#every time i see someone in a store staring woefully at a bottle

[kitwilsonsass]

Hi kids, local licensed hair person here again with another FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DONT USE FUCKING HE@D AND $HOULDERS UNLESS YOU HAVE NO OTHER CHOICE BECAUSE IT IS A TERRIBLE FUCKING PRODUCT THAT DOES SO MUCH GODDAMN DAMAGE AND TRICKS YOU INTO CONTINUOUSLY USING IT AND I CAN SMELL AND FEEL IT ON YOUR HAIR FROM A MILE AWAY.

[paisley-print]

Near The Water’s Edge:   Chapter Four

After fleeing your abusive husband, you find yourself in the small coastal town of July, North Carolina. Soon you meet Frankie Morales, Air Force Veteran and single dad. As the two of you grow closer, you begin to let go of your past and learn to love again. That is until a strange man shows up in town, and you ’re forced to choose between your safety or the safety of the people that you love.

Inspired by the novel “Safe Haven” written by Nicolas Sparks.

Series Master List

Frankie Morales x Female Reader Rating: 18+ / Heavy adult themes eventual smut. Trigger Warnings: Domestic Abuse, Mentions of death, PTSD, anxiety, mentions of police case, police.  Word Count: 

Note: Another heavy chapter, but things will let lighter as the chapters go on. Enjoy the first half of the beach day. 

Tag List:@qytyy @winter-fox-queen​​​​ @sherala007​​​​@inkededucatednnerdy @quica-quica-quica​​​ @hnt-escape​​​ @giizhkens-cedar​​​@heythere-mel​​​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​​

The ride passed in comfortable silence, the three of you listening to the radio and Lucy looking out the window at the cars in the next lane. All Frankie could think about was how nice it was to have someone else there to spend the day. He knew Lucy must have been feeling the same way, since he hadn’t seen her so excited about a beach trip in a long while. 

He appreciated how patient you were with her; it was something he noticed even on that first day. The way you refused help until you knew she was alright. That moment had stuck with him more than anything else. 

The memory of what Will said earlier surfaced in his mind. He shifted in his seat and glanced at you. Yes, you were beautiful. Strikingly so. A woman who could walk into a room and turn every head in the place; both men and women alike. Of course Frankie had been taken with you. He tried to suppress it, scolding himself whenever he was alone in bed at night and found his thoughts wandering.... 

His only goal right now was to be your friend because he cared for you and knew that you needed help. He wasn’t sure what kind of help, but he sensed that you were alone and at some point in your life something very bad had happened to you. He wouldn’t pry though, he would wait until you were ready to share. 

-

The beach wasn’t too packed; it was still early in the season and  the tourists hadn’t moved into their summer homes yet. The boys had done an oddly efficient job at setting everything up. When Ben and Will got into a little spat about how to sink the umbrella into the sand , Frankie simply rolled his eyes and continued to spray Lucy with sunblock. It made you laugh, they all seemed so comfortable with one another. 

The day was hot and everybody seemed eager to get into the water, everyone except you and Frankie.  You had bought a bathing suit at the store, intending on going in... but somewhere during the car ride you changed your mind. 

“You can go in if you want,” you told Frankie “I don’t mind just watching.”

He shrugged, “I don’t normally go in either.”

Then just like that the two of you were suddenly alone, both woefully unprepared for any sort of conversation.

You thought of something quickly, filling the silence “the marina was packed today.”

“Yeah, It’s always like that on memorial day. Most of the summer too, be prepared for the restaurant to start getting busy.”

“I prefer it that way. It makes the shifts go faster. So I’ve been meaning to ask, what exactly do you do? I assumed you owned the marina?”

He paused for a moment. “Uh, technically I do. It was a wedding gift from my parents. An uncle had died and left it to them. I think they just wanted to get rid of it, but I have an office manager that does all the upfront stuff….. normally I just work on repairs.”

Married. That wasn’t what you were expecting, but still no ring. “Did you go to school for that?”

“Kind of. I had training for planes, but you would be surprised just how similar the two are.” You gave him a look. He glanced at you and laughed sheepishly. “What?”

“I’m sorry, did you say planes?”

“Yeah”

“You fix planes?”

He smiled and crossed his arms, trying to seem much cooler than he actually was. “I fly them too.”

“You fly pl-....do you take constructive criticism?”

He laughed, “Of course.”

“Lead with that next time.”

He looked at you skeptically. “How am I supposed to lead with that, exactly?”

“You say, hi my name is pilot Frankie …..” 

He shook his head, grinning. “Morales,” he informed you. 

“Hi my name is pilot Frankie Morales, nice to meet you.”

He played along, “but how will I know if people actually like me for me, or they just want me to take them for a ride in a plane?”

You shrugged “it's tough being a celebrity, I don’t make the rules.”

“Oh yeah, celebrity, that’s me,” he said sarcastically. 

You kicked at the sand with your foot. “Also I liked you before I knew you had the coolest hobby in the world. So, you know that you can trust me.”

He glanced over at you and immediately noticed your smile. He had seen you smile before, but they would never quite reach your eyes. This one, he could tell, was real. He opened his mouth to speak when, in the distance, a wave crashed and Lucy squealed with laughter. Both of you turned your heads to look.

“Will Lucy be okay out there?” you asked. She had on a life vest and was being supervised in the shallows by the rest of the adults. Santi was holding onto a boogie board Lucy used to keep herself up. 

“Yeah, I know they seem like idiots but they are good men.” Frankie reached into the cooler to grab a bee and popped the cap off with the bottle opener. “Do you want one?”

You shook your head, “No thank you, but I’ll take a water bottle if you have it.” He set his beer down in his cup holder and reached into the cooler again. The bottle was freezing cold when he handed it to you. Perfect for a sunny day.

You wiped the condensation off on your dress. “Can I ask you something? It’s okay if you don’t want to answer.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, taking a sip of beer. 

“Lucy’s mom is she….? Are you two still….? I don’t mean to pry, I guess I’m just a little confused.”

“You and I both,” he said with a sigh. “I’m married but we are not together anymore, haven’t been for a few years.”

“Oh,” you said simply, not finding any clarification in what he told you. If anything, you had more questions, but you didn’t want to push. Besides, it didn’t matter anyway…. you couldn’t, you were married as well. “Does your family live in the area?”

“Nope, they live up north. Katie never really knew her family. She grew up in the foster system and was bounced around until she enlisted at eighteen. It’s just me and Lulu now, and the guys when they find the time to travel here.”

“I’m sorry,” you said honestly. “It must be hard not having your parents support.”

He shook his head and took another sip. “I expected it, even when I was younger, it seemed as though they were only interested in keeping me alive.” He looked down and started to peel off the sticker on the bottle as he spoke. “They are both doctors, mom is an archaeologist and dad an engineer. He actually helped design parts of the international space station…. I think they valued their careers more than anything else... they still do. The only time they ever came down to see Lucy was right after she was born, aside from that it’s usually a phone call on a holiday and a card with money in the mail.”

Although he tried to play it off as if it were just another part of life, you could see that it still affected him deeply. For a moment you thought about reaching out to take his hand, but you stopped yourself. “It really is their loss, they are missing out on two wonderful people.”

Frankie adjusted the baseball cap on his head, a sheepish little smile playing on his lips at the compliment. “Well, thank you. Lucy and I could say the same thing about you. You’re great with her.”

You glanced back at the little girl. She was smiling happily as Ben pulled her along on the boogie board. “I think little girls need to be protected, but not only that - they need to be seen and heard. She is already so independent and fierce. I can see how you encourage her to be her own person and not fit into any one mold. That’s important for little girls to learn.”

He laughed, “Yeah, she definitely gives me a run for my money, that's for sure. She can already repair an engine better than most men I know.”

A large gust of wind came through and took hold of the multi-colored beach ball beside you. Both you and Frankie sprang from your seats to race after it. The thing was fast, and you could not stop it from crashing into the waves. You noticed just how much cooler it was near the water’s edge. Although the temperature outside was sweltering, the Atlantic still held that winter chill. Both of you stared at the ball as it bobbed up and down with the tide. 

Frankie waved it away with his hand and squinted in the sunlight. “It’s fine, it’ll probably just float down the beach to another family or something.”

You smirked at him “or choke a poor dimwitted sea turtle to death.”

He paused and shot you a pretend glare, then took off his hat, dropped it in the sand and reached for his shirt. 

You giggled “no, no I’m joking. I got it.” You said, starting to strip down to your bathing suit also.

“Well, you gotta be faster than that,” he said, half jogging to the water.

You slipped off your dress easily and ran straight past him into the waves. Frankie was not far behind. You two were pushing against the tide as you reached for the ball. Fingertips just barely brushed against the plastic before it slipped a couple more inches away. This left just enough time for Frankie to swoop in and grab it.

Your stomach hurt from laughing so hard “hey!”

He shrugged, “I’m sorry that I care more about the environment than you.”

You splashed him with water playfully.

-

The two of you swam for another fifteen minutes, chatting about the town and volleying the ball back and forth. Frankie pretended not to see the way the droplets of water clung to your skin and sparkled under the sunlight. When he noticed the little lace pattern on the bottom of your swimsuit, he knew he had been staring for too long and forced himself to look away. The very last thing he wanted to do was scare you away, or make you believe he had some sort of ulterior motives to helping you. 

You both dressed again before walking back up to the chairs. When the two of you returned, the group had already come back from swimming. They were passing around Tupperware full of fruit while Santi was starting up the tiny little grill he had brought. 

“You guys really don’t play around for beach days,” you mentioned to Frankie. 

“I tried to warn you,” he said with a smirk. 

Will had Lucy thrown over his shoulder, carrying her easily with one arm. “Has anyone seen Fry?”

“I’m right here!” Lucy’s little voice drifted out from behind him.

Will started turning, pretending to look for her “Fry! Fry! Where are you!”

Lucy was hardly able to speak through her fit of giggles, “I’m behind you!”

He put her down on the sand, pretending as if he had seen her for the first time. “Jesus Fry! You scared me!”

“Lulu,” Frankie said, “come here so I can put more sunscreen on you.” Frankie took the bottle from the bag and sprayed her again, making sure to get her ears and the tops of her feet as well. He sprayed some in his hands, and Lucy scrunched up her nose as he applied it to her face.

Watching the two of them together made you smile. You were reminded again just how different Frankie was from your husband. David would have felt emasculated by having to take care of a child. If he had attended today, you would be sitting beside him silently the entire time, only getting up to fetch him a beer.

“Do you want some?” Frankie asked, and you were suddenly snapped right back to reality.  

Even though you weren’t threatened by a burn yet, you figured it would be a good idea. “Yeah, thank you.” You offered him your arms, then the front of your legs.

“I used to be terrible with remembering sunblock until I got sun poisoning in Iraq, god never again.”

“Iraq?” you asked, and turned so he could get the backs of your legs.

“Yeah, with the air force” he told you, assuming you already knew. 

Breath hitched in your throat as he brushed your hair over your shoulder. You cringed at the feeling of the warm sunscreen hitting the back of your neck and jerked away. It was enough for the others to notice. You laughed and lied quickly “damn horse flies hurt when they bite. They say you should wash off the bite with soap to get it to stop the swelling. Is there a bathroom here?”

You sounded believable. Becoming an expert liar had been the only thing keeping you alive for so long. 

Frankie felt horrible. He didn’t quite know what he had done to trigger you, but he knew it was something. “It’s pretty far, I can walk with you-”

You shook your head, a wide smile still plastered across your lips. “Nope, I just need a direction.”

Santi jumped in quickly. “That building when we first came in, near the tennis courts.”

You nodded and started forward, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. Why was this happening right now? You were fine a moment ago and now you felt as though you couldn’t catch your breath. You shivered, remembering the feeling again and putting your hand on the back of your neck to stop it.

A soldier…. it made sense. You were too stupid to have seen it, the nicknames and the holiday...... 

Thankfully, they were single stall restrooms; you pulled the door shut and locked it behind you. The bottom of the floor was disgusting and filled with wet sand. You lifted yourself up onto the counter and sat, trying to calm down. A soldier, a soldier, you kept repeating to yourself. It was too similar. The anger, the potential for violence…. just like your husband. 

You placed your head in your hands, and suddenly you were back in New Jersey. It was a bitter February, snow still on the ground. You were in your bathroom hiding as David raged in the living room and screamed at his coworker on the phone. A little boy had been killed by his father weeks ago. David was assigned to the case. When the trial came, the jury found the man innocent and let him walk free, even though all the evidence pointed to him as the killer. It was an embarrassment to David and the entire homicide unit

“God fucking dammit, y/n! y/n!”

You pulled yourself up on shaking legs, straightened your dress and walked out. David was red in the face waiting for you. “I thought I told you to call Comcast, did I not?”

“They said that they could get someone out here Wednesday because of the snow-”

He took the television remote and threw it at you as hard as he could; he aimed for your face but it hit your shoulder instead. The plastic connected straight with your collarbone. You doubled over in pain, holding it as it throbbed. He stalked up to you and you moved back, the fear evident in your eyes.

His voice was teetering on the edge of lunacy as he screamed at you.

“I give you a simple fucking job to do and you can’t even get it done. You’re a lazy fat fucking bitch.” he shoved you hard but you manged to keep standing. “Spend all day sitting on your fucking ass while I have to go to work for the both of us! I need the television because I need to see the news coverage of the fucking case! You knew this! Or would you like me to get fired and the both of us live on the fucking streets!” He shoved you again, and you fell against the stone fireplace. Your hands came up to shield your face as he picked up the remote and hit you with it repeatedly. It caught your lip, busting it open. 

You didn’t care about the blood, all you could think about was the gun still holstered in his belt. You got the television fixed the next day-

“Summer?” 

You stood quickly and wiped away the tears from your cheeks, pretending like nothing was wrong. “Yeah?”

“Are you alright?” 

It was Frankie. 

You shook your head and smiled in the dingy plastic mirror in front of you. “Yeah, why?”

He could hear that you had been crying. He pushed on the door but it was locked. 

You didn’t like that at all; you slipped off the counter and sat on the floor, against the door. Bracing it closed with your body “I’m fine-”

“You’re crying-”

“No, I’m not I- I get allergies and that horsefly hurt. I am such a baby I’ve always had a low pain tolerance-”

“If it’s something that I did -”

“Nope, it’s nothing that you did. I’m fine, I’m really, really fine I promise. I just got overwhelmed and needed some air. I’ll be back in a few minutes, and you guys can eat without me. Don’t let me hold you up.”

Frankie wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t want to force anything. “Would you like me to save you a plate?”

“Yes, please.”

You could hear his footsteps start to retreat and relaxed a little. 

“Summer?”

“Yeah?”

Frankie was about to say something, but he thought better of it. He figured it was better to let you have your space now.

[p-artsypants]

320 State Street- (9) July 17, 2016

A03 | FF.net | Previous

Short chapter

—

“Thanks and have a nice day!”

The customer smiled as Hiccup handed him his change and receipt. He was a shy man, quiet and reserved. “Um, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, shoot.”

“Well, the thing is…I’m sorry, this is a really weird…I shouldn’t really…” He stammered, his face turning red.

Hiccup smiled patiently.

“The manure that you guys sell here…”

“Yeah?”

“Is it safe for human consumption?”

Hiccup was always quick on the draw, and laughed at the joke. In response, the man only looked back in confusion, and seemed a bit offended.

“Uh, I don’t know.” He replied quickly, “but I wouldn’t recommend testing it out.”

The man nodded once and ducked out of the store, just as Astrid came in.

“Hey,” she greeted.

“Heeeyyyooooo what happened to your eye?!” His greeting turned into an exclamation.

“I got into a fight.” She answered simply, trying to hide the bruise behind her bangs.

“With who?”

There was an awkward silence as Astrid headed towards the back room.

“Was it Scott?”

She didn’t turn to look at him, but answered simply. “Yeah.”

By time she came back into the room, he was no longer behind the counter. Instead, she heard him throwing stuff around in the chaos of the store. She waited at the register, pensive.

A customer came, made a purchase, and then left. Then more silence…

Finally, he stormed up to the counter. “This—This is not okay!”

“Please calm down.”

“I can’t! My best friend is—you were—he—!!“

She smiled a soft smile. “Hiccup, it’s really okay. Everything is fine.”

“Obviously not if you have a black eye!” He gripped his hair frantically. “This is not okay! You need to leave him!”

She sighed harshly, and Hiccup shut up. “Hiccup, I know you don’t like Scott. But please…just leave it alone.”

“Okay, yeah I know, but still, like…can you not see how dangerous this is?”

“He’s not going to hit me again.”

“But how do you know?”

“Trust me. I know.”

“That really instills me with confidence…”

“Hiccup. Drop it.”

He looked away like he was the one who had been hit. “Sorry for being concerned.”

“I…I didn’t ask you to worry about me.”

“That’s the thing. It would be easier not to worry about you, but I can’t help it. I care a lot about you. And I hate what he does to you…but I’ll shut up about it now. Like you asked. Just…if you need anything…” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “The spare key to my house is in the garage. Middle cabinet behind my bike, it’s hidden behind a roll of duct tape on the wall.”

She shook her head, “Thanks, but I’m not going to need that…do you tell a lot of people where that key is?”

“My friends know. My dad is the chief of police and I have an attack panther. The only incident we had was Tuff breaking in and stealing some of my dad’s beer. Only because Meijer was out of Founder’s. Anyway, you never know what could happen. So…just in case.”

“Just in case.” She repeated.

It wasn’t much longer until the twins returned from their deliveries. “I’m telling you, in a fight, the King Kong would totally win!”

“The Hulk is smarter than King Kong! He would be able to strategize.” Tuff argued.

“Yeah, okay, but also King Kong is 50 bajillion times bigger. He could squish Hulk under his thumb.”

“Tell that to Ant Man.”

“What?”

“Exactly!” The twins both looked at Astrid and grimaced. “Dude, what happened to your face?”

“It looks like you tried to hammer in a fence post, but didn’t have a hammer.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She supplied.

Ruff picked up on it immediately, but unfortunately, Tuff did not. “It’s like two summers ago when Ruff and I were tubing on the lake, and we hit a rough patch and I accidentally kicked her in the face…my ankle hasn’t been the same since.”

“You have any plans for tonight?” Asked Ruff.

“Not really…” Shrugged Astrid.

“Want to go clubbing?”

“You mean to Czars?”

“Yeah! It’ll be fun! We can have a couple drinks, do some karaoke, have some drinks, flirt with guys and give them the wrong number…come on, it’ll be fun!”

“Ah man, I love Czars,” said Tuff, a nostalgic grin on his face. “You meet the best people there.”

“Like who?”

“Like Thor.”

Everyone, including Hiccup who was trying to work, stared at Tuff like he had grown a second head.

“There was a live action Marvel show over at the college last year…” He began. “I went because I got free tickets, and it was awesome. But the harnesses for the flying scenes were broken, so every time a character was supposed to fly off screen, he’d just stare into the lights, and then sprint backstage.” He cleared his throat, “anyway, after the show was over, I decided to go to Czars just to chill. And when I got there, low and behold, the actor who played Thor was there, in costume. I don’t think he was supposed to be wearing it out and about, but all I know was that we got slammed, and we walked down to the pier singing the Captain America theme song.” He looked to the ceiling, woefully. “Sometimes, I can still hear his angelic voice. I’ll wait for you forever Thor.”

“How much of that is true?” Astrid asked Ruff.

“I dunno.” She shrugged.

Astrid contemplated the idea, and looked over to Hiccup.

He was not having a part in this conversation, it seemed.

“Yeah, you know what? That sounds fun. I’ll go.”

“Great! And Hiccup will be our designated driver!”

“Oh no you don’t!” Hiccup stormed back over to the group. “I will not tote around a bunch of drunks at one in the morning! Call an Uber!”

—

It was one in the morning, and Hiccup was wide awake. Maybe he shouldn’t have turned them down. What if they hadn’t gotten an Uber? What if Tuff thought he was sober enough to drive? What if they got in an accident and died? What if, what if, what if…

He turned over in his bed and covered his head with his pillow in an attempt to stifle the negative thoughts.

His phone buzzed.

Hiccup nearly launched himself off the mattress to grab it. There was a single text from Tuff.

vry drink. come get.

Hiccup was scooting into his shoe before he could even tap out, “I’ll be right there, don’t go any where!”

Since it was one in the morning, traffic was nearly non-existent and Hiccup hurried downtown. Rain beat down on the road and created an unearthly haze around the streetlights.

Czars was still open and thriving with music and flashing lights. Outside, three blondes leaned against each other, waiting by the curb. Drenched. He should have brought towels.

“Someone call for a ride?” He asked as he drove up in his Dodge Camaro.

“Hiccup~!” Tuff sing-songed. “You’re an Uber now?”

“Did you not know you texted me?”

Tuff looked at his phone and then burst out laughing. “I have you in my phone as Uber! Cause you always come and get me when I’m drunk!”

Hiccup rolled his eyes.

“Thanks for coming, Hiccup.” Astrid said sincerely, sliding into the front seat.

“Glad to see not everyone is totally schlonkered.”

Ruff chuckled. “Don’t be fooled. Astrid is amazing at pretending to be sober. She’s the schlonkeredest of us all.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ruff.” Astrid rolled her eyes. “I had one drink.”

“You had Stella’s Punch. 8 shots of tequila.”

“I’m fine!”

Ruff leaned over the console in an attempt to make eye contact with Hiccup. “She’s super drunk.”

“Not I’m not!”

“She’s super drunk.”

“Alright, alright!” Hiccup called. “What are we doing?”

“Me and Tuff are going to my apartment.” Explained Ruff.

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could I just stay at your house?” Asked Astrid. “I really don’t want to go back to my apartment and face Elenor while I’m tipsy.”

“That’s fair.”

As Hiccup pulled away from the curb, he turned the radio up.

She grabs the yellow bottle

She likes the way it hits her lips

She gets to the bottom

It sends her on a trip so right

She might be goin' home with me tonight

“JAY T! MY BOI!!!” Tuff nearly screamed. The twins continued to scream along with the lyrics, although, unintelligibly.

She looks like a model

Except she's got a little more ass

Don't even bother

Unless you've got that thing she likes

I hope she's goin' home with me tonight

“Hiccup, I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but you have a nice car.” Spoke Astrid, crisply.

“Uh, I think you told me that. That night I picked you up after your car broke down. You screamed it actually.”

She laughed. “Well, it’s a way nicer car than I have.”

“I like it. And you’re fortunate to even have a car. Can you imagine walking to work?”

“I wouldn’t have a car if we just had a bus system around here.”

He shivered. “No, trust me. Buses are the worst. Your jeep is fine.”  

Those flashing lights come from everywhere

The way they hit her I just stop and stare

She's got me love stoned

Man I swear she's bad and she knows

I think that she knows

By time they got to Ruff’s apartment, the twins had both passed out in the back seat. It took some serious shaking and yelling to get them up, but they eventually got out of the car and hobbled into the house.

Doubtless, they passed out again on the floor.

She shuts the room down

The way she walks and causes a fuss

The baddest in town

She's flawless like some uncut ice

I hope she's goin' home with me tonight

The rest of the drive was fine and mostly uneventful. Astrid sat relaxed, a small smile on her face.

“You seem to be doing better.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Hiccup had turned the radio off after the twins were dropped off. He was too tired for this stuff now. It was almost two in the morning.

“Is your dad going to be okay with me staying over?”

“Yeah, but he’s also not home. He’s pulling a late shift tonight.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Hiccup pulled into the garage and rolled his shoulders. Now that the anxiety of potentially dead friends because of his own laziness had worn off, he was exhausted. He yawned. “Do you need to take a shower or anything before going to bed?”

“No, I’m fine.” She mumbled. It seemed that she was tired too. She followed him into the house and quietly down the hall. The house was silent and dark and she had to feel her way by the walls.

They arrived at his room. “I’ll find you some comfy clothes to sleep in.”

“Thanks…” she slurred.

He turned to look at her, only to find her leaning against the doorframe with her eyes closed.  

“You should at least towel your hair dry.”

“Hmmm…” She replied. Standing straight, she headed to the bathroom.

Hiccup found an oversized t-shirt and some basketball shorts in the depths of his dresser.

“Alright, I found some pajamas.” He announced, coming into the bathroom.

Empty.

He peeked in the guest room.

Empty.

He peeked in his father’s room.

Empty.

Every bedroom was vacant. Every room was vacant.

In the living room, Hiccup consulted his pet. “Toothless, did you see Astrid?”

The panther lazily opened his eyes and leapt from his perch on the support beam. He stretched.

“I guess not…I wonder where she could have gone.”

He took another lap around the house, “Astrid! Astrid, where did you go?” He chuckled. “I know you’re here!”

Then he noticed that Toothless was sitting by the garage door. “What? Did she go outside?”

The cat stood and motioned with his head.

“She’s probably cleaning up the seats. She’d do that.”

But upon further inspection, the garage was empty as well. At least, at first glance. Toothless trotted over to a piece of cloth on the floor. Astrid’s shirt to be precise. Then he noticed the service door was open.

“Cmon, bud. She couldn’t have wandered too far.” Hiccup beckoned the panther with him out into the rain.

“Astrid!” He cried, but to no avail. It was raining harder now, and he could hear thunder in the distance. He hurried into a run, his eyes frantically searching the darkness. “Astrid! Where are you!? It’s not safe out here!” He called again.

Toothless had darted off into the storm too, hopefully catching her scent.

The dirt road was slick with mud, and he almost slipped more than once.

He heard Toothless roar to his left, and finally, in the glow of a neighbor’s landscape light, he spotted a girlish figure. “Astrid!”

She stopped, and turned to him slowly. Normally, he would have been embarrassed to see Astrid, of all people, in booty shorts in a bra, but he was so worried about her and the zombie look over her face.

“Astrid! Are you crazy? It’s the middle of the night in a thunderstorm! You’re only in your bra—and you’ve got no shoes! Cmon, let’s go back inside!” He took her hand.

Instantly, she started sobbing. “I’m sorry!”

“Oh hey…no…I was just worried.” He reached his arms out for her and she rushed to him, screaming and wailing all the while. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Astrid, it’s okay!” He soothed. “Man, Ruff wasn’t kidding, you are drunk.”

“I’m so stupid!” She screamed, clawing at his shirt.

“You’re not stupid. A little crazy, but who can blame you?”

“This whole thing is a mistake!”

“I mean, going to a club is always kind of a mistake. The music is loud, people grind up next to you, it costs 8 dollars for a drink…”

“I should have never called him that night!”

Suddenly, Hiccup realized she was talking about something entirely different, and shut up.

“I hate what he’s done to me!” She buried her face in his shoulder, smearing her ruined eyeliner even more. “…my life is falling apart…”

“You still have people who care about you, Astrid.” He promised, rubbing her back. “Even if it gets hard, we’re here to help.”

“My life is falling apart!” She screamed it, her eyes screwing shut. “He hit me! Scott hit me! I can’t get away!”

“Yes you can!” He pleaded.

“If he goes it all goes! He’s the only thing that’s constant…”

Hiccup pulled away slightly and grabbed her shoulders. “Astrid, listen to me. You need to leave him. Screw this debt thing you’ve got going on. You can pay him back with out dating him. He’s destroying you. Get out of it!”

She only heaved a broken sob. “Don’t yell at me!”

“I’m not…I’m sorry.” He ran his hands down her arms in reassurance. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’d never do that.” Almost painfully, he reached out and cupped her cheek. “I will do whatever it takes to make you happy. So just tell me.”

Her shoulders heaved as she fought to breathe. “I don’t know! I can’t think! I can’t—“

Without any warning, Astrid flung her arms around him in a vise grip and planted a firm kiss on his lips.

Instinctually, he pulled away. “Astrid, you’re drunk!”

She shook her head, and kissed him again.

The thing about kissing Astrid was this: he knew it was wrong, and in this circumstance, is was really wrong. But it felt right. It felt like the only thing he could do to help. Her hungry lips clamored over his, drinking him in. Her soul cried out for solace within him, and he wanted to give it to her.

Hiccup was vaguely aware of lights next to him before he heard a police siren. He jumped away from Astrid, still holding her arms. He looked frantically over to his dad. Lipstick smeared all over his mouth.

“This isn’t what it looks like!”

From the intercom, Stoick’s voiced boomed, “this isn’t the Notebook, boy-o!”  

[ecotone99]

[HR] Naima

She was going to buy diapers. They were having a sale at Kroger and she was woefully unprepared for how expensive they were, how expensive everything to do with babies was. Mary had her first, and as of now, only child just six months ago. It might as well have been six years at this point. The rumors were true, any hope of sleep was abandoned long ago. Maurice did what he could to help out, he loved feeding their little girl and didn’t mind when she spontaneously vomited on his shirt, or if he did he never showed it.

They named the girl Naima, after Maurice’s grandmaw who passed away the day her namesake came into the world. Naima made it to her grandmaw’s funeral where she screamed and cried every second of the service. Mary however was absent. Everyone understood. Her labor wasn’t easy, a grueling sixteen hours of push and breathe, sweat running down her arms and legs in rivulets. They all agreed that a funeral was no place for a woman to be after giving birth just four days ago. But at Easter, Mary was certain they all looked at her a bit different now, like she had failed an important exam and her commitment to the family was thrown into question.

The parking lot was nearly deserted, it being almost 10 o'clock at night. She had meant to go earlier in the day, had even set an alarm on her phone to remind herself, but Naima was sick. Mary thought she was sick. She was mostly sure she was sick. She hadn’t eaten anything that day except for a few brown lumps of applesauce that later came out the other end virtually the same. Mary wasn’t scared yet but the anxiety, the vision of rushing to her family doctor only to be told once again that “this is normal Mrs. Hader, happens all the time, she just needs a bit of rest,” was ever present on her mind. She hated that place, hated the smell of it. When she herself was a little girl the atmospheres of hospitals, clinics, dentist offices, all revolted her. The snarky look of the woman behind the counter, watching another new mother panic over a little diarrhea, it was all a bit too much to bear. She tossed an Ativan quickly into her mouth and locked the car door.

She checked her phone. No texts from Maurice. He would be working late tonight, they’d been giving him the night shift at the hospital for months now. Even when he got off early he would head to the gun range to “get his aim ready for the apocalypse.” The baby was taking a strain on him. He held up well, remarkably well, better than she had. Naima was the love of her life, as well as the bottomless well where she tossed in every waking hour of her day. Sure she could maybe leave her alone here and there, she was six months after all, but she knew that within ten minutes the screaming and crying would start and there’d she be, holding the squirming mass to her breast.

She squinted at the glaring white lights of the store and swung her grocery bag from side to side, not thinking about where she was going as she walked towards the Personal Care aisle. She passed colorful packages of tissues, toothpaste, and tampons, and studied the boxes of diapers, selecting what she gathered was the medium tier.

Down the aisle there was a young man looking at conditioner. He was rubbing his mouth and kept looking back and forth from his phone to the bottles.

“Having trouble?” she said

“I guess so. I’m supposed to get something with coconut oil, but there’s like five of them with that.”

“Do what I do.”

“What’s that?” She picked up a nondescript bottle and put it in his hands.

“Get the cheapest,” she said.

He laughed a little at this, “I like the way you think. Who are those for?” he said, pointing to the box in her hand.

“Naima- or uh, my daughter.”

“Bit late to be running out for that.” She didn’t quite like that, but he gave her a quick sympathetic smile that she returned.

“Yeah I was going to earlier but you know how it is,” she started walking back down the aisle.

“I can help you,” the man said, his voice even.

She stopped and turned back to him. He was still looking at her nicely enough, his eyes almost seemed to be scanning her.

“Excuse me, I have to go.”

She turned and started walking back again. Suddenly much more aware of how empty the store was at this time. She didn’t hear him follow, just the sound of her own flip flops hitting the floor a bit faster than normal. She cast a glance over at the two employees by the service kiosk who were chatting away, hardly even noticing her. She wanted to be through self check out and back in her car as quickly as possible. Would she tell Maurice about it? No, probably not. He’d get worried, and he already had so much to deal with.

The self checkout machine blared out to her in its automated voice, asking if she had a membership card. She cursed it silently and quickly scanned the box of diapers, leaving well before the receipt was curling out of the slot. In the black reflection of the plate glass windows of the store she saw the man calmly scanning the bottle of conditioner. Her heart beat a little louder in her ears, she hadn’t even heard him walking up. She kept her eyes fixed on his reflection as she walked out the sliding doors.

The night air was humid and hung still. Across the parking lot a car sat by a stop sign, its red brake lights casting a faint glow on her face. Her little Hyundai was parked thirty yards away. She put her phone up to her ear and pretended to be talking to someone, a trick she had learned in college. This soothed her anxiety a bit, not as much as the Atavil would when she got back into her car, but enough for now. She crossed the lane in front of the store and her footsteps echoed across the empty lot. Twenty yards away. Behind her she heard the sliding door open again, and she began to walk a little faster. Fifteen yards now. She thought she heard someone behind her but she couldn’t be sure, she was too afraid to look. At ten yards her heart was racing in her chest, it was hard to hear anything else. She took out her keys, gripping them tightly in her hands, trying to calm herself down. Her legs felt rubbery and weak, her eyes were hot. She made herself turn.

He was standing ten feet away, silhouetted by the dim yellow street light just above and behind him. He looked bigger, much bigger than he did in the store, and he wasn’t moving. Her mind tried to project a face, an identity onto the dark human cut-out before her. She could feel his eyes staring back at her, all over her. He moved towards her. She was yanking at the handle of the driver side door. She didn’t remember moving to get there. The handle pulled but with no click of the opening latch, she forgot to unlock the car. A quiet moan escaped her as she looked up into the reflection of the window and saw that dark figure raise its hand to the back of her head and with sudden force, thrust her head against the side of the door frame.

The first thing she noticed was that she was on her back. There was something covering her eyes, it felt soft but was wrapped tight around her head which made the aching pain in her forehead protest even louder. Worse than the pain was the smell. Wherever she was the air smelled cold and closed in, damp, stale. It smelled like overripe cucumbers. She could feel something crawling up her calf and tried to shake it off but her legs were bound tight to what felt like a cold metal table. She went to move her hand to brush it off but her arms were trapped just as her legs, with straps like the ones they used to restrain mentally ill patients.

Naima. The word flashed in her head like a big red neon sign outside a Las Vegas casino. The baby, my baby, she’s all alone. God I only left her for ten minutes. Hot tears wet the cloth over her eyes and ran down the side of her face. She thought about screaming but she was too upset, too scared, too confused to do so. Instead she started hyperventilating. She could hear herself gasping, the pressure building up inside here like a crescendo of panic and fear. Her mind flashed to the prescription bottle of Ativan in her car. God, where was her car? Where was she? What was crawling up her leg?

“You need to relax,” a voice said, and this time she did scream.

“Where’s my baby?!”

“Wherever you left- it?”

“Oh Jesus, what are you doing? Let me go, please let me go let me go let me go let me-”

“It was easy to get you here,” said the voice that she could hear slowly orbiting around her. “Dark parking lot in the middle of the night. You should know better. You weren’t even carrying pepper spray, I know, I checked your bag.”

Mary strained against the straps, against the pain in her head, and against the creeping thing that was now marching slowly up her thigh. She began to sob.

“Your head must be killing you,” said the voice in a quiet, comforting way. “I’m sorry I had to do… what I did. I was scared you would get away.”

“Why are you doing this,” Mary said in between sobs, almost screaming. “What the fuck do you want!?”

“You. I want you.” The voice was quiet for a time. The crawling thing was onto her canvas shorts now but she didn’t notice. “I think you’re beautiful, so beautiful, almost perfect. I want to help you become... immaculate. You’re so close. I don’t want you to worry about your head, you’ll never see a scar, I’m good at what I do. You’ll never see.”

Before she could respond her phone erupted somewhere distant in the room. It must have been sitting on a table because she could hear a loud buzzing sound. The voice growled in rage and rushed away, a moment later she heard a loud crack that must have been her phone flung shattering against the floor. Her mind tried to gauge how long she had been down here. She could feel the dried blood pulling on the skin of her forehead, maybe a couple hours at the most. Maurice would be home soon, he could take care of the baby, Naima must be screaming loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. Somewhere in the back of her head she thought she could hear her infant child wailing in the distance. Almost as if he read her mind, the man said:

“Please don’t try to scream. No one can hear you down here, it’s just you and I now. But you won’t be down here long. I won’t leave you down here with all these nasty little things.”

She heard a quiet crushing sound, like stepping on a pine cone, and the cucumber smell increased. She was much more aware of the creeping crawling sensation that by now was exploring her exposed midriff. Suddenly his hands were on her, one of them resting gently on her thigh, the other plucking up what was just over her navel. In the darkness under her blindfold she could feel the air being displaced as his hand moved it towards her mouth.

“Kiss?”

And she could feel its antennae frantically probing her lips, its spindly legs scratching them, it released it’s pheromones and the stench made her gag, making a gurgling sound that contrasted sickeningly with the tittering laughter of the man still holding the bug to her face. She would scream but she was afraid if she opened her mouth he would drop it in. The smell was everywhere, in her mouth, in her nose, in her brain. She didn’t sense his hand pull away. She had concentrated every ounce of her being into not throwing up and only distantly heard the sound of the man crushing the insect between his fingers. Then he was back, squeezing her jaw with more force than she thought he possessed and said quietly:

“I will help you.”

He took off the blindfold.

The light that shown in her eyes was blinding but in time she was able to focus on the large mechanical arm, like the ones dentists used, that beamed light down into her face. She gagged again when she saw three stink bugs crawling lazily across its surface, had they been crawling all along her when she was unconscious? She peered around the room. Everything else was bathed in darkness, the vague outline of a shelf, a washing machine, and what looked like a set of ancient narrow stairs leading up out of the basement. To her right she heard the clinking silverware sound and she could see the man hunched over a long metal table.

“I’m sorry for the delay, I just want to make sure everything is done correctly. Co-rrect-ly. You’ll be happy to know I use anaesthetic now. It’s much quieter, easier for both of us.”

“Wh-what?”

“I am going to fix you. Make you what you’re meant to be. I want you to understand I do this all out of love, out of love for your beauty, for what you will become.”

He turned around and her eyes grew wide and white with terror at the syringe in his hand. At this she finally screamed, screamed as loud as she could, louder than Naima screamed when she woke her up at 5 AM that morning, standing in her crib and howling. Mary’s arms and legs writhed against the straps and for a split second she thought she felt a give until he slapped her hard across the face. In stunned silence the tears fell freely down her cheeks, she was whimpering. The syringe needle entered just under her left cheekbone.

“Local aesthetic, I’d put you under if I thought I could bring you back out.”

She strained at the leather strap across her forehead, the back of her head now aching against the cold metal table top. Soon though she could feel her face going numb, a bitter taste in her mouth seemed to flow from there and then down throughout her body, into her arms and legs which laid like lead against her sides. She couldn’t tell if she even had a body anymore, she could feel nothing, not even her own breathing.

The man placed the syringe back on the table and in its place appeared a small scalpel. In her mind she was leaping off the table and up those rickety stairs, out of the black nothingness, but still she lay motionless. Near the spot where he injected the paralyzing liquid, the man made what must have been a small circular cut. She could feel a vague pressure on her cheek. She remembered being nineteen, the summer before her sophomore year at WSU, getting her wisdom teeth taken out, the sound of metal scraping against bone, ripping flesh.

She could see his fingers maneuvering little metal instruments like chopsticks, covered in crimson blood. He wasn’t wearing gloves. After what could have been an hour or five minutes, the pressure moved from her left cheek to the right, then the center of her face. Soon she wasn’t able to breathe out of her nose, she could feel something oozing into the back of her throat and tried to cough but couldn’t. In some far away corner of her mind she prayed that her gag reflex wouldn’t kick in, fearing she would choke and die on this table. The man yanked hard on her nose, the pressure mounting until with a pop he fell back, holding a white sliver of bone in his hand. More blood oozed down her throat. With equal force he pressed something down hard on her face, whatever was left of it at least, so hard that she could see stars forming in her vision. When he released she could not breathe through her nose at all, stopped up tighter than the worst cold of her life.

Apparently satisfied with his work he gave a small chuckle and plugged something into a wall socket behind her head, then she heard the buzzing whine of an electric razor. She heard him unstrap the leather bindings across her forehead and cradled her head in his hand and began to shave her hair off. Stray strands fell into her eyes and she tried to blink them away. The numbing effect was less potent near the back of her head and she could feel the razor travelling across her scalp. A rustling sound and she felt him placing something on her shaved head, a wig. It fit tight, pulling the skin above her eyebrows taut and making it nearly impossible to close her eyes.

Letting her head fall back down loudly on the metal table, he restrapped the leather bindings and pried her mouth open, fitting in a metal wire brace to hold it in place. Somewhere in the numb unconscious of her mind her gag reflex finally won her over.

With a sickening gurgle she vomited, but it became stuck in her throat and quickly the air was completely cut off. Alarms screamed inside her head but she still could not move, her eyes darted around their sockets. The man, whose face she still couldn’t make out due to the bright light directly above his head, only stared back at her silently. He yanked the wire brace out of her mouth, taking a few teeth with it, and then he kicked the table over on its side. The dark room lurched before her eyes as she slammed into the concrete floor, the heavy metal table bearing down on her from above. She vomited again but could now feel air roaring back into her burning lungs. Rasps escaped her and just as violently as she was flung down the man heaved the table back up into place and secured the straps. The feeling was beginning to return into her legs, she felt a wetness around her crotch.

“You’ll learn to keep it down now won’t you? God you stink, not much left to do.”

He opened her mouth, put the brace back in, and soon she felt immense pressure on her top gums, a yank, and a sound like a wine cork being pulled. He held up one of her incisors, gripped by his pliers, in front of her eyes. Tossing it aside, he fit the pliers around her other incisor, the pressure came, and then suddenly a hideous cracking, like a branch being snapped. Her tooth had shattered.

“Don’t worry I have new ones for you. Not too big, bright and shiny.”

Her fingertips were coming to life then, she could feel the cold air of the basement again and with horror she began to imagine the pain that would engulf her entire mind when the aesthetic wore off. The pain would blot out the world, would blot out the terror, would even blot out Naima. She wished for death.

“Darren, son you need to go to bed it’s late.”

The black figure snapped into attention like a deer in the headlights at the sound of feeble voice calling from far away, somewhere above their heads.

“I’ll be up soon momma, you just go on to bed now.”

His voice when he had spoken to her sounded frantic, monotone, inhuman. Now when he replied to that voice from above he affected a submissive whine. Sensation was reentering her body faster and faster by now. She could feel the raw skin of her wrists where she had pulled against the straps, and then her arms. She had to escape before the pain hit and blinded every sensibility. The black figure named Darren was back at his instrument table muttering soft curses to his mother who by now must have shuffled back into whatever stale bedroom she came from. Without really planning it, the thought entered her head. She began rocking back and forth on the table. The leather straps creaked a bit and the loose bolts holding the legs to the table squeaked but not enough for Darren to notice. She rocked harder and harder, urging against the leg straps that were looser than they should have been, he had neglected to secure them after knocking her over before. The table groaned as two of its legs were now leaving the ground at a time. Darren whipped around, the light finally catching his face. He was handsome, young, but that disarming grin he gave her in the supermarket was replaced by the bared teeth and all-white eyes of a man enraged. He lept up to catch her but the table fell again.

The strap holding her head down snapped and her forehead hit the concrete with a hollow sounding thud. The room went black before her eyes. Vaguely she felt her body dry heaving. The numbness was gone but the pain was distant, she was detached now from her body. Hovering in the air of the basement she saw her torso half laying out of the leather restraints of the table, her body violently spasming. Darren was pacing frantically beside her bleeding head, the area just above her left eye a red mass of flesh and blood already pasting strands of the bad blonde wig to her forehead. His nerve broke.

“Oh fuckfuckfuck I’m sorry. I wanted to help you, I did, I promise I wanted to make you better, I-. I’m going to let you go, but you can’t tell anyone, you can’t. You don’t know me.”

Inarticulate groans came out of her mouth, her tongue lazily exploring the gap where her two front teeth had been. He knelt down beside her and began undoing the straps, her eyes focused on a stink bug crawling slowly through the puddle of blood that her head had left. Red on green. The bug became two, then four, and then her vision fractalled out of existence. When it returned she woke up on the cold dewey grass of a front lawn.

She could hear automatic sprinklers chirping off somewhere distant. Her head was a mountain of pain, every pulse of her heart beat like a drum that throbbed and pushed even more agony than she thought could exist into consciousness. She pulled herself into a ball, groaning with each tiny muscle movement. She could not move her face, it felt like a mask. Her eyes burned and her vision was foggy, she peered out through blades of finely cut grass to a small one story house. Her house.

Naima.

In an instant pain was replaced by a bottomless fear for her baby. She was on her feet. A distant place in her brain informed her that her left leg had been broken somewhere below her knee, and there was a crunching grinding sound as she walked. The motion sensing lights went on and cast a crooked shadow behind her. Her sticky hands felt behind her and by some miracle produced her house keys. She fumbled with the lock, it was hard as her vision kept blurring in and out of focus. Her head, God her head was killing her. She slid through the door and headed down past the kitchen to Naima’s room.

Maurice got off early that night and he was driving home. His floor had been quiet, just watchinng the clock spin. He wanted to go to the range but he hadn’t really seen Mary in three days. She worked hard for that child, every day of maternity leave from the school was spent in dedication to their little Naima. So he decided to surprise her, turn the engine off and coast into the driveway in neutral like he had done when they were in highschool while sneaking out. About a block away he flicked away a half smoked cigarette out the window. He promised her and himself that he’d quit soon. Lung cancer got his grandmother. He’d do it for Naima. But with these back to back shifts at the hospital, a man needed something to take the edge off, and when he couldn’t go to the shooting range a camel or two would do the trick.

The car rolled silently into the driveway. He got out and walked to the door, not noticing the droplets of blood on the grass or the red bricks of their walkway. He’d get into bed with her, pull her close to him, and if the baby was quiet, they’d sleep the whole night through for the first time in months. Then he caught sight of the bloody smudges around the lock and his heart stopped, it froze then and there in time. He saw his eyes in the reflection of the glass door, they were recessed now, drawn back into his face and alert. He moved to his car, never looking away from the house. Opening the passenger door as quietly as he could he felt under the seat for his .38, the one his dad got him for Christmas that year. He was back at the front door.

He held the gun tightly in his right hand and pushed on the doorknob, feeling it give, it was unlocked. His breath came slow, he could feel streams of sweat pouring cold down from his armpits. He stared into the darkness of the living room. Framed family pictures, not even as old as Naima, stared at him in amazement, at the man in scrubs carrying a gun. It was still and quiet save for his hissing breath, until he heard the baby begin to scream. His legs lost their strength and his whole body, an impressive 190 pounds of bulk and muscle began to shake. As quietly and as quickly as he could he moved down the carpeted hall to Naima’s room. The light was on, he could see a tall shadow swaying across the bedroom wall, the smiling faces of Winnie the Pooh and Piglet juxtaposed against his own, covered in beads of sweat.

He entered the doorway, the gun held firmly with both hands, hammer cocked back and finger on the trigger. His eyes were wide open. Over by Naima’s crib there was a woman. She was bent over, peering down at his infant daughter who was screaming louder than he had ever heard. Blonde hair hung limp from her head, and he could see blood seeping out of her scalp and falling into the crib. The woman’s body was shaking in waves, as if she were crying, or laughing. He heard his voice yell to get away and she lifted her head up to see him. Her eyes were wide open in a look of shock, they were bloodshot and he thought he could see a grey film of dust over them. Her eyebrows arched grotesquely high and far to the sides of her face, a face that was red and puffy. Her nose was impossibly thin and crooked on her face. Both her lips were pulled back in a hideous oval around the few teeth she had, they were bloodstained, a large gap right front and center. He was sure of nothing in that moment other than that he was staring straight at a monster. He aimed, held his breath, and pulled the trigger.

Dead center, her forehead exploded in red. Her body jumped a little and then slid over onto the crib, for a moment he was worried it would collapse under the weight but she slumped off of it and onto the carpeted floor, her filmy eyes staring up at the ceiling that he and Mary had pasted glow in the dark stars to the summer before.

He ran over to the crib and picked up Naima whose little blue singlet was speckled in blood and viscera. She was no longer crying, but Maurice was. He cradled his daughter, trying to keep her face away from that dead woman on the floor. He called out for Mary and collapsed to the floor of the hallway, holding Naima in his arms, until the police came.

They got him out of the house fast and took him in for questioning, he couldn’t understand why. They weren’t telling him anything, they wouldn’t let Mary see him. They even brought in a public attorney who just looked at him in sad confusion. He was sitting on a metal chair in an interrogation room, just like the ones he saw all the time on TV. He looked at the wall-length mirror and wondered who was behind it. A deputy came in and sat down across from him, he looked uncomfortable, wouldn’t make eye contact. He held up a manilla folder and slid it across the table to Maurice. Looking down at his hands the deputy spoke.

“Uh, sir, we’re having trouble identifying the victim, and we-”

“What do you mean victim? Victim my ass, that.. thing, that thing was in my house. I was protecting my daughter.”

“Yes sir, we understand it’s just, can you look at these photos please.”

“I want to know where my daughter is being kept first, I want to know where Mary is.”

The deputy rubbed his eyes. It was late, probably close to 4:30 in the morning.

“Your daughter, Mr. Hader, is with social services right now. We’ve contacted your wife’s mother who should be there to pick her up soon.”

“And Mary?”

“We’re looking for your wife now.”

Maurice let out a long moan that filled the interrogation room. He still had blood on his scrubs and his shoes. The deputy pushed the file towards him and sat back in his chair, eyes locked on his hands. Maurice opened the first page which held photographs taken in his little girl’s room. He had to look away and shut his eyes tight so he wouldn’t scream. Most of the woman’s head was gone above the nose. Blood and brains were covering the flower print carpet in Naima’s room. He quickly flipped the photo over. The next shot was of the woman’s torso, one arm crossed over a shirt so caked in blood you couldn’t read what was on the design. He almost flipped that photo over too, until he recognized the ring on his wife’s finger.

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[krissysbookshelf]

Enjoy An Exclusive Sneek Peek of: Summer Indiscretions by Tamara Mataya!

Free-spirited beach-dweller looking to Switch lives with outgoing urbanite.  Sense of adventure mandatory.  Clothing optional. One email away from a total meltdown, I'm desperate to escape New York. Using Switch—a website designed to help strangers swap homes for the summer—I slip out of my stilettos and into a string bikini. But of all the beaches in all the world, Blake Wilde just had to show up on mine. He's hot. Scorching hot. And he's been strictly off-limits for as long as I can remember.  To hell with that. New life? New rules. I know something this good can't be made to last. But for three sizzling weeks, I can pretend there won't be consequences, recriminations, or regret... And that somehow our growing connection can be more than just a summer fling.

Order your copy here:

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  Chapter 1

Melanie

“Excuse me, do you know the way to the nude beach?”

“Uh, sorry?” Before I can answer the smiling stranger, my phone rings, buzzing against my leg and making me jump. I fumble to answer it, clumsy in my confusion.

It’s the office. I’m on vacation. I shouldn’t answer—but what if it’s an emergency? And—

Hold on a second. Nude beach?

My phone rings again before I can gather my scattered thoughts enough to ask. Too late—the stranger’s already walking away. I want to chase after him, but…I stare down at my phone. What if it really is an emergency? Mentally shoving my thoughts into order, I start walking as I accept the call. Resentfully.

“Melanie Walker speaking.”

“Miss Walker, I need you to set up a meeting between me and Nick in Editorial. He’s been up to something. What exactly are we paying him for?” Thaddeus Mitchell III’s voice slides up my spine and lodges behind my eyes—a migraine in the making.

“I’m not in the office, Thaddeus.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” The implication being that I do nothing at work. “There’s a lightbulb burned out in the stairwell that you need to see to.”

Thaddeus Mitchell III was hired at the online women’s magazine H2T (Head 2 Toe) as a sales consultant one month ago and has been a raging pain in my ass for each of those thirty-one days. I’d say twentysomething, allowing for weekends, but he basically went Miranda Priestly and has been contacting me outside of work hours as well. Much like he’s doing now.

“Thaddeus, contact Maintenance about the light. Their number is in the company directory. I’m HR. If you want to set up a meeting with Nick”—who’s doing nothing wrong—“you’ll have to talk to Valerie directly or wait until I get back. I’m on vacation right now.”

“You have your cell phone—a marvel of technology, will wonders never cease? Send an email. Let’s get this show on the road.”

This sarcastic, condescending asshole was hired directly by my boss, and what rankles the most isn’t that he’s woefully unqualified, or that he doesn’t need the paycheck—and has bragged about it to anyone who will listen.

No. It’s the way he treats me when no one’s looking. More than that, it’s the way I let him get to me instead of brushing him off the way I can everyone else. I dig my nails into my palm, annoyed as hell that stomping out my frustration is proving impossible because I’m wearing flip-flops on sand.

“No.” I’m tired of him turning the place I love to work into a hell I dread entering. He’s the main reason I needed to get out of New York for a break.

“Excuse me?”

I think I’ve finally gotten his attention. “Talk to Valerie, or send an email and wait until I get back. Do not call me again at this number.”

“You’re going to regret this lack of professionalism.”

“Have a nice day,” I grit out through clenched teeth and end the call.

I’d like to lose a high heel in his ass, but that would be unprofessional. He’s lucky I haven’t complained to my boss—not that he’s committed a fireable offense—but I refuse to let him invade my vacation.

I glare at my phone, hitch my beach bag higher on my shoulder, and walk faster, loathing Thaddeus’s intrusion. I focus on my feet and concentrate on taking slow breaths. Even twelve hundred miles away, I’m not free from him.

You’d be free of him if you moved over to Editorial.

The thing is, I’m great at my job, and it’s what I know. Then again, maybe I know HR a little too well and the luster’s worn off. And that’s part of the problem that’s been steadily nagging at me with every new idea for an article I have—that I’ve worked my ass off to get to the wrong place in life and am fighting for a career that doesn’t fit anymore.

Plus, in another department, I wouldn’t have to deal with the petty crap people like Thaddeus dump on me every day.

I want to throw my phone when it dings in my hand, but this time, it’s a text from my best friend, Bailey, who works as a features editor at H2T.

Bailey: What’s your Switch partner like?

I text back as I walk down the beach.

Me: We won’t meet in person until after the Switch, but if the photographs tacked to the corkboard in her bedroom are anything to go by, Shelby Kellerman’s life is a cross between an imported beer commercial and an Abercrombie & Fitch ad.

Bailey: What?

Me: Effortlessly beautiful people having a great time no matter what they’re doing. Drinking at the bar, smiling at a concert, running on the beach—each picture made me want to jump inside and spend time there.

Bailey: What did she look like?

Me: Leggy, blond, taller than I thought, freckles across the bridge of her nose that give her an air of innocence despite a body that wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of Sports Illustrated or Victoria’s Secret. Light-brown eyes, and her hair has natural highlights from the sun.

Not that I had been obsessing over those pictures or anything.

Bailey: I don’t know if I should have a crush on her or hate her viciously. lol

Me: I know how you feel!

If I’d grown up here instead of New York, would I be like that? Shelby radiates happiness and serenity. Why would she want to Switch her breezy life for mine, even temporarily?

Bailey: How’s the house?

Me: Disgustingly big. What’s she going to think of my cramped apartment, stuffed with books and with stark-white walls I’ve never gotten around to painting? Every room in her place is a different color.

Bailey: It’s all part of the authentic Brooklyn experience. lol

Me: I guess. But she gets a freaking sea breeze, Bails. The nicest thing the wind blows into my apartment is a sickly spiciness from the Thai place a few doors down.

Bailey: She didn’t sign up to Switch apartments with you for three weeks to be in a place exactly like hers. It’s about experiencing something new, same reason you did it, right?

Me: That’s for sure. I had to flee the oppressive spaciousness and head to the beach.

Bailey: Awesome! Get some sun for me! You’re OK, though?

Not even my best friend knows everything about my sudden need to escape my life.

Me: I’m fine. Adjusting to all the sunshine and personal space.

Bailey: I don’t want to beach block you. Call me later! Remember—you’re there for a fun time. Seize it by the short and curlies!

Me: I will.

Bailey’s right. Fuck Thaddeus. Fuck the day from hell that sent me here. I spread my towel and settle on it, digging in my bag for the bottle of water I packed.

The breeze rolling off the ocean hits me, counteracting the heat with a deliciously salty tang, and I put my cell away, determined to be fully present in this moment. If vitamin D is the feel-good vitamin, I’m going to soak up as much as I can. I need to feel good right about now. I’m doing the most adventurous thing I’ve ever done, and no one can take that away from me.

Walking up King’s Point Drive to the beach felt like an adventure in a foreign land. People are friendlier and wear less clothing in Miami—clothing in a dazzling rainbow of colors—and a lot of women seem to wear bikini tops instead of real shirts or tank tops. Is this why they seem happier in Florida, or is it all the space? Maybe it’s just because it’s so close to the beach.

Without the tall buildings reaching high above like back home, the sky is nearly oppressively open, and I squint up at it for a moment before my eyelids pinch shut against the brightness of the sun. Shelby’s condo is on a little almost-island surrounded by water, with the Oleta River State Park on the west and the ocean a couple blocks to the east. I’m in Miami, but somehow I feel like I’m in an oasis away from it all.

I absorb the sultry thickness, blind to anything but that ocean scent, so unfamiliar and pleasant. I lie back on my elbows, relishing the pure sizzle of the sun on my skin…for about three minutes because, damn, it’s hot. How do sun worshippers do this every day without feeling the need to hire someone to baste them every half hour? Either that or hire a cabana boy to fan them and hand-feed them peeled fruits. Screw grapes—I’d like someone to peel the white crap off my oranges for me.

I grin and look around for a hypothetical candidate.

Sweat beads on my upper lip and tickles my back. Maybe I should mosey to that little stand where they’re renting oversize umbrellas to people who didn’t bring one—like me.

The stand where a woman in her late seventies waits in line, completely naked.

Blinking hard doesn’t make clothes appear on her body; her nudity isn’t a mirage. But what the hell is she doing? Is she a vagrant or someone senile who wandered away from her family? Did the ocean knock her bathing suit off? Was it eaten by a shark?

I blindly grope—grab—for my bottle of water because maybe this is a vision or hallucination brought on by the heat. Why isn’t anyone freaking out about Naked Grandma? Is it like staring at the sun? No one wants to see that, so a glance burns your eyes and you don’t try again or tell anyone you did it because it’s universally not done? Is everyone pretending they didn’t notice so they don’t have to make eye contact with her and tell her to put some clothes on?

She’s just naked and loitering like she’s waiting to check out at the grocery store.

Any minute now, someone’s going to approach her and say, “There you are, Mildred! Let’s get you tucked back into this caftan so you can parade around the beach with dignity and style.”

Swallowing a mouthful of water, I screw the cap back on the bottle and finally take a proper look at the people on the beach. There are some bathing suits, but…

Oh my God. No wonder no one’s saying anything to Mildred. My toes curl with embarrassment, even though I’m fully clothed with a long T-shirt over my tankini, because I’m somehow feeling exposed while covered up. Apparently, embarrassment through osmosis is a thing. I’ve never seen this much flesh in my entire life.

A topless thirtysomething woman applies sunscreen to her legs, her breasts jiggling with every motion.

Stop staring at her.

A naked man runs up the beach with a surfboard, flaccid penis bouncing around like one of those wacky, waving, inflatable, arm-flailing tube men.

Stop staring, Melanie!

An extremely muscular man jogs by, and my gaze zooms to his crotch with startling accuracy, like I’ve had years of checking out naked packages.

STOP.

The thing is, I’ve never really seen a flaccid penis before. In my experience, by the time I’m in close proximity, they’re…ready for business, and who really pays attention after sex? You either get dressed or you’re snuggling with the guy under the covers, not staring at his spent member. My longest relationship was seven months, but we never lived together, so I haven’t experienced a naked, unaroused man casually strolling around my personal space.

A few more men stroll by, and I can’t—look—away.

I didn’t know thighs could be so hairy.

Old guys, young guys, burly guys, and skinny guys strolling around in the bright, bright sunlight, unafraid of getting burned in vital places. I mean, they have to put sunscreen on, but how can they apply it without being inappropriate? Talk about indecent overexposure!

Sprays, maybe?

Huh. Penises are so much sadder when they’re soft, sort of shrunken in on themselves like they’re embarrassed. It’s fascinating, and I absolutely cannot look at them without gawking. But the women are in the buff as well, letting it all hang out for everyone to see. Muscles ripple, booties jiggle, and I’m freaking mesmerized at how nonchalant everyone is about this.

Wow, that man’s legs are hairy. It’s like he’s wearing fuzzy leg warmers.

Some people are wearing clothes, to be fair, but their suits might as well be invisibility cloaks. I’m blinded by flesh.

This has to be how teenage boys feel during a hormone storm.

A lady’s ice-cream cone drips onto her. Oh my gosh, that can’t be sanitary. And is everyone fine with getting sand everywhere? The lady with the cone sees me staring and slides her sunglasses down her nose, peering at me over them and giving a friendly grin.

Oh my God, I need to get out of here.

I stand and stuff my things back into my bag, hightailing it out. I stop short, nearly grabbing a woman’s boobs when I aim my hands for her shoulders. “Sorry!” Dodging around her, I keep my eyes down, but that makes my brain wonder feverishly if the toes belong to someone who’s naked—and if their feet match what I think the bodies should look like, based on flip-flops and nail polish…or toe hair.

Preoccupied with a huge pair of men’s feet and trying very hard not to look up, I collide with a fortysomething man wearing nothing but flip-flops and a gold necklace—and sprawl face-first on the sand.

“Whoops!” He squats down just as I turn my head to spit out some sand, and this is not his most flattering angle. He’s slick with oil, and when he helps me to my feet, he leaves shiny patches on my hands and forearms. “You OK?”

“I’m fine.” My voice comes out an octave too high, and I ooze out an embarrassed “Thanks” and scurry away, still smelling like his coconut suntan oil.

Was that rude? Should I have stayed and chatted with him? How the hell do you chat with a shiny, naked guy? Flustered, I rush back the way I originally came, stopping when I find what I’m looking for.

This is where the stranger asked about the nude beach before. Now that I’m here again, I see the signs pointing to Sunny Isles Beach—where I was trying to go instead of Haulover Beach. Thaddeus’s call must have distracted me.

I can’t believe it, but the sign for Haulover confirms what the boldly bared genitals have already shown me.

I found the nude beach.

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