I was pretty sure it was about four in the morning, and I estimated it would take at least an hour to get to Nan’s, if not longer. It gave me plenty of time to berate myself over and over for making one bad decision after another.
The breeze helped to cool my skin, the fire died down with each step I took. I hated that Owen had touched me. I hated that my body responded without my consent.
I hated that I hadn’t been able to reach my fucking knife.
Why was Owen even interested in me anyway? I wore baggy hoodies or long sleeved t-shirts. I never put on makeup. I didn’t put myself out there like the other girls in this town. Up until very recently, I was blissfully invisible.
Until Owen.
I wasn’t even given a choice in the matter, and what was worse was that my body liked it, wanted it even. “Fucking traitor,” I whispered. The thing that really bothered me was that I had been coming around to Owen. He was sweet and nice when he wanted to be, and he wasn’t too bad to look at, either. If he would’ve just given me time, then maybe…
No. Not even with time.
I just wasn’t built that way. No amount of time would make me want something I detested so much.
Anyway, it seemed that my desires were apparently very limited to “narrowly being raped” because before that, I’d barely felt even a trickle of desire... except maybe for a certain blonde with a penchant for leather.
Great.
I wondered if there was a box to check for my neurosis on Match.com. I wouldn’t know, it’s not like I had a computer. Shit, maybe if Owen had really gone for it, I’d have had the time of my life. In my head, I was yelling at myself. If anything, the incident just proved that not only was I one fucked-up cookie, but I needed to build a bigger wall of defense.
One with cannons and guards with big guns.
Of course, it was the moment I was thinking about guns of all things that the ground beneath my feet started to quake, the loose shell rattled around my feet. A single bright light illuminated the night, temporarily blinding me as the motorcycle that was heading right toward me slowed to a stop beside me in the road.
Jake cut the engine and removed clear-lensed goggles from his eyes, but I kept walking. “Little late for a walk of shame, don’t you think?”
“You have no idea,” I said. I wanted to be offended by what he insinuated, but I wasn’t blind to what this looked like: a disheveled mess of a teenaged girl walking home before dawn after attending a party. I would have thought the same thing.
In an instant, he was off his bike and keeping pace beside me. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one taking a deep drag.
“Why are you out and about? Are you doing the ride of shame, or did you have to pop a cap in someone’s ass?” He held out the pack of cigarettes toward me. “No, thanks. I don’t smoke.” He raised a brow at me. “Cigarettes,” I added. He opened his pack and pulled out a joint instead. Then, he lit it and handed it over to me.
What did this guy want?
“Why are you being nice to me?” I took the joint from him, careful not to touch his fingers. “If you feel bad about the gun thing, don’t. I would have done the same thing if someone broke into my place.”
“I’m not nice.” Jake took another drag of his cigarette and gave me a small smile. It was the same way I saw him in my dream.
“But, you are being nice to me,” I corrected him. He ignored me.
“You need a ride?” he asked. I stopped walking and took another hit from the joint. Jake stopped next to me. I held the smoke in as long as possible. “That kind of night?”
I just shrugged and let my high round off some of the sharp corners of the pain I’d experienced that evening.
“Town is a ways away, and on the off chance you don’t get hit by a car you will probably be eaten by either wild boar, coyotes, or at the very least these fucking annoying pterodactyl mosquitoes.”
“Well, aren’t you the eternal optimist.”
“Are you always this sarcastic?” he asked.
“Yes, but usually in my head. Around you, the words just seem to come faster and more…” I was trying to think of the word. “...wise-asser.”
I took another hit and passed the joint to him. “Good word,” Jake said. He stomped out his cigarette in the dirt and took a hit of the joint. “I guess I bring out the best in you then.”
“Why do you carry a gun?”
“Dangerous people out there.” He looked down at his feet.
“Like who?” I knew who was dangerous to me. The question was about who was dangerous to him.