Chapter 1: The Goddess
The sun breaks through the trees and warms my face as I gaze out the passenger window. I haven't said a word since we left it - Juvie that it is. What was there to say anyway? "Thanks for taking pity on a poor criminal like me?" Don't get me wrong - It's not that I'm ungrateful. It's just that...well, he's the D.A. And not just any D.A., but the big shit, top shelf, eat punks like me for breakfast- "Chief Assistant District Attorney". But if you ask me, it's just another name for "Biggest Dick". And when the "Dick of all Dicks" suddenly takes a liking towards someone like me, you worry - ALOT. It's not every day a prosecutor pulls some strings to get you out of jail early and offers you a ride home. They don't do shit like that - ever. It's unheard of. I'm still not sure why he did it. I guess he feels bad for me, people usually do. Of course neither of us expected my mom to be so fucking pissed and drunk that she threw me out to the streets. With no where for me to stay, the "Big Dick" couldn't in "good conscience leave me here on the street." So, he's taking me home with him, until my mom sobers up or cools off - which ever comes first. Turns out, the "Big Dick" isn't a big dick after all.
In my peripheral vision, he turns towards me. "I see potential in you Finn."
I purse my lips. Great. Let me just go ahead and add his name to the "People I tried not to disappoint, but fucked up anyway" list. Potential? Does he not remember leaving Juvie, where I was held for grand theft auto!? In my defense, I didn't intend on stealing and crashing the prize possession of one of the meanest judges in California - that was just a cruel coincidence. "Please do this for me bro. I need your help, bro. We won't get caught, bro. Promise" Ha. Guess who's eating those words now, huh? Try to help out a friend and look where that gets me. I suppose I had it coming, considering my affection towards rebellion. But, that's what you get when you grow up in the Californian ghetto, surrounded by criminals, with no parental figures. Oh - I had guardians, sure. If you count an alcoholic mother and her also alcoholic, almost my age, abusive boyfriend. I wish I had known my father, a supposedly heroic war vet. He died when I was a baby, and mom just went downhill after that. But there's nothing rare about me where I come from. I'm a sheep among sheep, or whatever that saying is. We're all alike. So this D.A. guy is crazy if he thinks there's any good left in these bones.
He makes a sharp left turn into a gated community. I've been in this part of Newport Beach once. I needed some cash to pay the electric bills (God knows mom's too busy staring down the bottom of a bottle, and fuck me if I was taking a cold shower), so I robbed the rich to give to the poor. Well, the rich don't fuck around, they get pissed - quickly, and I got caught. Thus my first offense - a B&E.
We make another left into a culd-a-sac. These must be the biggest houses I've seen yet. He pulls into a driveway, parks and shuts the car off. "Wait here. I have to talk to my wife, I'll be back soon." He moves to get out of the car and hesitates, knowing my history. Glancing at the keys, "I'll take these with me," he says, removing them from ignition. Huh. He's not as dumb as he looks.
I gaze around the car, suddenly feeling hotter and claustrophobic, my leather jacket feeling tighter like I'm back in that small ass cell. I laugh at myself - it's ironic to feel so trapped considering the size of the D.A.'s luxury BMW SUV. I step outside, the evening air filling my lungs and get my first full view of the mansion in front of me. The house dwarfs me and my 6'3 frame, with its tall, thick white columns surrounding the huge, intricately designed, glass double doors. It's white and cream in color and it looks like it's made of marble, with massive windows. Palm trees surround the driveway and I can't see the backyard, but I'd bet my last dollar it's overlooking the beach. This house could hold ten of mine, easy. Ok, this guy's wife must have tits that produce cash instead of milk. There's no way he can afford this swanky place. I shake my head, deciding I need a cigarette to clear my thoughts. I start towards the street, not wanting to piss off Mr. and Mrs. Cash Tits by throwing a bud on their perfectly manicured lawn. Reaching the street, I light my stog, taking a puff. As I look up, my eyes land on a pair of legs - perfect, in all their shiny, bronze, sculptured glory. I drag my eyes up towards her hips and it seems to take minutes, hours, days. She's tiny, but seriously, these delicious stems go on forever. Was she wearing shoes? I don't even know. I finally reach her hips, clad in the shortest pair of white shorts, accentuating her California sun kissed tan. I can't help but imagine my hands on those hips, lifting her up and wrapping her legs around me, doing sinful, dirty things to her. She's wearing a red ruffled - what the hell are ruffles anyway? - tank top, exposing a tiny hint of her small, but perfect chest. Her dark hair is in soft curls, her bangs falling just above her dark, wide eyes. She's not wearing much makeup, which I like. The setting sun illuminates her figure, causing her to fucking glow. My glaze lands on her plump, juicy, fuck-me-red colored lips. Subconsciously, I lick mine. Holy fucking hell, I've died and gone to heaven. Forget lung cancer, it was a heart attack that did me in. This chick is a goddess. She looks away from her phone and up at me, her eyes giving me a once-over. I swallow.
"Who are you?" She asks, flashing her pearly whites and - shit, another heart attack. She even sounds like a goddess.
"Whoever you want me to be," I huskily reply, my words seeping with confidence, the cig still on my lips. And although I just met her, I meant it. I'd be her fucking gardener if she asked me to. On my knees, covered in dirt, yanking weeds out of her garden, while she sits poolside in a teeny barely-there bikini, bronzing that delicious skin. I shake the image from my head.
"Ok," she tufts, looking down and away from me, suddenly shy. She takes a deep breath. "You shouldn't smoke, you know. It damages your throat and vocal cords, it's unrepairable."
My vocal cords? What the hell do I care about my vocal cords? And why would she? She takes a step towards me. "So what are you doing here? Seriously."
"Seriously?" I take a drag, exhaling before continuing. "I stole a car...crashed it. Went to jail, got out. My mom was pissed, drunk...and threw me out. Mr. Hummel took me in." I take another drag.
She glares at me for a couple of seconds before that perfect face breaks into a smile. "So you're the cousin from Boston?" she says, her eyes sparkling.
I smile, looking her straight in the eyes. "Yeah."
She tears her gaze from mine to look behind me.
"Hi Rachel."
"Mr. Hummel, I was just meeting your nephew," the goddess, now known as Rachel, replies, smiling, her eyes locking with mine again.
Mr. Hummel looks between us, briefly confused. "Oh! My favorite nephew, Finn." He clasps his hand on my shoulder. "All the way from Seattle."
"Seattle?" she asks, looking back at me, still smiling.
"Dad lived there. Mom was from Boston." I reply, smirking at my quick wit.
"Mmhmm," she nods.
Mr. Hummel changes she subject. "So Rachel, we're all excited about your talent show fundraiser tomorrow."
"Really... You are?" She challenges, keen on his lack of enthusiasm.
For the first time, I take my eyes off of her to glance at him. He runs his hand over his bald head and laughs. "No."
Rachel giggles, not shocked by his honest answer, and it sounds like heaven. I'm sure an angel just got it's wings. A huge black pick-up pulls up in front of us. It's tires screech as it comes to a stop, music blasting, windows down. One glance at the driver and I know it's her boyfriend. A typical Cali surf douchebag, clad in a blue, just as douchey Hawaiian shirt. His ugly blond, curly hair is caked in so much gel, the dude must have showered with it. His large, tinted black truck tells me one thing: pencil dick. "Come on, let's go," he barks at Rachel. What a tool. I don't hide the grimace on my face.
She turns towards me. "Hey, you should come by, check it out." She shrugs. "If you don't have any other plans." She smiles, steps off the curb and sneaks one last glance at me. "See ya," she says before jogging up to the douche-mobile and getting in. Time seems to slow as she leans in to King Douche and gives him a kiss. My insides lurch.
"Goodnight!" I hear Mr. Hummel yell, before the Douche floors it and the goddess is gone, just as fast as she appeared. I sigh, wondering how I so quickly went from hating this place to thinking its not so bad after all. I can't get comfortable though; I wont be here long. I'll stay a few nights, let my mom cool off and be back to the stench of alcohol and garbage that is my home. Mr. Hummel turns to me, "Let's go inside."