll come around and talk to me when you're ready, darling.” Gemma chuckled and took a seat on my bed next to me.

“I’ve got some good news. Clay, Jackson and the rest of the guys are going on a run tonight. That’s why they were all here earlier, to say goodbye. I’ve invited Tara and Lyla over, figured you could benefit from some pep talk. Tara is Jax’s girlfriend and Lyla is a good friend of the club. You could say that she does...business with them.”

I tried not to raise my eyebrow too high when I heard that Jax had a girlfriend, but I decided I wouldn’t say anything to Tara. I wasn’t here to start drama, after all. Gemma’s head turned as she looked around my room, and her eyes landed on my two medication bottles sitting on my drawer. She leaned over and picked them up.

“Hey...” I tried to speak but she cut me off.

“Zoloft? Xanax? The hell have they got you on?”

“I didn’t ask for it, but it helps...most of the time.”

“You do realize I’m going to have to take this and monitor it for you, right?” I sighed, I had seen that coming.

“Yeah. Actually, I think that would be a good idea.”

“Well you’d better, because it’s not like you have another choice kiddo.” Gemma just loved to push people’s buttons. Her phone began buzzing in her pocket and she answered it.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear the doorbell. I’m up here talking to Lex. Yeah, she got here today. Alright, be down in a second.” She snapped her flip phone shut and turned to me.

"Tara and Lyla are here, come on." She motioned for me to get up and I followed her downstairs. The living room that was once filled with bikers was now empty, but the smell of their beer and cigarettes still lingered in the air. I pictured the man I'd met earlier, Juice, in my mind. On the outside he appeared to be a funny, dorky and laid back guy. That look in his eyes that I'd seen after I rudely ended our conversation was still burned into my thoughts. It was a sadness that I knew all too well and it made me wonder what else was going on inside of his head. Now that I was calmed down, I felt a tinge of regret for being mean to him. If he didn't think I was crazy before, he definitely did now. Gemma answered the door for two women, one was a blonde and the other a brunette. They appeared to be a couple years older than me but they were both very pretty.

"Lex, this is Tara and Lyla." Lyla had long, gorgeous wavy blonde hair and big blue eyes. Tara had straight, dark brown hair that fell a bit past her shoulders and she had striking green eyes. Tara quickly greeted me and then ushered Gemma into the kitchen to speak about something, she seemed slightly ticked off. I was suddenly craving a cigarette so I walked off onto the porch and sat down, Lyla followed me out and sat next to me. The sun was beginning to set, and I couldn't help but notice that dusk looked beautiful when it loomed over Charming. I put my cigarette in my mouth and lit it, then I passed my lighter to Lyla so she could do the same.

"So how tight of a leash does Gemma have you on?" Lyla asked me.

"Jesus, does everyone know about me?" She laughed and took a drag of her cigarette.

"We know very little of why you're staying here, just the bare details. Gemma knows all the gritty stuff but she hasn't said anything to anyone, after all she does want you to be comfortable here. So if anyone says anything to you just ignore them, because I can assure you that they don't know shit." I was already beginning to like Lyla, talking to her was comfortable and felt natural. Knowing that information didn't make me feel any better about Juice, but at least I knew now that Jax had been talking out of his ass. Taking a drag of my cigarette, I attempted to steer the conversation away from myself.

"So Gemma told me that you do business with the club?" Lyla smirked.

"So is that what Gemma called it? No, it really isn't that bad. I own a porn studio called Red Woody. I don't star in any of the films but I produce them. I used to be an escort, no shame there. I did what I had to do to take care of my kid, and I gradually moved up the ladder."

"That's actually pretty awesome. Any jobs openings?" I said jokingly. I didn't see Lyla as lesser than anyone else because of her profession.

"Gemma would kill me! But I do know that she's putting you to work. You're gonna love your summer gig so don't worry."

"You know anything about that?"

"It's a surprise, Lex." She took a final drag of her cigarette and flicked it away. I did the same thing as I was thinking about how much I hated surprises. The front door swung open and Gemma's head poked out.

"Come on inside ladies, we've got to get this baking started."

"Baking?" I questioned as Lyla and I got up and walked back inside of the house.

"I was going to tell you about it when the boys stopped over but it slipped my mind. Charming's having their annual carnival tomorrow night and they always expect me to come up with the good stuff. I agree to it because the club and this family do a lot for this town." I noticed Tara standing in the kitchen, looking a lot more relieved than she did when she first came in, cracking eggs into a big bowl. I guess she and Gemma had sorted out whatever was bothering her while I had been outside talking to Lyla.

"We have to get the majority of this finished by eight, Gemma. Lyla and I have to pick up the kids from Opie's. Donna can't watch Ellie, Kenny, Piper, Abel and Thomas by herself all night.” Tara was obviously preoccupied with other things and quickly going through the motions of making chocolate chip cookies.

"Woah, that sounds like a lot of kids. I could babysit sometime if you ever needed me to, Tara." I didn't want to be dead weight all summer so I figured I would offer to help out wherever I was needed, plus I liked the fact that one of the children shared my brother's name. She exchanged glances with Gemma and than looked at me.

"Yeah, sure. Maybe." I could tell she was feeling a bit standoffish, I tried to brush it away. She just didn't know me to well, that was all.

"Well if you ever wanted to take Piper off my hands for a few hours while I'm doing a shoot that would be great." Lyla chimed in, attempting to make me feel better. She seemed a lot more welcoming than Tara, I liked her a lot so far.

"Well before we get to any of that sweetheart, I propose we get these baked goods finished. And if you do a good enough job, I might let you go to the carnival tomorrow night, as long as one of these lovely ladies keeps an eye on you." Gemma said with a wink towards Lyla and Tara. I washed my hands and started putting together a brownie mix while Lyla handed me the various ingredients. Tara put her cookies in the oven while Gemma stood watch with a smile on her face, holding a box of cake mix. Gemma's phone began ringing again and she motioned for Tara to follow her out into the hallway, leaving Lyla and I alone again.

"Tara really is a sweet girl, her and Jax are just going through another one of their rough patches. They have two kids together, Abel and Thomas, but the club's been putting some stress on their relationship lately. Gemma seems to feed into it, even though she loves Tara. We can get kind of complicated sometimes, but you're in good hands. I promise."

"Well, when I first got here I was kind of rude to this guy who was just trying to talk to me. I was feeling a little overwhelmed and I took it out on him. So I can definitely understand how difficult emotions can cause you to be a little...hostile." I didn't know why it felt so important to me to get that off of my chest, but I knew if there was anyone I could talk to besides Gemma, it was Lyla.

"You mind if I ask who that guy was?"

"You may know him...he said his name was Juice." Lyla laughed and shook her head.

"Juice is a sensitive little shit. He probably ran into the nearest closet and cried after you did or said whatever it was. All jokes aside, he's a sweetheart. Probably the nicest guy to ever be in a motorcycle club...ever. That's why the crow eaters walk all over him, and he's always coming to me crying about how one of them broke his heart again. I told him that the next time it happens, I'm just going to stop helping him get laid."

"I guess I should apologize to him next time I see him. He's actually kind of cute but...I mean, not that I have a crush on him or anything. Gemma would never allow that even if I did." Shit. Why did I let that slip so easily?

"Well, hypothetically, if you and Juice ever wanted to hang out in...private, away from Gemma, I could cover for you. I wouldn't personally suggest you jumping into bed with any of the club members, but Juice is only twenty four, which isn't creepy old man territory, and he's genuinely a nice guy." With that, Lyla placed our brownies in the oven underneath Tara's cookies.

"Thanks, but I don't think anything is going to happen between us. I've only met the guy once, and the last thing my life needs right now is more complications."

"I only said it hypothetically, Lex." Lyla said it to me with a mischievous smirk.

"Could you do me a favor and keep this entire conversation between us?”

"Of course, sweetheart."

Gemma and Tara came back into the kitchen, Tara was throwing a light camel jacket over her shoulders and zipping it up.

"Lyla I've got to go, the kids are driving Donna crazy. You mind if I bring Piper back to my place with Abel and Thomas? Gemma will give you a ride over there when you're all done here."

"Yeah sure that's not a problem. Go do your thing, I'll see you later." Tara nodded and headed for the door.

"Bye, Lex." She said softly as she stepped outside and closed the door behind her. Gemma shook her head and turned to us.

"Tara can be a headache sometimes, but she does love our boys more than anything in this world. Now let's see, what's left? We've got this cake, cupcakes, muffins and a pie to get through." Lyla and I both groaned while Gemma chuckled. This was going to take a while. __________________ By the time everything was baked, frosted, individually wrapped, and placed inside of tupperware containers and labeled, it was about eleven o'clock at night. Gemma trusted me enough to stay in the house by myself for a little while when she went to go drop off Lyla. She did threaten my life if anything was misplaced in her house by the time she got back, so I made sure to just stay in my room. Although I did make sure to exchange phone numbers with Lyla before she headed out, and promised to shoot her a text if I needed anything. Gemma mentioned something about Clay not being home until the early hours of the morning, which made me wonder exactly what the Sons did when they went out on their runs, but another part of me didn't even want to know. I didn't realize how exhausted I was until I got upstairs and fell apart on my bed. I got up to take off my bra and change into a black tank top and a pair of pajama shorts. I always quickly removed my eye makeup and brushed my teeth. I threw on a flannel and sat on my balcony for a moment to smoke a cigarette. Now that I was finally alone, I could unravel myself again. Hot tears made their way down my cheeks as I finally let my emotions out. I had decided not to give any of my family members a phone call until three days had passed because I needed to give myself time to adjust. Right now, more than anything in the world, I just wanted my brother Thomas. Before he got sick, he had been the glue keeping me together. After him, it was Jason, and then it was substances. Now, it was nothing except for these moments where I could just be alone. When my cigarette was finished I flicked it off into the distance and exited the balcony. I shut and locked the doors leading out and plopped onto my bed, feeling defeated. After about an hour of tossing and turning, sleep found me.

I woke up that morning to someone banging on my bedroom door, and Gemma's voice.

"Rise and shine sweetheart, you've got work to do!" I opened my eyes, still groggy, to see morning light attempting to make its way into my room through the doors leading out into the balcony.

"I'm up, I'm up." I said weakly, lifting myself out of the bed. Half asleep, I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and ran a brush through my hair. I made my way down to the kitchen to see Gemma standing over the oven, making omelets, looking chipper as ever. Clay was sitting at the head of the living room table, drinking black coffee and reading a newspaper. He had been out all night apparently, but he still looked more refreshed than I did. Guess he was used to it. He smiled at me when he saw me come downstairs, looking half dead.

"Good morning, dear." He looked right back into his newspaper after he greeted me.

"There's coffee in the pot. Cream's in the fridge, sugar's in the cabinet. Eat your breakfast quick and get dressed, you're starting work today." Gemma's voice was stern and it sounded like she was commanding me more than she was telling me. I did what I was told, and the first thing I noticed was how strong Gemma made her coffee, although I wasn't surprised.

"You’re starting today at Gemma's flo-..." Clay began to speak but was immediately cut off.

"Don't spoil it for her, Clay! Idiot." Gemma yelled at him. She definitely was hyper in the morning. Clay grunted and went back to his newspaper. After breakfast was over I offered to do the dishes for Gemma which she appreciated, and then I went upstairs to take a shower. While I was getting dressed I decided on a white button down short sleeve crop top and a pair of blue boyfriend jeans. I also threw on a red and white oversized flannel and a pair of sneakers. I teased up my wavy chestnut brown hair to make it more voluminous and applied my usual eye makeup and lipstick.

"Jesus Christ Lex, are you finished getting ready yet?" Gemma called from downstairs. "I'm coming now!"

"I'm starting up the car, you've got two minutes!" I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs, quickly waving goodbye to Clay on my way out. I hopped into the passenger side of Gemma's car. She looked me over as she turned the key into the ignition and flicked her cigarette out of the window.

"I don't know who you're trying to impress, getting all sexy for. But I can assure you that Jackson is going to be working at TM all day." She said with a wink. I cringed internally at the thought of Jax. Sure, he was extremely attractive, no one was denying that, but he rubbed me the wrong way. I wasn't about to let Gemma know that I didn't think her son was all that, though. We drove through Charming, passing the Teller-Morrow auto shop and the infamous clubhouse that housed the Sons of Anarchy. After about fifteen minutes, Gemma stopped in front of a cute looking shop with the words 'Rose Madock-Teller Flowers & Co.' plastered on the front in pretty pink cursive letters.

"Gemma, what is this?" I asked her as we both got out of the car. I followed her inside of the shop, which was pretty spacious but completely empty. There was a counter in the center that looked like it was supposed to be a cash wrap and lots of window space and empty shelves.

"My mother loved flowers. She always wanted her own shop before she passed. When I first moved to Charming I bought out this store space in hope of making that happen, but one thing after another went on and this always got pushed to the back. But you, my dear, will be running this place all summer." I wasn't exactly sure how to react. The store was completely barren, I had no idea what to expect next.

"Don't look so scared, honey. One of the boys is on his way now with a shipment. I ordered everything ahead of time so it would be here upon your arrival. Flowers that are already bloomed and ready to go out are on their way. Today your responsibility will remain solely on getting the place set up and looking pretty. I've also ordered you plenty of vases, soil, seeds, etc. There's a pretty big garden space out back for you to plant. The first round of flowers is on me, but you'll have to plant all the other ones yourself. You'll be making floral arrangements for costumers, and rearranging the color patterns of the flowers in the store once a week. It's also your responsibility to order new stuff when you run out. I'm giving you one full week to prepare to officially open the store. Now come on, let me show you around." Behind the counter and to the left was a door that lead out into a small hallway. There was a unisex bathroom and what appeared to be a tiny break room. Other than that, there was a door leading outside. The break room was so small, it could fit about four people at the most. There was a mini fridge and a pantry.

"There's some ginger ale and some old ice packs in the mini fridge, and granola bars in the pantry. You'll have to supply your own snacks from now on as well." The last thing we checked out was the garden space in the back. It was a decent size for the amount of flowers I'd have to produce, and there was a cute little sidewalk leading from some parking space to the back door.

"So, any questions?" Gemma asked me as we walked back into the main store area.

"I'm amazed that you're giving me all of this responsibility."

"Well don't completely fail me and you might get a raise, sweetheart. Think about it this way to, flowers are relaxing, healing and therapeutic. I discussed this over with your father, he thinks it's a great idea. My motto is, the best way to teach young people responsibility is to put them to work."

I nodded my head, trying to take it all in. I really liked the idea, I was just nervous that I wouldn't be able to live up to Gemma's standards.

"Anyway, I've got to head over to TM. God knows I'm the only one there that keeps everything together. Just relax, smoke a cigarette, wait for your shipment and make me proud. Think you can do that?" I took a deep breath. "Yeah Gemma. I've got this. Thank you."

"Atta girl." She said, giving me a quick hug. She handed me a store key and a house key. As she was heading out the door she turned around and said one last thing to me before driving off.

"And don't you even think about having any scandalous sex with the guy bringing your shipment. I'm watching you." As she drove off, I attempted to give myself a pep talk.

‘You've got this, you've got this. Flowers are relaxing, healing and therapeutic, just like Gemma said.’

I stepped outside to have a cigarette while I waited for this mystery guy to come bring me my stuff. My heart dropped when I looked up and realized who Gemma had tasked with delivering the shipment of flowers. Juice parked the truck in the back of the shop and I sighed as I locked the front doors and made my way outside through the back entrance to meet him. I swung the back door open, not realizing he was standing right there, and accidentally smacked his attractive face with it, sending him backwards. Shit. Why was I always such a clumsy mess around him?

"Oh my god I'm so sorry Juice." I began apologizing. He was wearing a tight black t-shirt underneath his kutte, showing off his muscles very nicely. He stood up, still recovering from the blow.

"No, no its ok. I shouldn't of been standing so close to the door. My bad." Once again he was taking the blame for something that was clearly my fault. I almost wanted to smack him with the door again for being so cute.

"Why don't you take a minute before we unload the shipment? Come sit down. There's a pantry, and I can get you an ice pack."

"Sounds like a plan." He nodded his head, sounding exasperated. I lead him to the small break room, and I didn't realize how tiny it was until I was alone in there with Juice. He sat down at the table while I got him an ice pack and a ginger ale. He gratefully accepted both and I sat down across from him. It was silent for a moment as he held the coldness to his forehead. I sat there awkwardly, trying not to stare even though he was the only thing to look at. Finally, he took it upon himself to break the silence.

"Do you always run people over in hallways and smack them with doors?" "No. That seems to be specifically just with...you." I pushed my hair back behind my ear and looked down.

"Well that makes me feel special." He chuckled at my embarrassment. I figured now was the time to say what had been on my mind since I'd first met him.

"So..uh..I'm sorry about being a moody bitch yesterday." Juice looked up at me, his gorgeous chocolate brown eyes meeting mine.

"It's alright, I get it. You're new, I probably freaked you out with my head tats and what not." He couldn't of been more wrong, but I was glad he wasn't holding a grudge.

"I like your tattoos. No one else could pull it off, but on you they look awesome."

The words slipped off my tongue before I realized what I was saying and I felt my cheeks flush. Juice gave me one of his signature beautiful smiles. "No one has ever said anything to me like that before. Thank you."

I nodded my head, unsure of what to say next. Juice seemed more confident now, I really enjoyed that his ego wasn't through the roof.

"I think it's really cute that you're going to be working here. I'm just imagining you, with your punk rock style, tending to flowers and it's adorable." I was smiling now, and it was a real smile. Not the faked, cringe worthy smile I gave to my parents or Gemma. Sitting and talking to him, for some reason, made me genuinely happy.

"What do you do, Juice? I mean, besides being in the club?"

"Well I own twenty percent of this weed shop called Clear Passages on Crest field, so I guess I'm into the whole flower shop thing to." He said with a smirk.

"Besides that, I'm a mechanic, usually spend a lot of time at TM." "Sounds like you're not a man that has too much free time."

"If you ever wanted to hang out, I mean I would love to spend more time with you...there's a carnival tonight."

"I was going to go with Lyla and Tara, but we can definitely meet up."

I knew that I wanted to see him tonight, although the happiness radiating from inside me also had me frightened. The last time I'd been this happy, I'd later found out that Jason was dead. I also didn't know if it was appropriate for me to move on this quickly. It had been six months since he passed away in that car accident and I still sometimes saw his face in my dreams. The reality of it all didn't hit me until I no longer heard his voice when I dialed his cell phone number, knowing that no one would answer. I also knew that this would never be ok with Gemma or my father, so I wasn't entirely sure where I was going with this. I just knew, in that moment, that I wanted to see him tonight.

"So it's a date." Juice was smiling to. If he was sad on the inside, he hid it well. I didn't understand how someone who was emotionally broken like me could make him smile, but here he was, smiling ear to ear like a goofy idiot. An incredibly sexy goofy idiot, that is.

"Hey Lex, can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Why are you staying here with Gemma?" My brain scrambled, trying to find the right answer. I didn't want him to know the truth about me, it was too soon. I didn't want him to look at me and only be able to see my depression or anxiety before he got to know me.

"I'm just here to work the flower shop for the summer. My dad's good friends with Gemma. Figured he could get me to do something productive until I started school in the fall." Juice seemed saddened that I would be leaving for school, but he didn't press the subject any further.

"So how about we start unloading this shipment?" I suggested, trying to drop any awkward tension.

"Yeah we should get started now, if we ever want to make it to this carnival tonight." He said with a smirk and abruptly got up from his seat.

"Thanks for the ice pack and the soda."

"No problem. You need any help with the boxes?"

"No, some of them are pretty heavy even though it's all flowers. Just leave the back door open and I'll bring in everything for you."

"Ok, thanks."

I put a door stopper underneath the back door and watched as Juice made trips back and fourth bringing all the boxes in. Upon inspection, I discovered that boxes with holes pocked in them were flowers, while other boxes contained glass vases, ground soil, and seeds. The already bloomed flowers wrapped in cellophane needed to be taken care of immediately. There were Iris, Tulips, Lilac, Zinnia, and my personal favorite, red roses. I got out some vases and packed them with fresh soil and carefully added the flowers to them. I set them up in the windows where there was sure to be lots of sunlight. It was already beginning to look more lively in the shop but there was still a lot of work to be done. I didn't notice that two hours had passed. Juice never left, once he was finished unloading boxes he took a seat and watched me as I set up my shop. I had music playing in the background and we talked the entire time. I found out that he was Puerto Rican and originally from Queens, New York, which explained his distinct accent that I loved. He never got too involved speaking about his family but he did mumble something about his mom and sister. l talked to him about my brother Thomas, who I loved dearly, and his battle with cancer. I told him about my friends from back home and some of the adventures we'd been on. It wasn't until his phone rang that we were both snapped back into reality.

"Oh hey Jax. Church? Yeah. Be there in a minute. Bye." "Church?" I questioned.

"It's club stuff. Anyway, are you almost finished? I know Gemma had asked me to give you a lift home."

"Yeah, I'm ready. The place is starting to come together. Going to have to come in early tomorrow morning and start planting."

"Cool, let's head out." He said, getting up from his seat.

"What are you in such a rush for?" I playfully questioned him.

"Well the quicker I drop you off and head to the clubhouse, the quicker I'll get to see you tonight." He said with a wink. I just smiled at him as I made sure the lights were turned off and the place was locked up. We both headed outside into the truck, Juice opening up the passenger side door for me, which definitely earned him some points. I wasn't sure if biker dudes knew anything about chivalry, but Juice seemed to. The ride home was relatively quiet, but there seemed to be a mutual understanding between the two of us. The radio was playing softly, and every time there was a chance for him to, his fingers lightly interlaced with mine. He parked the truck across the street from Gemma's house, and I was slightly saddened that I had to be separated from him even if it was only for a couple hours.

"Is this alright?" He asked me.

"Yeah, this is fine."

"So I'll uh, see you later?"

"Yes, Juice."

“Cool. I Can’t wait.” He seemed just like a little kid at a candy shop, and it was adorable.

"Bye."

I said softly, but before I could get a chance to open the door our eyes met. There was a moment where I felt like he might kiss me, or he was debating in his mind if he should kiss me or not. He leaned in and pecked me on the lips, a sweet, innocent gesture. Just the smallest touch from him set my body on fire, and it took all of my will power to get out of the truck and not hop into the back seat with him. I lit a cigarette as he drove off, trying to wipe the cheeky grin off my face. Gemma was going to kill us both.

I’ve added some pics of my OC’s clothes, hair and makeup to give you guys a better visual :)

Thank you for reading this chapter! I would love to hear your thoughts :)

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