Chapter 4: : Chapter 4

said she does.

She disappeared.

Disappeared like a mirage. One I was so close to touching. I could’ve sworn it was right there. I could’ve sworn she was real, but the more time that passes and I don’t see her, the more I feel like I made the whole thing up in my head. Does Cole even have a sister? How fucked up have I been these past few nights?

“Bruh, let’s go,” Hawke says, pounding his fist against my door.

Today is the start of my internship. Okay, I’m lying, it’s not an internship, but I am becoming somewhat of an understudy. Hawke is taking me to some properties today, showing me the ropes, getting my hands dirty with some real work.

I don’t even have clothes for this. My skinny jeans don’t allow for much movement up on the roofs of homes and my joggers would get caught with all the zippers, leaving me hanging from the gutters. I’ve pictured it already. I find some old torn up jeans, throw on an old sweater and call it my work clothes.

I walk into the kitchen and find Cole making some breakfast. I perch up at the large granite island that was made for like twenty people to dine at as she turns to face me.

“‘E’ is for Eggs,” she winks, pushing a plate towards me.

“Ugh, thank you, babe. You always know how to fill me up just the way I need,” I groan sexually.

“Hurry the fuck up, Kid!” Hawke barks at me from the foyer, clearly paying attention to our conversation.

He’s dressing in his work boots at the door, about ready to head out with or without me.

“Give me her number,” I say, shoving a fork full of eggs into my mouth.

“Whose? Tarah’s? I thought you got it already, along with everything else she has to offer this world,” she remarks.

“Don’t be jealous, baby, it doesn’t look good on you. You know you have my heart.” I grin, reaching for her hand.

“Fucknut, let’s go!” Hawke yells, getting pissed.

“Johanna. Give me her number,” I smile a hopeful smile, one that says I’m harmless.

“Ha! Yeah, no,” she responds quickly. “If she wanted you to have her number, you’d have it. Stay away. I’m literally warning you for your own good.”

“Pshhh.” I wave her off.

As if they knew what was good for me. I know what’s good for me, and it’s anything with the potential to be lethal.

I walk towards Hawke, putting my black boots on and lacing them up.

“Where is she, though? I haven’t seen her around in a few days.”

“It’s what she does. What she always does. She disappears. Don’t even go there, Kid,” Hawke says sternly as Cole sighs, walking back towards the kitchen.

I sigh, resting my head back against the wall with a lazy smile, just thinking about her crazy, random, insatiable ass.

“I’m already there.”

We get to work. Hawke has me on top of the roof of one of their properties, fixing shingles.

Shingles.

The dirtiest work I’ve ever done was sell dope to a crack fiend in an old abandoned warehouse, not standing my tall, unbalanced ass on top of a house. I’m scared.

“Are you fucking scared?” Hawke asks, walking towards me on the edge of the roof. He’s demeaning.

“No, I just…the wind, it bends me like a piece of wheat grass.”

He puts his hands on his hips, giving me a look that tells me I’m an idiot, the sweat already dripping down his body from a morning of work. Sure, I get why Cole likes him. He’s ripped the fuck up, tats everywhere, and he’s good with his hands. That well-rounded prick. Share the wealth. Looking like a dirty male model straight out of the pages of Handy Man Heaven.

I’m more wheat grass whereas he’s an oak tree. But wheat grass can be healthy for you when blended into a smoothie. I’m great for immune systems.

“Here, peel this up. Like so.” He lifts the shingle above the broken one, showing me where it connects. “Take the nails out and remove it.”

I do as he says, removing the nails. He hands me a new sheet, sliding it underneath and showing me where to nail it in.

“Make sure to nail back in the other shingle you removed, four nails, about six inches apart,” he reminds me, as he works on another area.

“You got it, boss!” I reply in an exaggerated tone.

We work for hours and I actually start to get the hang of it. Roofing is kind of fun. I’m mindlessly working while listening to music, drinking beer, while at the same time, making money.

Hawke surprised me by actually putting me on the payroll for my help this summer. I just assumed the free rent was compensation enough, but he told me this could be my fresh start. Get some legal money under my feet to get me off and running. If this is work, then I’m actually kind of enjoying it.

A few hours later, we meet up with an inspector who’s checking out the property to ensure it’s safe and up to code for renting. We follow him around the complex as he checks everything from the roofing we’ve completed to the foundation and everything in between. He’s kind of a prick, so I find myself sliding in and sweet talking all the problems right out of him. A quick, “Yeah, that’s being ordered today,” to a cheeky, “C’mon man, you know that’ll suffice.”

Hawke studies me with a hint of amusement on his face. The inspector leaves, giving us a good report, and he finally talks.

“I think we found your niche,” he grins, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What’s that?”

“You might need to get into the business side of things. Realtor or something. You could sell anything to anyone. A ketchup popsicle to a woman with white gloves, you sly motherfucker, you.” He playfully punches me in the chest.

“What can I say? I’m good with my mouth.” I shrug.

“You definitely know how to sway people with your inherent charm. Put them skills to use and make some fucking money already.” He throws a bottled water at me from the cooler, making me laugh.

Might be something to think about.

Later that evening, I get a call from Tarah asking me to come to a party at their friend’s house. The first thought that crosses my mind is that maybe Han will be there. I agree to go.

She clings to me immediately, but not in a way that tells me she needs more from me. She wants to hook up and party. I get that.

We get into the house, another nice ass beach house. These kids love to party off their parents’ income, I swear, and I’m here for it. I think they assume I’m some sort of famous rapper or something. Being oddly tall in this sea of Ralph Lauren polos helps.

They don’t question my random assortment of clothing, the vintage band shirt, my shredded black jeans, my random assortment of tattoos. Probably because it’s the style to look bummy now. Little do they know I’ve been doing it for years.

There’s no sign of Han here, and why would there be? She doesn’t exist.

Tarah and her beautiful brunette friend bring us drinks out on the deck, facing the dark ocean. The sound of the waves meshing with the music coming from random speakers inside and outside. The entire deck has a glass surround with LED lights lighting up each post, the lights changing to the beat of the music. It’s trippy as fuck. Rich people love to spend money on weird shit like this.

Some guys come over, introducing themselves to me. They seem pretty chill, but then again, I can get along with anyone. The conversation flows to us, debating whether Tupac or Biggie was a bigger influence, some real east coast/west coast type shit going down. The debate quickly becomes heated between two guys named Noah and Lucas, who’ve probably never lived without their parents’ financial protection. Weird white boy shit.

I can’t relate to these people at all, but that doesn’t mean I won’t get fucked up with them or sell them drugs. Money is money, and these people have a lot of it.

I head towards the edge of the deck, looking down at the rest of the guests and party-goers after selling a few Percs. I’m slowly getting over my fear of heights, one shingle at a time. Leaning my forearms against the glass, I hold my beer by the neck of the bottle, gazing out into the reflection of the moon on the water.

She crosses my mind again.

The dark side of the moon. The space she’s hiding. What was the deeper meaning behind that? My mind races, trying to unravel the riddle. The dark side of the moon, something that’s always there, yet never seen. A metaphor for reality, perhaps? What is sanity? Her words, leaving their scars on me.

A group of about five people are walking along the beach beneath us. The closer they get to the party, I can see they’re turning to come up. All but one.

One parts ways with them, walking off on their own. The only way I can tell it’s her is by the shadow of her signature salute.

It’s Han.

I chug the rest of my beer, leaving it on the kitchen counter as I brush past all the party-goers to get downstairs. I hit the sand and start jogging in the direction she was walking. I see a tiny dot of a person and try to catch up. I’m heaving. Literally choking as I try to run to her. My lungs are so fucked from my years of smoking.

“Jo!” I yell, and she stops in place.

Slowly turning to face me with a confused look, she squints her eyes, trying to see who’s calling her by her family name.

“Kid?”

I run to her, then bend over immediately, grabbing my knees as I try to catch my breath, wheezing like a balloon that’s slowly deflating.

“You alright?” she asks, her lips parting slightly as she takes in my deathly appearance.

I stand up, putting my hands on top of my head, opening my lungs to try to breathe easier. She glances at my lower abdomen that’s exposed, possibly checking out the tattoos there, before her eyes find mine. Her smile reappears after she looks confused for a second. She changed her nose ring. There’s now a gold ring in her septum.

“I’m great. Where are you going?” I ask, finally catching my breath.

She doesn’t answer me, just looks behind her and back.

“Is it a secret? I’m great at keeping secrets. We should share some,” I nod eagerly, making her giggle.

It’s better than music to my ears. I take a moment to study her. Her green eyes light up with a hint of enthusiasm at the sight of me. She couldn’t deny it if she tried. She likes me a bit. Like a person enjoys scratching a bug bite. It feels good, even if it hurts when you’re done.

“What are your secrets, Kid? I can only imagine what you’ve got in your arsenal,” she says, turning to walk again.

I follow alongside her as we walk down the dark beach alone together.

“Um, let me think. What’s something no one else knows about me…” I trail, thinking for a moment. “Oh! I know! I used to fuck my algebra teacher in high school to keep my grade passable.”

Her face turns to me as we continue walking and I’m ready for the backlash, the “you’re really fucked up” face, but with everything that is Han, I don’t get what I expect.

“She was a recent grad, not some nasty old fat lady whose husband couldn’t get it up. Just throwing that out there. I do have some standards.”

She bites her bottom lip, trying to hold her smile while eyeing me.

“That’s insanely hot.” She smirks at me, then faces forward again. “I used to daydream about shit like that happening to me, but I was always so naturally good in school. Guess the opportunity never fell into my lap.”

“You daydreamed about being blackmailed into having sex with your teacher?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” she asks, like it’s the most normal thing.

“No, Han.” I laugh. “No.”

She shrugs and keeps walking. Clearly not caring.

We get to this beautiful little cove that’s further away from the lights of the houses on the beach. She walks down to this little layout spot, dropping the canvas bag down her arm. Pulling out a little wool blanket and rolling it out onto the sand, she grabs out a bag of gummy worms from the satchel and another little container, a small tin box, before sitting down on the blanket with it.

“Your turn,” I comment, lying down next to her, silently wondering what’s in that little tin container. “Secrets. Tell all.”

Laying on her back, she looks to the sky. I do a quick scan of her body, loving the outfit of choice today. She’s wearing these cut-off shorts that cling to her hips but have random phrases splashed in spray paint all over them. There is a red dragon in the center of her black shirt that matches the color of the spray paint. Her choker looks like one of those that you’d only wear to a BDSM convention and, of course, the dirty, loosely tied converses just add to the appeal. Her hair is half up in a quirky ponytail that sticks up to the sky, the other stick straight pieces blowing all around her heart-shaped face.

I see her contemplating which of her secrets she wants unleashed and which she wants to keep to herself forever. Which secret of hers is the piece to her puzzle that I get a glimpse of? It’s crazy to me that there are so many in there. She’s a black hole in the flesh, absorbing anything of worth and substance around her, holding it hostage for her own pleasure.

“I fixate on changing the speed of time to reduce my anxiety about death.”

Her words float above us, between our bodies and the stars. I lie there next to her, dissect them again and again, attempting to understand. I turn my head over to face her. Her face is expressionless as she stares at the moon. How could she possibly change the speed of time?

That’s the thing about Han, I can’t ever tell.

“That’s kind of depressing,” I say, once I really think about it.

“Word,” she says, agreeing as if we’re talking about someone else.

But we aren’t, we are talking about her.

“But why are you fixated on something so out of your control?”

“Because it’s so intractable, so uncontrolled, is the exact reason it gives me unease. So much is out of our hands. Doesn’t that terrify you? Knowing everything that you are is simply up to chance? It makes the need to alter reality that much more relevant.”

The weight of this conversation was not at all what I was expecting. I’ve never thought about it so deeply. Then again, I’ve never really had to deal so closely with death like Hawke has. I haven’t ever had someone close to me pass, and maybe my naivety shows. Han seems to have dealt with death firsthand, and not in a natural way. Her story is smeared with the blood of someone else’s.

She pulls out a gummy worm and slowly places it on her tongue while staring at me with those green eyes. I instantly feel the blood rushing to my dick.

“How can you make something as innocent as eating gummy worms insanely sexy?”

Fucking no filtered brain to mouth transaction.

She smirks, chewing, then making a display of swallowing the worm, letting me see the roll of her throat and then flashing me her tongue, showcasing the missing contents. Things are painful in my jeans.

“You can make anything sexual with the right attitude,” she comments.

“I want to stick my tongue inside you again.” I blurt out, staring at her like it’s painful.

It is painful. I want her. Bad. In every way you can want a person. I want to stick everything of mine into every orifice of hers. I want to tie her up and take her as rough as I need to, fucking these feelings out of me, forcing her to use her safe word just to calm that madness in me down.

Her brows raise again at my garbage mouth, spewing trash everywhere I go. Does everyone get this horny around her? I know I’m normally obsessed with sex, but this is a sick obsession.

“That sounds fun,” she replies, simply. “But, aren’t I a little old for you?”

My brows lower. This thought has never even crossed my mind.

“No one is too old for me. It’s about the soul, remember? Your soul makes me hard. Achingly hard.”

She giggles, “Standards, right? How old are you?”

I stop to think about it for a moment. I literally forgot I had a birthday about a month and a half ago that went unnoticed “Um, I’m old enough. You?”

“Older,” she says simply.

“I don’t care about that. Age is a number. Mentality is where it’s at.”

She says nothing. Just smirks at me with her side eye.

“You seem somewhat mature,” she finally says, tipping her head back a bit, analyzing me.

I tilt my head at the comment, looking all around before connecting eyes. “We’ll say I’m a work in progress.”

She sighs, looking back out to the water. “Aren’t we all?”

I watch her stare out into the moonlight, knowing her mind is going a mile a minute. She’s got secrets, lots of them, and selfishly, I want to know them all.

“But first…”

She turns back to face me, sticking her tongue out playfully as she holds the tin between us, looking at me through her lashes. Upon opening, I see it’s an assortment of drugs. Was she really planning on coming out here and tripping by herself?

“Wanna fly?” she asks, looking over at me.

I’ve done drugs. Lots of them. But I’ve never been asked to fly before. I’m not even sure which drug she’s referring to at the moment, but it doesn’t even matter. I’d take anything she gave me just to share something with her. Wanna go to the depths of hell? Sure, Han. Wanna get stuck in a new dimension? Why the fuck not? I’m living, and I’m living with the only girl who’s willing to hang off the edge one-handed with me. We’re both fucked up in our own ways and it appears to be bonding us.

“Give me my wings,” I reply, propping up on my elbow, turning to face her on the tiny blanket.

She pulls out a little baggie containing two tiny squares of paper with Pokemon characters on them, Gengar and Charizard.

LSD.

We’re about to trip on acid.

She pauses, looking at me from the corner of her eye. “You ever done this before?”

“Nope,” I answer quickly.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a druggie. But even druggies have their flavor of choice. Mine happens to be weed, alcohol, shrooms, cocaine, Addys, Oxys, and Percocets. I’ve never tripped on acid. That’s a whole new world of wonder.

“You want to?” she asks, cool as a cucumber.

“With you? Yep.”

She sits there, staring at me for a moment, clearly going over something in that beautiful, quirky little head of hers. She looks at me, then back at the ocean, the sand, and then her gaze finds mine again.

“Maybe we should go to my place?” she questions.

My eyebrows raise with excitement, then lower when I wonder what vision went through her head. My guess was me getting fucked up on acid for the first time, losing my shit, trying to drown my demons in the ocean while she tries to carry my six footed, fucked up ass back to land.

“Yep,” I say quickly, not wanting to make her vision of me a reality. “Your place. Let’s do that.