Lyrics to Lick It Up by Kiss (1983)
Every hour without you
Is a life entire
Every beat of my heart
Burning desire
When I dream
Of kissing your lips
I -
Lemy sat the pencil down and read the poem over again. I what? He was going to say something about going to heaven, but that avenue didn't have any good rhymes. At least none that he could see. English, like I said, was not his best subject, and writing wasn't something he did very often. He'd written poetry for Lyra before, but not very often because he could never articulate himself well enough and it frustrated him to the point of hair pulling madness. He'd come out swinging, but a few lines or stanzas or whatever in he'd crash and burn like a bicycle in a Michael Bay movie. Oh...woooww...how did that happen...there's no gas tank…
This one wasn't for Lyra, though, it was for Gwen. And...this is kind of embarrassing...he was planning on actually showing it to her. Gay, right? My bike's at home...before you ask.
But yeah, he wanted to give this to her, and that really put the pressure on. He wanted it to be perfect, like something Keats or Byron or one of those other homos would write. He had this image in his head, you know, of her face lighting up when she read it, and he couldn't shake it. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to actually see it. In person.
Paradise abides
In your dark eyes.
Lemy blinked. He quickly read what he had and mentally added the last two lines. Get rid of the 'I' and it worked. Buuuut...did it work well enough? In keeping with the work motiff, he didn't want the sloppy, lazy employee who came in two hours late and did the bare minimum, he wanted the guy who showed up early, did extra, and carried the fucking place. His goal was to make her eyes glow.
Hmmm...he liked those last two lines, so he was definitely going to use them, but maybe not after the kissing your lips part. That put him back at square fucking one. He glanced up; Mr. Wilkins, the science teacher, was sitting at his desk with his nose buried in a Tom Clancy paperback. He was fat with glasses and a gray mustache (Mr. W., not Tom Clancy...Lemy had no fucking clue what Tom Clancy looked like). Good, keep your attention there and off me; the last thing I need is Oh, Mr. Loud, writing something? How about you share it with the class? They'd laugh his ass right out into the street.
Eh, on second thought, fuck them.
He turned back to the page and scanned the lines.
When I dream
Of kissing your lips
I -
Ahhh, goddamn it, I got nothing. He slipped his fingers into his hair and bowed his head in a slumped shoulders posture of defeat. I want the glowy eyes, he thought with a mental pout. Damn it. He took a deep breath and considered scrapping the whole damn thing; he could start over fresh and not write himself into a corner. He liked what he had, though.
Alright, how about this? We take out the last two lines, which brings it in to Burning desire. God, man, this is like trench warfare: Gain an inch then lose a foot. He frowned at the paper and wracked his brain, but nothing came. Sighing in frustration, he threw his head back.
Why do I have such a hard time with this? I know what I want to say, but not how to say it. I want to talk about how her eyes stir my soul, and how her smile makes me feel weak in the knees. It should be simple, but, man, it's just not. For me at least. I have the feelings, just not the means of expressing them, you know? I can do well thinking, but even then I think I have the tendency to ramble and run myself in circles.
And, like...think as though I'm speaking to an imaginary audience.
Weird, right? I wonder if I have schizophrenia. Man, I hope not; I might wind up thinking Leia's leading some kind of conspiracy against me and strangling her to death, which leads to a depressing chain reaction of death, madness, and suicide.
He sighed.
What kind of monster would dream that kind of thing up?
Me.
He picked up his pen and went over the poem yet again, still not sure where the hell to go with it. How about taking out When so that the last two lines simply read I dream of kissing your lips?
I dream
Of kissing your lips
Paradise abides
In your dark eyes.
It sounded kinda...clunky, though. Maybe take out dark?
Paradise abides
In your eyes.
Hmmm. Now it felt skimpy. There needed to be a word after in and before your. Limpid? That had something to do with eyes, right? Paradise abides in your limpid eyes. He ticked his head back and forth, his teeth bared in as if to say uhhh, actually. Okay, take limpid out again. Paradise abides in your eyes. Yeah, let's just go with that.
Now...what's next?
That was the 64,000 dollar question.
Oh!
And in your hands my heart resides.
He grinned. Damn, I'm good. One days it's gonna be me they're talking about in English class. Lemy Loud, the greatest poet of the 2040s and '50s, left behind a legacy of awesomeness that lives on to this day. Seriously, y'all, this dude was mad good. Let's read it all together now, shall we, imaginary audience?
Every hour without you
Is a life entire
Every beat of my heart
Burning desire
I dream
Of kissing your lips
Paradise abides
In your eyes
And in your hands my heart resides.
Holy shit, that's actually not bad. I can't say I'm crazy about how it flows between line six and seven, though. Of kissing your lips/paradise abides. It feels sudden and jarring. It's like Point A and Point B or something. There needs to be a bridge. And would would great, but the last line starts with that. Using it again would be dumb. He wouldn't give a shit if it was for a school assignment or something, but it wasn't, it was for Gwen, and he wanted to see her goddamn face light up like Christmas morning in hell; can't get that being clumsy and awkward sounding.
Was it bad, though, or was he being over critical?
I just want it to be good and I want her to like it. That's all.
He read it one more time. That transition between lines still didn't sit entirely well with him, but the more he scanned it, the less it bothered him. Okay. This is good. Short, but good. Less rope to hang myself with, you know?
Now that that was over and his mind was unoccupied, he started thinking about Gwen, and he got that steel-fingers-in-the-guts feeling again. He whipped his phone out and checked to see if she'd texted him, but nope. That was alright, though. It was the middle of the day. She was probably in class. Hell, there were times he couldn't text, and yesterday she didn't for a while then said I was in class sorry and he was like no big but it kind of was because he was starting to wonder if maybe she didn't like him anymore aaaand I'm rambling let me just shut up.
Deep breath.
As you can see, yeah, I really like her. I can't stop thinking about her, it's actually really annoying, lol. I mean, it was the same with Lyra (still kind of it), I'm not new to it, but the difference here is brah, she likes me back. That's a beautiful feeling, you know? With Lyra, she doesn't, so it's different. There's a kind of...you know...hopelessness involved. It's 'pinng.' What I feel for Gwen isn't pining per se, but it kind of is, it feels similar. I think about her, I wanna see her, I find myself stopping what I'm doing and wishing she was with me. I'm really excited to see her, too. Like, man, you have no idea. I never felt like that with Lyra, but that's because we live together, I think. Seeing Lyra wasn't a special event. She's like a...she's like a favorite TV show that runs in syndication. Like Gilligan's Island on TVLand. I dig that show a lot, but it plays every single afternoon at four, so it's routine, like the sunrise or getting hugs from your mom - both awesome but kinda the natural order of things. Gwen is like...America's Most Wanted. It only comes on Saturday nights, so you sit around all week waiting and getting more and more excited. Kinda like you do with Christmas.
He drummed his fingers on the desk and looked up at the clock. Soon can't come soon enough. You ever hear that song by Pink Floyd called Time? Ticking away/the moments that make up a dull day...yeah, that was him, counting down every second, every tick of the clock hand. Come on, this is bullshit. He looked at his phone; it sat on the desk next to his textbook, the screen dark...cold...like a fireplace after the fire.
That was an eighties group. After The Fire. They did that song Der Kommissar. Der Kommissar's in town ooooh-ooooh. That was originally a Falco song. You know, the dude who did Rock Me Amadeus. For some reason German pop stars were big in the early eighties. Metal bands, too, actually. You had The Scorpions and Accept (balls to the wall, man). Uhhh...I'm sure there're more. Some dudes called Railway (their song was called Lick It or Stick It...I wonder what 'it' they were talking about). Krokus was Swiss, and that's basically German light, isn't? Like Ja, ve love da lederhosen but not da Holocaust ja. You know, lederhosen is for guys. I forget what the female equivalent is called - I'm sure you've seen it, white shirt, green dress, straps - but Gwen would look good in it. Man, she'd look good in just about anything. Or nothing.
Lyra too.
Damn, dude, if by some fucking lucky mistake of happenstance I could get both of them in bed...shew. I mean, well, I might be able to (Gwen would probably be down...I dunno about Lyra), but I don't know if I should. Thinking about being with another girl, even Lyra, feels kind of...wrong?
He furrowed his brows. Yeah, it felt wrong, almost like cheating. Man, he must have it worse than he thought if it's like that. Actually being with another woman never felt like cheating with Lyra. Hell, he could do Leia ten times a day and be totally fine with it, but right now, scanning the contents of his heart and mind, it seemed that maybe he felt differently.
Wow. Alrighty then.
He glanced at the clock again; not very much time had ticked away. Sigh. He put his head in his hands, rolled his eyes up, and looked at Mr. W. He was holding the book in one hand and eating a cinnamon roll with the other; frosting or whatever's on those things dripped down his fingers onto his shirt. Lemy's lips peeled back from his teeth in a sneer of disgust. Ew, dude.
Mr. W. took a big bite and chewed with his mouth open. He dipped the remainder into his coffee and brought it up to his lips, but a soggy lump fell off, plopped wetly onto his shirt, and rolled down to his lap. Mr. W. shoved what was left past his lips then sucked his fingers clean one by one.
Clock again. Less than thirty seconds. Goddamn. Maybe -
His phone buzzed and he jumped a foot; the girl next to him lifted her brow and favored him with a sidelong glance as he snatched it up. Please be a text I actually want. He looked at the sender.
3 GWEN 3
Heh. Gay, I know; he did it last night when he couldn't sleep. Just for something to do, you know? For the lulz, as the kids used to say.
Lunch time *smiley face* What're you up to?
Nothing important, he replied. Just class.
He glanced up at Mr. W. He was licking cinnamon roll fluid from his palm like a fucking cat or something. It'd be hot if it was Gwen but -
Buzzz.
Class *is* important, Freak.
Lemy grinned. You're important.
Should he say that? He wasn't used to, you know, it being acceptable to voice his thoughts like that. With Lyra or any of his other sisters, he really couldn't, you know? Hey, bro, that pizza looks really good. So do you. It was okay because Gwen was his girl, right?
Imma do it.
He typed it and hit send.
And immediately regretted it.
What if that was, like, too much?
Then again, we've had sex and said I love you, so I don't think she'd raise her brow at a sappy text.
Right?
He stared anxiously down at the screen, waiting for it to light up. When it did, his heart crushed. He picked it up and opened it.
*Blush face*
Lemy's heart dropped. That's it? W -
Another text.
Am I?
Yes, he replied quickly.
Aww, you're important too. Very important. 3
Lemy broke out in a big grin. One thing and one thing only came to him, and he barely hesitated before typing it out. I love you.
I love you too, she responded a minute later, so much.
Lincoln Loud considered himself a nice guy, and as a nice guy, he never delighted in the misfortune of others. However, he couldn't say that he was too upset that his boss broke his foot and had to close the office. Not because he didn't like his boss (guy was alright), but because that meant a rare weekday off. Now, having a free day smackdab in the middle of the week might not mean much to most people (there's nothing on TV and Facebook is kinda slow...j/k), but it did to him. One, because all the older girls were in school - he could relax without worrying about being dragged off to one of their rooms like that clown being dragged under the bed in Scary Movie 2. Two, because he got to spend time with Lizy and Lulu, his two youngest children.
Since the boss called him the night before, he knew he had the day off before going to bed, so he didn't set an alarm. His plan was to sleep in and wake when he felt like it.
That didn't happen.
He was in the middle of a dream about trying to fix a radio and failing when something tickled his nose and made him wince. Huh? I'm doin' somethin' lemme 'lone. He stirred, and jumped as something trail softly down his bare chest. Multiple somethings, actually. His eyes opened, and the world was a blur of black and white, like an old movie where the guys call each other Mack and the women dames. Tha fu? He blinked, and the scene swam into focus.
"Morning," Lucy said. Her eyes were dark and filled with evil and her lips were turned up ever so slightly in that Mona Lisa I know something you don't know way that he found irresistible. Her black bangs sweeping across her forehead as she shifted. Her fingertips stroked softly down his warm flesh, and a tingle went through him, starting in his spine and ending in the tips of his toes. His dick, already hard because morning wood, shivered in anticipation.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"Seven-thirty," she replied.
While he was certainly locked and loaded, he was hoping to sleep until at least nine.
Lucy propped herself up on her elbow and stared down at him with that faint smile. She wore lacy negligee black against creamy white. "Wanna have sex?"
He considered for a moment. He did...but he also wanted to sleep in. "Sure," he finally said. Lucy's grin widened and she leaned in, her hair shrouding them as their lips met and their tongues touched. She dug her nails into his chest and deepened the kiss, swinging one leg over and shifting onto his lap; her burning cauldron of sin was hot through the blanket. He pushed it down, and his head raked across her trembling lips; she sucked a deep intake of breath and bit his bottom lip. Pain tinged with pleasure shot into his brain, and she giggled darkly. Lincoln responded by grabbing her ass and burying his nails into her soft flesh. She humphed and aligned their sexes, her lips wrapping around his head and her slick heat breaking against his skin.
"I like that," she breathed.
He knew. He'd been 'with' his sisters for two decades, and he knew how each one liked it. Lori liked being on top in control; Leni liked being on bottom and made love to gently; Luna and Lynn liked it fast and uptempo; Luan liked it slow with lots of touching and kissing; Lana liked it from behind; Lola sometimes liked to be treated like a princess, and sometimes like a whore; Lisa liked plain jane missionary; Lily liked anal (she had some kind of butt fetish...she did used to talk about poo poo a lot, so it made sense); and Lucy...Lucy liked it rough. She wrote a poem when she was fourteen that Lincoln remembered to this day because it summed up her taste in sex perfectly: Happy, happy, joy, joy, I'm a kinky sex toy, beat me, bite me, make me bleed, kinky sex is what I need. He thought of it almost every time they had sex because it was true then and it was true now.
Presently, he bit his nails into her butt and shoved her hips down as he pushed his up; his member blasted into her like a rocket into outer space, and she moaned. "I like that too," she said and started to rock against him, her wet satin walls moving up and down his shaft in mindless lust. He kissed her lips and and threaded his fingers through her black hair. "I know," he said. He tilted her head to the side, kissed her throat...then bit it. A shudder tore through her lithe frame and she issued a long, shaky moan. Her hips moved faster, her walls squeezing him and stroking him with more force. He found her throbbing pulse and nipped it gently, then draged his nails up her back, slow and deep, leaving raised red welts.
"D-Draw blood," she quavered.
He knew this was coming. He didn't like it, but...did you notice how I listed all the ways the girls liked it? Well, I didn't say what Lincoln liked, but I will now.
He liked pleasing a woman.
He pressed his lips to the side of Lucy's throat and clamped his teeth down as hard as he could. She yelped, and her movements increased. She was gliding along him at a frenzied pace and Lincoln could feel himself inching close to the edge. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, and even though it made him wince in disgust, he lapped the wound like a dog and focused not on himself but on her - on the soft pants and moans falling from her lips like honey, on the way her body shook as her orgasm approached, on how hot and wet and turned on she -
Lincoln flopped his head back and groaned as his climax exploded from his tip with painful force. Lucy jumped and cried out, her body closing around him. She bowed her head, grabbed two handfuls of he sheet, and let out a shivery, "Fuuuuuck." Lincoln gripped her butt and held on as his load pumped deep into her...one squirt, two squirt, three squirt...end.
She shook even harder, then, slowly, her body released him and she laid her cheek against his chest. He stroked her hair and hummed; he loved the drowsy afterglow of sex almost as much as he liked the event itself. Each one of his sisters knew this, and even if they weren't the cuddling type (coughLynnandLanacough) they always snuggled close and shared it with him.
See...in life, if you give, the ones who love you are always willing to give back.
"That was really good," Lucy said flatly.
"Umhm," Lincoln said, "it was. Even if I wanted to sleep in." He brushed her hair out of her face and grazed his thumb along the ridge of her cheekbone.
"Sorry," she said, "I woke up wet."
Lincoln laughed.
After sharing the morning with Lucy, he grabbed a hot shower and dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a sweater vest with an orange and brown diamond pattern over a white shirt. His chin was getting stubbly and he should have shaved, but he didn't feel like putting in the time: He wanted to hang out with Lizy and Lulu.
In the dining room, Lizy was eating a breakfast of sugary cereal while Lulu sat in her high chair and regarded Luan with a quizzical expression; Luan held a spoonful of applesauce to her lips and making yum noises (look, auntie Luan likes it). Lizy looked up when he came in and smiled. "Hi, Daddy!"
"Hey, honey," he said. He laid a hand on Luan's shoulder and pecked her temple, then leaned over and did the same to Lulu. She sucked her pacifier and looked up at him with big curious eyes. "You gonna eat for Auntie Luan?"
She blinked. No.
"Please?"
Blink. No.
He reached out and plucked the pacifier from her mouth. "You can have this back after you eat."
She looked at him for a moment, her mouth a perfect little O...then the bottom half of her face opened up like a fucking Predator. Lincoln fell back and Luan cried out, the bowl flying from her hands and sailing over her shoulder. Lizy looked over, and her jaw dropped. "Valacual raptor," she breathed.
"Give it back, give it back!" Luan squealed.
Lincoln held the pacifier out, and the baby's face went back to normal. "Here," he said and stuck it into her mouth. His hand was shaking and his heart was racing; it was easy to forget that Lulu's mother made her in a lab and decided to play God while she did it. Every time she did something off the wall like this, it caught him off guard and he shit himself. Figuratively.
Okay, and once literally.
"I wish I could do that," Lizy said and turned away. There was a gloomy sullenness in her eyes.
"I don't," Lincoln said, then smiled, "I like you just the way you are."
"Thanks," she said heavily and stared into her bowl. He went over and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Hurry up and eat so we can do something fun," he said.
She looked up at him with wide, excited eyes. They didn't often do fun stuff together, and that was so painfully clear from the way her eyes glowed that his chest tightened.
He was turning into his father...too consumed with work and the mundanity of daily life to be there for his kids.
Dad was a good man, but Lincoln didn't want to be like him. When Loan was first born, he vowed to always be there when she needed him; he did this for each successive child, and as they piled up, the promise became harder to keep, especially when the girls started to need him in ways he hadn't foreseen. Somewhere along the line, he dropped the ball when it came to Lizy and Lulu, and especially Lemy - Lemy to the point where their relationship might never recover, and that filled Lincoln with such sharp regret that he sometimes lay awake at night wishing he could take it all back, that he could return to the day Luna gave him to him and be a better father, a better man.
"Can we play dinosaur monster truck death match?" Lizy asked hopefully.
Lincoln smiled. "Anything you want, honey."
"Hm...anything?"
An hour later, after running around the backyard for forty-five minutes with Lizy on his shoulders and pretending to be a velociraptor, he realized that he should be more careful in his word choice from now on. You know kids, give them an inch and they take a mile.
"Faster!" Lizy giggled and kicked her feet, spurring him with her heels like he was a horse and she an excitable Old West cowgirl. He was beat, panting, and his muscles ached like hell, but her delight pushed him on. Moments like this didn't happen very often, and he intended to milk it for everything it was worth. He went faster…
...and felt no regrets.
Despite being constantly pursued by gangsters, criminals, crooked politicians, and the IRS, Liby Loud was not a paranoid girl. In her years as a gumshoe, she had developed a keen gut instinct that never steered her wrong. She could walk into a room, glance around, and know in an instant whether it was 'safe' or not. If there were fifty people talking and drinking from red solo cups and one meant her harm, she would feel it. If she stepped outside in the morning to grab the paper and a couple mobsters were watching from a window across the street, her Liby Senses ® would tingle.
Thus, when her gut told her something was wrong, she listened without question, and as she and Lacy walked home from school that Tuesday afternoon, her guts were alive with warnings, alarm bells, and red flags. She glanced over her shoulder; the sidewalk was empty save for wet leaves plastered by rain to the pavement. The Hispanic man was nowhere to be seen.
"You alright?" Lacy asked.
Liby scanned the lawns sloping down to the knee-high stone wall lining the way, but saw no crouching danger. "No," she said honestly, "we're being followed."
She first noticed him as she stood across the street from the middle school waiting for Lacy. He walked by, a tall, lank egg in jeans and a denim jacket with a red bandana tied around his neck. He slowed and cased the front of the building, which immediately aroused Liby's suspicions. Pedo alert, pedo alert. He turned his head, their eyes met...and he hurried away. That's right, buddy, not in my town. A few minutes later, though, he was back, walking in the opposite direction, only this time he didn't slacken his pace and kept going until he hit the intersection of Chestnut and Schoolhouse Road, where he turned and disappeared.
Lacy came out shortly thereafter, and Liby shoved it to the back of her mind. It returned to the fore when they crossed the intersection and she spotted him on the other side of the street, leaning against an Oak tree, his arms crossed and his brow lowered as if in annoyance. As they passed, he glared at them. A block later, she looked over her shoulder, and he was waaay back there, moseying along as if he didn't have a care in the world. Oh, but he did; his posture was tense, his stride circumspect.
She knew then that he was one of Montoya's people.
Hahahahaha. Why did Montoya keep sending his worst? Did he really think that lowly of her?
Presently, Lacy threw a worried glance back and hugged her books to her chest. "You think?"
"Yep," Liby said and faced forward. She didn't show it, but she was slightly perturbed. What was one of Montoya's men doing here? She didn't expect him to make a move until at least the end of the year - that one of his goons was wandering around Royal Woods now suggested that he was planning on striking sooner: The poor bastard in the banana was recon, getting the lay of the land.
He was about to get something else.
"What do we do?" Lacy asked.
Liby took a deep breath through her nose, the smell of burning leaves like perfume on the damp air. "Act natural."
Lacy looked at her as though she were crazy. "Natural? Some asshole's following us, probably planning our deaths at this very moment, and you want us to act natural?"
"Yep," Liby chirruped.
They were at a cross-street now; cars were parked at the curb and elementary school kids with backpacks on their backs moved in groups along the sidewalk. Being as nonchalant as possible, Liby brought her own backpack around, unzipped it, and took out her Ruger; she held it flat against her leg, covering it from sight with her palm. Lacy started to reach for the Ruger LCRx .38 Special revolver Liby had given her, but Liby waved her off. "You don't need it," she said.
Lacy favored her with questioning eyes, but obeyed. Liby was the expert, after all.
Looking around, Liby saw him a block and a half behind, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. Alright, you piece of shit.
By now, they were near Franklin. They crossed the street ahead of a lumbering yellow school bus and started down. "Go inside and go down to the basement," Liby said. "Wait by the hatch."
Lacy nodded.
When they reached the house, Liby glanced over her shoulder and didn't see the tail. Lacy went up the walk and through the front door. Liby kept going, stopping a block away and ducking behind a tree. Pressing her stomach against it, she leaned over just enough to see the sidewalk, and saw him off in the distance, walking at a leisurely pace. She tightened her grip on the Ruger and waited. He came closer, closer...then slowed and turned his head as he passed the house, his gaze darting around from window to window.
Come on, you bastard.
After a minute, he did, and Liby stepped behind the tree to conceal herself, turning so that her back was against it. She was coiled like a spring now, her rational mind giving way to instinct like it always did in times like this, her senses heightening like an animal's. She could hear the soft tread of his tennis shoes on the pavement, smell the scent of his deodorant. He appeared, eyes straight ahead, completely oblivious. Releasing, she sprang forward and jammed the gun into the base of his skull. "Deténgase allí, hijo de puta."
He froze, his shoes scuffing.
"¿Por qué me estás siguiendo?"
"Look," he said in good English, "I -"
"Shut the fuck up," Liby snarled. "Make any sudden moves and you're dead."
"Alright, I -"
"Shut up!"
Grabbing him by the back of his jacket with her free hand, she spun him around and marched him back to the house and through the side yard. The hatch was open and Lacy's head stuck out. She was holding the revolver and looking nervous. "Go down the stairs," Liby commanded, "and if you try anything, I'll blow your teeth out."
He went down the steps silently. At the bottom, Liby flicked a switch on the wall, and muted yellow light filled the space: It was narrow and cramped with stone walls and a dirt floor. Boxes and piles of junk were stacked here and there; cobwebs danced in a damp draft. Lacy stood to one side. Liby looked around and spotted an old straight back chair sitting next to a dusty workbench. "Get that and put it in the middle of the room," she said. "And grab some rope."
While Lacy did this, Liby held the barrel of the gun against the man's neck. "Who are you?" she asked.
He didn't reply.
"Who are you?"
"Don't worry about it," he said smugly, "you'll see who I am soon enough."
Wrong answer. Liby drew back her arm and pistol-whipped the shit out of him. He cried out and stumbled forward. "I don't like smartasses, puta. I asked you who you are."
"Hector," he said tightly.
Lacy sat the chair in the middle of the room and looked at Liby.
"Sit down, Hector."
He didn't move, and Liby jammed the barrel into the small of his back. "Sit."
Hector went over to the chair, turned, and sat. He was young, maybe twenty or twenty-one with hard brown eyes and rugged features; save for the jagged scar running down the left side of his face, he was handsome. Liby went over and tied his hands and feet to the chair while Lacy covered him with the revolver. "What are we gonna do with him?" Lacy asked nervously.
"Find out what he knows...and why he's here," Liby said as she knotted the rope tightly around his wrists. He sucked a pained breath through his teeth. "Does that hurt?"
"Yes," he said.
"Good."
She got to her feet and went around the front of the chair, her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed. Playing the torture game wasn't her favorite thing to do, but she would do it and she would do it well; she learned a thousand tricks from the CIA, Mossad, and Middle Eastern rebel groups, and if Hector wanted, she would show him all of them.
"Montoya sent you...didn't he?"
Hector glared.
She bent over and smooshed her nose against his. "Didn't he?"
He spat in her face.
Typical.
Standing back to her full height, she brushed his loogie away with her thumb and looked at Lacy, whose face was pale and drawn. "Go over to the toolbench and get me a pair of pliers." She glanced at Hector and grinned at the shadow of fear that flickered across his face. "We're going to be here awhile."
Lemy was a laid back dude (for some reason he hated the phrase laid back, though). On normal days, when the final bell rang, he stayed in his seat and let everyone else play Fury Road out the door. Today, however, as soon as it sounded, he was up like a shot and pushing niggas out the way like Ludacris. "Move, bitch," he grunted and knocked some redhead bimbo to the ground; "Hey!' she cried.
He didn't mean to do that, but whatever, he'd been waiting all fucking day to see Gwen and no one was gonna break his stride, not even Leatherface. See, that's from a fan video on YouTube that had scenes from - never mind, that shit's not important right now.
At his locker, he shoved his books in and slammed the door, not realizing he needed one (or more?) for homework until he was already outside. He hesitated - man, my grades suck lately, I shouldn't blow this off - then pressed on. Fuck it. I'll flunk. If that sick Break My Stride video with the Chainsaw clips can fuck off, so can schoolwork.
Wait.
Do I have that fucking poem?
He stopped and patted his pockets. No...no he did not. Shit. Sighing, he turned around and dragged himself through a crowd of kids like a salmon going downstream instead of up. When he reached his locker, he put in the combo, opened it, and rummaged around until he found it sticking out of his math book. C'mere, asshole. He folded it with exaggerated care (don't want it to look all rumpled and shit) and stuck it into his pocket. There. Let's try this again.
Outside, he pounded down the steps and hung a left. The middle school let out ten minutes after Royal Woods Academy, so if he hurried he could meet Gwen and Leia on their way to the house.
Dude, I really hope she likes this poem. I wasn't joking when I said I want to see her face light up and her eyes sparkle. And no, I'm not gonna say gay, huh, like I usually do, cuz there's nothing gay about it. The way she looked at me at the park on Sunday...that's what I see when I think of her. Not her body, not any of the times we did it, her face glowing and her eyes like lamps or something.
It makes my chest all tight, you know, and….I just wanna see it again and again and again. Even if it means I have to struggle with poetry writing every single day. I mean, that's a small price when the reward is that. A small, small price.
He stuck his hands into his pockets and quickened his step. A gust of wind swept through the street and knocked leaves from almost-barren treetops; they fell over him like a shower of embers from a celestial fire, and one landed on his shoulder.
Little leaf
Upon the wind
Twirling and dancing
Floating friend.
Alright, now that was gay, but I gotta practice, right? If I wanna write poetry for my girl every day I gotta flex my muscles.
He came to an intersection and waited for a black SUV to pass. A woman was behind the wheel and a girl was in the passenger seat. She looked at Lemy (the girl, not the mom), and her eyes narrowed. She stuck her middle finger up and pressed it against the glass. Really? The fuck did I do to you?
It wasn't until the SUV turned and started down the street that he realized it was that dumb ho he knocked over. Oh. Shouldn't have gotten in my way. When a guy's into a girl, you gotta stay clear. One time he almost pushed down an old lady with a cane because she got between him and Lyra. He didn't not it on purpose, he was on autopilot, it just...happened. For what it's worth (stop, hey, what's that sound?) he shot out his arm and grabbed her before she toppled. You know how she thanked him? Watch where you're going, punk. The nerve of some people, huh?
Nah, he totally deserved it.
Anyway, he was coming up on Magnolia Drive, the street that Leia walked to and from school on. Did he smell okay? He lifted one arm and sniffed, then the other. Breath? Huff huff. Yeah, it's good. At the corner, he stopped and squinted down Magnolia; he saw no one save for a little black boy on a Big Wheel. He leaned against a stop sign, whipped out his phone, and shot Gwen a text. Hey, where are you?
A moment later.
Coming to see you *smiley face*
He smiled. She's coming to see me, man. And she's actually into me. That's part of the reason I'm so into it, you know? I guess after so long of liking someone who doesn't like me back I'm just stoked af. I feel like...like it doesn't even matter anymore than Lyra doesn't love me. It does matter, don't get me wrong, but it's so muted. I haven't even really thought about her over the past couple days...at least not like I used to. Will it ever come back? I mean...let's do some hypotheticals here. Say Gwen and I stay together forever. I know that's probably unlikely, but for the sake of argument, say we do. Will there ever come a point where I revert to really being into Lyra again? Hell, forget the being together forever part. In a couple weeks, or a couple months...will this feeling fade? When you're first with someone and everything's all hunky dory, it's called the honeymoon period. Well, man, honeymoons end and things settle down.
It's like a kid with a new toy. All their old favorites fall by the wayside for a while, but that kid always comes back.
All of that to say: I might go back to really liking Lyra again, but right now I don't. Comparatively speaking. I -
I'm thinking myself in circles again. Happens all the time. Basically, I'm really happy about seeing Gwen, okay? I'm a thirteen year old boy with a fragile heart and shit, leave me alone.
He drew a heavy sigh and stared down Magnolia. When he saw two figures waaaaay the fuck off, his heart sputtered. That them? He squinted, but, seriously, they were, like, five blocks down or something. And I left my field glasses at home. Shucks.
They got closer, and it was them; he could make out Leia's pigtails rustling with every step. She held her books under one arm, her head turned to Gwen, who held hers to her chest. She saw him, and a sly closed lipped smile spread across her face. Lemy pushed away from the sign and went to meet them. Gwen's face was radiant and her eyes twinkled.
"Hey," he said as he walked up and stopped.
"Hey," she said with a happy inflection. He leaned in and they kissed, their tongues flicking in greeting.
"I, uh, I missed you," he said awkwardly. He was being honest, though; he did miss her.
She ducked her head and giggled. "I missed you too."
"And I'm going to miss my chance with Dad if we don't hurry," Leia said. She hurried on, and Lemy fell in beside Gwen, his arm slipping around her shoulders and her body nestling into his. She felt right there, like they were two matching puzzle pieces or something.
She hummed contentedly. "How was your day?"
Leia was a block ahead, her ponytails whipping now as she hurried to beat Lupa and Lyra home. Gwen and Lemy walked slowly, neither caring to catch up.
"It was alright," he said, "I...I wrote something for you."
Her head turned and she looked up at him. He stared into her eyes; they were warm and full of light, but with that strange undercurrent of sadness. "Wrote something for me, huh?"
Nervous as fuck now, he nodded. "Y-Yeah. I, uh, I have it here." He reached into his pocket and took out the poem. His hand was trembling slightly, Marty McFly style. He unfolded it and handed it to her. "It's, uh...it's kind of really sappy, but I...it came from the heart. Please don't laugh."
He watched her from the corner of her eye as she read it, his chest tight with anticipation. Would she like it?
She stared at it for a moment, then blinked back tears. That bad, huh? She looked up at him...and that's when he got it: That big-smile-glowy-eyes combo that he'd been thinking of since Sunday.
"D-Do you like it?" he asked.
In lieu of speaking, she nodded and wiped a tear from her eyes. "It's...it's beautiful. You wrote it for m-me?"
Lemy nodded. "Yeah, just for you."
"I love it," she said and kissed him. She rested her head against his shoulder. They continued walking again. "You're good at this," she said after a moment,, and he may have been imagining things, but he thought there was a note of melancholy in her voice.
He shrugged. "I write sometimes. Not very well but...you know...you've been on my mind a lot."
"You've been on my mind a lot too," she said.
For a while they walked in silence; it began to drizzle and more leaves fell from the trees along the pathway. Soon they would be completely barren, and not long after that snow would fly.
"What do you wanna do?" Lemy asked as they approached the house. It was ahead on the corner, lights shining in the windows and lending it a warm, comforting appearance that Lemy had never seen before.
Gwen turned her head up. "I want to listen to music," she said, "I wanna hear what you like and I wanna like it too."
Lemy raised his brows. "Really?"
She nodded. "Yep."
For some reason that made him grin. "Alright."
They reached the house and went inside. Leni and Liena were watching some kind of gay ass Fashion Runway show or something, and Lacy was carrying a strange assortment of shit toward the basement door: Rubbing alcohol, knives, lighter fluid, a belt...other things. In his room, he shut the door and crossed to the desk while Gwen sat on the edge of the bed. He took off his coat, draped it on the back of the chair, and sat, then realized his CDs were on the dresser. Sigh.
An idea struck him, and he glanced at Gwen, who smiled. "Hey...do you wanna smoke some weed?"
She blinked. "Uh, sure," she said and shrugged. "I've never done it before but, yeah, okay." She laughed nervously.
"It's not as bad as they make it out to be in health class," he grinned, "promise." He reached into the desk, took out his green (running low) and a packet of papers, then hurriedly rolled a joint. Gwen watched, her face pinched in curiosity. She didn't speak, though.
Done, he put the business end between his lips, grabbed the lighter, and lit it, inhaling and holding the smoke deep in his lungs. When he felt like he was going to cough, he blew it out. He held the joint to her, and she took it and brought it to her lips. Something kinda sexy about watching a girl take a big rip off a doob...and then start coughing like crazy, her face turning red and her hand waving. "Oh, God," she hitched.
"It gets easier," Lemy said and stood. "You okay?"
Still coughing, she nodded. "I'm fine." She took another drag as if to punctuate her point.
Leaving her to it, he went over to the dresser and picked up his CD booklet. What should they listen to? She said she wanted to hear what he liked (is that...pride I'm feeling?) but there's so much that he liked. He flipped through the pages again and again before finally settling: He took the disc out, went over to the desk, and sat. Gwen held the joint between her thumb and forefinger and looked at it. "Is it working?" he asked jestingly.
She nodded slowly. "I feel funny."
"That's how you're supposed to feel." He dropped the CD into the player and held out his hand for the joint; Gwen leaned over and gave it to him as the music started. He took a puff and held it.
"Who is this?" she asked and nodded to the radio.
"Kiss," he said.
Don't want to wait 'til you know me better
Let's just be glad for the time together
She squinted her glassy eyes and cocked her head slightly to one side as if to study the deep intricacies of Vinnie Vincent's guitar playing. Lemy puffed the joint and studied her. The cute look of concentration on her face made him grin.
Life's such a treat and it's time you taste it
There ain't a reason on earth to waste it
It ain't a crime to be good to yourself
He was starting to feel warm and numb. He held out the joint, but she shook her head. He took one more drag, then pinched the cherry between his thumb and forefinger.
Lick it up, lick it up, ooh yeah it's only right now
Lick it up, lick it up, ooh yeah
"Do you like it?" he asked nervously. She was staring slightly off to the right, her hands fisted in her lap and her eyes rolled slightly up as if she was still trying to determine if she dug it or not. She looked kinda baked, and maybe it was weird, but Lemy was getting really turned on; his dick was twitching, stirring, and now pushing against the seam of hs jeans. He shifted uncomfortably
She nodded. "It's good. I like his voice."
He laughed. "Yeah, Paul's got a good voice. He's the ugliest motherfucker in the world, though."
"I thought your dad was," Gwen said, and they both laughed much, much harder than they should have.
Don't need to wait for an invitation
You gotta live like you're on vacation
There's something sweet you can't buy with money
It's all you need, so believe me honey
It ain't a crime to be good to yourself
She turned to him with a lazy, stoned smile. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes were muddled. "I like this song," she pronounced. "It's...it's making me kind of horny."
"You're making me kind of horny."
She smiled and flicked her eyes to his crotch, her teeth skimming across her bottom lip. Lemy unzipped his pants, reached in, and pulled his rigid dick out. "See?"
"Hmmm. I do." She looked up at him. "Wanna have sex?"
"Yes."
She gestured with her finger. "Come here."
And come he did.
Twice.