Lyrics to Sweet Child O' Mine by Guns 'N' Roses (1987)
Lemy was up with the dawn...not that he he'd really been down to begin with: He dozed here and there, but for the most part, he was too wired to sleep (isn't that a Krokus song? Coincidentally, Stayed Awake All Night is). It was like...did I use the 'kid on Christmas Eve' analogy already? If so...fuck it; it was like trying to fall asleep on Christmas Eve. You know the feeling...lying awake in bed, fighting to turn off for the night but holy shit, man, Santa's coming! Only this was ten times better than Santa; this was Gwen. Yeah, Santa mighta left some cool stuff under the tree, but you couldn't cuddle with him and kiss his neck and fondle him until both you and him are burning up with passion, and you sure as shit couldn't make slow, sweet love to him while holding his hand.
You ever see that movie...what was it?
(Gwen)
Tales From the Crypt! That's it! Not the HBO series but the movie from, like, 1972. It had, I think, three different stories in it. One was about this escaped mental patient who dressed up like Santa and broke into this woman's house.
(Gwen)
That's the only way you're going to have sex with Santa because Santa's not real. Whoops SPOILER ALERT.
(You better not cry I'm telling you why Gwen is coming over tomorrow)
There's a website called Uncyclopedia, some kind of Wikipedia parody, and the entry for 'spoilers' is fucking teeming with every major movie, TV, and literary spoiler in history. One of the sections is headed: FAMOUS SPOILERS (SUCH AS SNAPE KILLING DUMBLEDORE). Hahahaha.
(Hurry up, sun, rise!)
Some of the articles are really off the wall, but some look normal enough at first glance: He found it once by looking up Randall Flagg (the dude from The Stand...long ass fucking movie but that nuke at the end :weary :eggplant" "sweat_drops:). It started off fairly believable, talking about his character history and sht...then it started getting strange...talking about him getting raped and deciding to become an evil overlord to get revenge. The line that tipped him off that hey, maybe this isn't a legit site, was, from memory: He walked the earth performing such heinous crimes as ringing people's doorbells then running away, making prank calls and somehow seducing people in serving the forces of darkness. How he managed to seduce anyone is quite beyond me given the fact that if the film adaptation of The Stand is anything to go by he was the most unattractive man on the face of the Earth and he had a tendency to turn into a snarling demon whenever anyone got on his nerves.
Ever see that John Travolta GIF where he's looking around in confusion? That's what Lemy did. What the fuck is this shit? It looked just like Wikipedia, too; threw him for a fucking loop. Good thing he didn't try to look something up for school.
Thomas Edison was a straight bitch who played with his two inch wiener three times a day because he claimed it kept his prodigious flatulence at bay. He died while walking through a cornfield: He slipped on a cow paddy and a corncob went up his butt, causing massive rectal damage and literally tearing down his butt walls, inspiring the John Mellencamp song "The Walls Come Crumbling Down."
And we wonder where fake news comes from.
(Is it Gwen time yet?)
That site really looks like Wikipedia. And then you got all these fucking 'satire' sites that don't tell you they're satire until the very bottom of the page, and the satire sometimes isn't obvious. What I mean by that isn't Oh, you gotta use a little brain muscle to get it, I mean these motherfuckers intentionally write it to read like an actual news article. Then when someone shares it, it's their fault for 'not checking.' Excuse the fuck out of me for not going behind every reporter and news agency with a fucking magnifying glass. Maybe you shouldn't write fake ass news stories.
Oh, but it's the Russians' fault.
(Hi, I'm Gwen, think about me instead)
And don't even get me started on the paparazzi. Jesus Christ. When you're famous you can't even sit in your own backyard without some dickface with a camera peeking over your fence and taking pictures. And I know what you're thinking: Right on, Lemy. Man, fuck you, you're part of the problem, fucking buying tabloids and shit, obsessing over celebrities like they aren't normal people. Pictures of Stone Cold Steve Austin walking around in sandals and carrying grocery bags go for ten thousand dollars a pop because you want them, the tabloid slingers know you'll buy it. Holy shit, look, a bald guy walking to his car! Shut up and take my money!
Man, it's idol worship, and it's sickening. It really is. And it extends to every fucking group and subculture, because every group and subculture has its celebrities, even the Dungeons and Dragons geek-ass set. Oh, it's Jimmy Poindexter, he directed three episodes of my favorite cartoon, watch as I lick his asshole on Twitter. OH MY GOD HE FAVORITED MY TWEET! *Sprays nerd sperm all over computer screen*
(Three more hours then it's Gwen'o'clock, motherfuckers!)
He went to a convention once because Tom Savini, the make-up dude from all kinds of horror movies, was gonna be there. By that point dude was old as fuck, like...this was probably the last time they were gonna let him out of the nursing home to sign shit; better see him now while I got the chance. Check it: He saw people who'd been in one or two movies, one or two fucking episodes of a show, selling autographs for, like, fifty bucks a pop. What the fuck? No one even knows you. On top of that Savini was a jerk. Lemy was like Dude, I dig your stuff...Rhodes getting ripped in half, man...LOL. Savini looked up him and down like he was slime. Good to hear, kid.
Man, fuck you.
That day he learned: Never meet your heroes.
The dudes from AC/DC seemed really cool, though. He saw this video on YouTube once. Brian Johnson was signing a shit load of autographs and dude filming it asked him if he ever asked for an autograph. Brian says I asked Chuck Berry in 1975.
Yeah? How was Chuck?
He was the biggest asshole I ever met in me life. Rudest man. Said he signed one autograph a day and he already signed it.
LOL Be careful who you call ugly in middle school, kids; they might grow up to be cool af.
(Just waiting...waiting)
Look, I know I'm rambling, just...bear with me, huh? I'm killing time, trying not to think about Gwen and hoping to tire myself out, you know? And trying not to think about Lola either. I still feel really bad about not doing her - for her sake. I'm sure she went and got it from Dad, but still, I feel guilty. She was all worked up and I turned her down. I know how that feels.
Even so...I don't feel bad on my end. I just couldn't get into it. Whether or not Gwen would be okay with it aside, I guess I just...I dunno, alright? See how I'm struggling with this? This is why I think about irrelevant shit; it's easier than thinking about important shit.
Random thought: That snake movie...what was it called? These snakes were infected with a plague or something and it spread through this town, and the army was about to nuke it. I don't know why that just popped into my head, but this is how I roll. Another movie where the army was about to nuke shit was The Crazies. Not the 2010 version (never seen it) but the, like, 1971 version or whatever. It had the dude who played Logan in Day of the Dead and that hot bitch from Shivers. They were father and daughter and fucked. They were crazy, though, so it was okay.
Speaking of fucking daughters, Dad asked if we could hang this weekend and I blew him off. Sorry, bud, a boy's girl always takes priority over his old man. Maybe some other time.
Hey, it's like that song Cats in the Cradle. Dude blew his kid off, then his kid grew up and blew him off. Not sexually. Gutter-minded mfs.
Who did that? Harry something - Squidward in his toupee reaching for a dollar Come to Hairy. That song was from the seventies, ya know, one of those acoustic singer-songwriter deals. Look, I'm Cat Stevens and I suck! Those songs were cool to a degree because they actually told stories. Ever hear the Pina Colada Song? (is that even the title?). Dude's looking to cheat on his girl so he answers this personal ad in a paper, you know, some chick looking to cheat on her dude. They meet...and holy shit, it's his girl, brah. The implication is that they bonded over things they never knew about each other and stayed together.
That's actually really fucking sweet, now that I think about it. Maybe I'm just, you know, in that frame of mind because of Gwen, but...yeah, I'm tearing up. Wtf?
Sighing, he rolled onto his side and faced the wall. At some point, he lapsed into unconsciousness, his sleep thin and fitful. When the first rays of the morning sun fell over him, his eyes opened and his mind cleared instantly. Almost time, brohams!
He glanced over at the clock: 6:49. She said eight -
Maybe.
- so that gave him an hour to put on his face, do his hair and nails, and take his bike out for a spin. He swung his legs out from under the covers, sat up, and stretched. At his dresser, he took out a pair of jeans, slipped them on, and went out into the hall, which stood dark and empty. Someone was in the bathroom, though; a light shone through the crack and he could hear the faint hiss of the shower. His bladder gave a slight kick (full, dude), and he rolled his eyes. Seven on a Saturday and someone was up; don't you people sleep in? Guess I have to wait.
That's when it hit him. No, I don't, I have a dick. He went back into his room, stepped into his shoes, and grabbed his coat; one of the best perks of being a guy is being able to whip it out and piss when and wherever you want. Girls can do it too, I mean it's not that hard; still easier for a man, though.
He went downstairs, through the darkened living room, and into the kitchen, halting when he saw Lucy standing at counter with her back to him. Alright, so two someones are up. She sensed him and turned, a mug of coffee in her hand. Her eyes were darker than usual, which told Lemy she slept like shit. You and me both, Luce. "Hey," she said.
"Hey."
They awkwardly faced each other for a moment - at least it was awkward for Lemy - then he nodded. "Yep. I'm gonna go outside now."
"Okay." She took a sip of coffee and trailed him with her eyes as he crossed to the back door. Lucy was hot, he'd shout that out loud (like Kiss), but, frankly, she gave him the willies. She told him once that she could talk to dead people. There's one standing behind you now. He looks pissed. When Lemy turned around, there was nothing there, right? He turned back to Lucy...and honest to God, a fucking draft hit the back of his neck. He jumped a foot and ran the fuck out of there like Big Bubba was after him. Big Bubba being the proverbial prison rapist, since you guys aren't on the hip.
But yeah, Lucy was a real fucking weirdo; she looked good, though. Like that chick from Blair Witch 2: Book of Shadows. Hey, Elvira, I got something you can suck the blood out of. But not really; my pee pee, like my heart, belongs to another.
Outside, he paused on the porch: The air was cold, the grass covered in dew, and a light mist clung to the ground.
I guess I'm a one woman kinda guy. Then again, if Lyra came out here right now and said Dude, I love you, let's be together, I'd be down. She won't, though, so you know what: Why even worry about it?
He went down the steps, walked around the back of the shed, and whipped his dick out. So taking Lyra out of the equation, I guess I'm just not into polygamy. That makes me a freak or something, huh? Dude, where's your harem? Wait, wait, wait..you got one girl and she's not even related to you? You're a joke!
I know, alright? I turned down sex with one of the hottest chicks on the planet last night. Still, man, I just couldn't, okay?
When he was done pissing, he tucked his tallywacker back into his pants and went inside. Now...to wait for Gwen.
Liby Loud had never felt such a strange combination of rage, disappointment, sorrow, guilt, regret, and shame. Lying in bed Friday night and struggling to sleep, she seethed with anger - anger at Lacy for crumbling the very first time she was tested, anger at herself for being angry, anger that she was scared. Yeah, even Mystery Girl feels fear now and then, and right now, deep down, she was afraid. She thought Montoya would wait until after the party to send someone, but she didn't know; she assumed he wouldn't move until the first of the year, and apparently she was wrong about that, so why not this too?
Several times during the night, she took her gun and walked a perimeter of the house, just to be safe. She went into the basement once and found Lucy torturing Hector some more - she stood off to one side and repeatedly poked his cheek. "Knock it off," he moaned, "I'm trying to sleep." Lucy looked up when Liby came down; her face was blank, but her sick delight was revealed in her eyes.
"I'm not hurting him," she said, "just annoying him."
He twisted his head around, and when he saw her, he paled. Oh no, there's the mean girl who was going to kill me. Meanwhile he's actively involved in a plot to kill not only her but everyone else in her family - babies and children included. A hot rush of loathing went through her, and she almost jammed the gun into the back of his head and pulled the trigger.
"That's a lot more generous than what I was planning," she said, making sure to look him dead in the eyes as she did it.
Lucy ignored her and poked the side of his head, making him wince.
"We can't let him go," Liby continued.
"I won't come back, I promise," Hector said.
Poke.
"Keeping him around -"
"Go to bed," Lucy said. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."
Liby started to speak, but cut herself off. Obviously Lucy didn't understand the gravity of the situation. You don't sit a man down, rip his teeth and fingernails out, then let him go...not when he knows where you and your family sleep. Lacy didn't get it either; Liby thought she did, but she was wrong.
In the kitchen, she made herself a cup of hot chocolate in the microwave, then sipped it slowly while leaning against the counter. The only sensible option was to dispose of him. Lacy wouldn't like it...it might even ruin their relationship...but what was she to do? Let him waltz out of here, plan his revenge, then come back?
And what of Montoya? Would they have time to wait until the party now?
She didn't know, but she was beginning to second guess herself. She was wrong once already, and if she was wrong again, it could very well mean the death of everyone she held dear, including Lacy. Especially Lacy. They might not be able to wait; they might have to do it early.
Only pinning Montoya down was next to impossible.
What could she do, though?
She didn't know, and that pissed her off all over again because she should know, damn it, she was Liby Loud, and Liby Loud always had the answers. She prided herself on being strong, fast, cunning, and knowing what was what at all times; that she didn't, and when it was more important than it had ever been before, made her want to drive her fist through a window.
When she was done with her hot chocolate, she sat the mug in the sink and went back upstairs. In bed, she fought to find sleep, but it eluded her; she rolled onto her side and reached out, but the spot next to her was empty, cold. For the first time, she really felt Lacy's absence, sharp and stinging like a razor's edge. She sighed and turned, her knees drawing up to her chest. Silvery moonlight spilled through the window, and Liby watched as it ebbed and flowed, creeping stealthily along the floor, then up the wall, then withdrawing like the tide.
The embers of her anger cooled as the night moved, and toward dawn, her breast was filled with cold ash.
She missed Lacy, and in this moment, as the first glimmer of dawn crested, she would give anything to hold her. Maybe she should go apologize.
But for what? Wanting to keep her family safe? For wanting to keep Lacy safe? She wasn't cold-blooded, she didn't want to kill him, but the way she saw it, it was either him or her family, and she would choose her family every time.
Even if it meant Lacy stopped loving her.
She drew a watery sigh and brushed a tear from her eye. Love can be selfish or it can be selfless, and Liby had to ask herself now what her love for Lacy was. If it was selfish, she would spare him to please her; if it was selfless, she would kill him to protect her.
When it was full light out, she got up, went into the bathroom, and jumped in the shower, turning the water as hot as it would go in the vague hopes that the heat would burn away her indecision and help her think.
She didn't want to lose Lacy, and walking downstairs, jamming the gun under Hector's chin, and pulling the trigger would most likely drive her away. I don't like seeing this side of you, she said the other night as they cuddled in bed. I know you're doing what you have to do, but I-I hate it. Shooting bad guys is one thing, but torturing someone...that makes us the bad guys.
No...no it didn't. You can make noise about good and evil (she did...she saw herself as a Good Guy), but at the end of the day, there really is no good or evil, just people doing: The soldier following orders, the low-level gangster putting food on the table. Okay, objective good and objective evil may exist, but they are far more rare than we might like to think. Most of what passes for evil is just simple desperation.
The ends justify the means, she had always believed, so torturing Hector did not make them the bad guys...even killing him would not make them bad. They were simply doing what they had to do. Life's full of things you must do, whether you want to or not; no soldier ever wanted to watch his friends die or to take a bullet to his stomach, but he did it.
Yes he did.
Liby sighed and ducked her head under the spray.
Maybe she was being unreasonable. They could hold him until after taking Montoya down, then release him. He was one man...she and Lacy could handle him easy if he ever tried to return. Still, the thought of not knowing, of wondering and always looking over her sh -
An idea struck her, and her brow furrowed in consideration. She circled it curiously, examining it from every angle like a farmer studying a strange, otherworldly something found in his field. She wasn't sure if it was feasible or not, but it was worth looking into if it would accomplish her goals of pleasing Lacy and protecting her family.
She cut the spray, toweled off, and got dressed.
Then went to see Lisa.
Eight O'clock. She told him eight.
She glanced at the clock. 6:55. Her frown deepened and she blew a puff of air through her nostrils. One hour and five minutes until she could...one hour and five minutes at the earliest, because she did say eight or eight-thirty, didn't she? If she left too early, she might look desperate or something, and that could put him off. She assumed he wouldn't mind, but what if he did? She should really play it cool.
Even so, she really wanted to leave now. He was probably still asleep, though. She reached out and picked up her phone. She could always send him a text. Then again, that might make her seem overeager too. Best to just wait.
With a sigh, she leaned back against the headboard and hugged the pillow close to her chest. Her weary eyes stared at the muted sunlight pressing against the pane but not entering, as though the festering darkness within was to powerful to penetrate. Light, happy birdsong lifted from the tops of autumn burned trees, and a breeze blew wayward leaves past the window.
She had been here most of the night, sitting up and waiting for dawn, her spirit aching with sweet anticipation. For a while she slept, but her excitement, and the dreadful memory of Winston's threat to send her to a boarding school, dragged her from the depths every hour or so. He wouldn't really do that, would he? Mother wouldn't let him...she hoped. She didn't want to go to a boarding school, because if she did she would lose Lemy, and just thinking about that made her chest tight and her stomach knot with nerves.
Seeking solace, she reached for the scrapbook; she opened it but did not turn on the lamp lest Winston saw the light under her door and yell at her. She moved to the foot of the bed, closer to the moonbeam falling through the window, and lost herself in happy fantasies of her father...him holding her hand, encouraging her, being there when she needed him.
Slowly, lazily she paged through the book until she reached the end: The strip photo, her, Lemy, and Leia at the mall. She didn't see love in his eyes, and her heart flipped sickly in her chest. She got her phone and opened the camera gallery, and in the first photo of them, she found it, and smiled widely. Her dark thoughts were forgotten, and she passed the next hour lying under the covers and methodically going through each photo, each text message, reveling in his words and his love.
I don't deserve you, she thought as she stared at a picture of him lying on his bed with his hands behind his head. Her stomach clutched painfully. I don't deserve you and one day you're going to realize that.
Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away. Deep breath. Don't think about that...if you're too busy worrying about the bad, how can you enjoy the good?
She didn't know. She wasn't used to good...Lemy was the first really good thing she could remember happening to her. Outside of him, everything was...not. Her mother hated her, her stepfather hated her, her friends...maybe they didn't, but she couldn't shake the feeling that maybe they did...but Lemy...Lemy didn't. It was so clear, so beautiful on his face that it made her eyes well.
And she doubted him.
That made her feel so fucking bad she nearly cried. He was so good and loving and accepting of her, and for almost a week she thought he was faking.
To be fair, though, how could she not? She had never seen love in her life - at least love for her - and when she did, she didn't recognize it. She did now, though, and she would do whatever it took to hold onto it...and to return his love tenfold as thanks. Thank you for loving me, Lemy.
Basking in his love was enough to lull her to sleep again, and she woke shorly before six-thirty. Presently, she stared out the window and fought the urge to get up, get dressed, and leave. Too early, she told herself. But was it? He loved her...so he wouldn't mind, right? But maybe he would, and she didn't want to jeopardize his feelings for her by being annoying and showing up at some god awful hour or bothering him when he was trying to sleep.
No, it was better to wait. She looked at the clock again. 7:01. Okay, let's compromise. At 7:30 you can -
Her phone buzzed, the sudden noise making her jump - she didn't like sudden noises because they usually meant bad things. She picked it up and her heart swelled when she saw a text from Lemy. Good morning, it said, followed by a smiley face. She broke her neck replying (not really):
Morning, Freak *smiley face* Her thumb hovered over SEND but it seemed like there should be...more. A simple good morning was too open ended and might make replying awkward. She didn't want to make him feel awkward. You ready for me to come over? She looked at the screen and scrunched her lips. Should she ask him so soon?
You're worrying yourself in knots, just do it. He loves you, remember?
Right.
She hit SEND and impatiently awaited his reply, the phone on her knee and her eyes pointed at the screen. When it lit up, she grabbed it and read.
I've been ready *smiley face*
She smiled. Me too.
Come on, then. *wink*
She typed Okay, give me twenty, then got up; she felt lighter now, warmer too, like she was wrapped in a cloud. She floated to the closet, opened the door with a happy flourish, and took out her clothes for the day: A pink shirt, white button up, and gray sweater vest. What she usually wore, in other words; she didn't have a very large wardrobe, and her school uniforms were pretty much it aside from realy formal stuff for funerals and weddings. You don't need that much in the way of clothing, Gwen, her mother told her on many occasions; she'd see a pretty dress and bring it to mother, only to have to take it back and feel two inches tall as she did it. As she grew older, she asked for nice things less and less frequently because she knew she wouldn't get them.
That she didn't deserve them.
She laid the clothes on the foot of the bed and slipped out of her nightdress. She considered a shower, but decided against it because it might make too much noise. Honestly, she dreaded the prospect of walking from here to the front door as even that might disturb her parents.
Dressed now, she fetched a pair of pink socks with lace trim from her drawer and her shoes from the foot of the bed, sat, and pulled them on. Done, she reached into her nightstand and rummaged around for her wallet: It was pink and leather with Hello Kitty on the front. You couldn't see her smile, but you knew she was happy, and for some reason Gwen would look at it sometimes and just cry.
Not right now, though; Hello Kitty's missing smile was on her face and she felt like everything was right in the world even though it wasn't; and even knowing it didn't faze her anymore than knowing flesh eating bacteria was a thing. It simply was, and it couldn't be helped or changed.
She slipped a twenty out, folded it, and shoved it into her pocket. Allowance, before you ask; when wealthier people have a problem, they throw money at it until it goes away. She got up, grabbed a light jacket, then went to the door, turning the knob slowly and wincing when the hinges creaked. She paused, listened, and, hearing nothing, went into the hall. Darkness held sway, and nothing stirred, not even the ghost of resentment past. She cocked her head and waited.
Nothing.
Tiptoeing through the threshold, she eased the door closed behind her (wincing again at the soft click of the latch catching) then went to the head of the stairs, avoiding the spots she knew made noise. Her heart raced and she was sure that at any moment her parents' bedroom door would fly open and someone would yell at her for doing something wrong. She didn't relax until she was outside, on the porch, with the cold morning air caressing her face and the melodic sound of nature in her ears. She locked the door, went down the steps, and started along the sidewalk. By the time she was a block away, the hateful hell house out of sight, she breathed a sigh of relief...and all the bad thoughts and emotions lifted from her shoulders like a dreadful weight.
She was on her way to see Lemy - the only person in this world who loved her - and when you're en route to something so exquisitely beautiful, it is very, very, very hard to be in a bad mood.
Lemy's window commanded a decent view of Franklin Avenue - the direction from which Gwen would be coming too, as it so happened. Not that he sat at his desk and staring at the sidewalk like a dweeb or anything. Nope, he was hard at work on the Zenith - the, uh, transistor tubes needed to be cleaned - and the only reason he kept looking up every couple seconds was because...man, the eye strain. Whew, damn. Transistor tubes are hard motherfuckers to look at, ya know, so...tubey and transistory. He was focused on the task at hand, though, cuz it had to -
(Cat crossing the street)
- get done. I mean, I'm not a kid, no one's gonna clean my stuff for me; I gots to do it myself.
Sigh.
He looked over at his phone. Ten minutes since she texted. That's not long at all, really...especially considering he didn't even know where she lived. Leia said her house was in Weston Hills, the richy area of town, but she didn't know exactly where either. "Close enough that she walks to and from school everyday." Yeah, well...I dunno...there was that dude in Detroit years ago who walked twenty miles to work and twenty miles home; just because you can walk doesn't mean it's close.
In this case it was, though. He'd been to Weston Hills a few times - his buddy Gordon had a paper route up there and Lemy covered for him a week so he and his family could fuck off to Disneyland or something. The only thing he really remembered were big houses, fountains, fucking Bentleys and shit, and some old lady who'd walk her dog every morning at six just as he was staring. When he passed, she'd glare at him like he was wearing a bandit mask and a black and white striped shirt. Stick 'em up, gramma. He always figured it was because he looked like he came from the wrong side of the tracks...which, with the way the D&O Railroad ran, he actually did. Not that his side of was shit or anything. Hell, Franklin was a nice street -
(I'm looking at it right now and not at my radio)
- and everything else was okay too. Except for Flip's. That place was a goddamn dump and Flip himself was a prick. Hell, just the other day he called Lemy - oh, nevermind, you were there. But yeah, fuck that guy. Dad said he and his buddy Clyde used to work for him and he was a cheap ass, nasty ass rip off artist. Every time he went in there with one of his sisters, Flip stayed talking shit. That your sister or your girlfriend, Loud? Oh, wait, it's both! Technically he wasn't wrong, ya know, in that Lemy didn't mind the 'cest, but still, what a dick, right? Standing behind his counter -
(IS THAT GWEN? Nah, it's some fuck ass lil girl, damn)
- like he was the shit. Look at me, I run a gas station. I'm sure your mom's bursting with pride for you down in hell, buddy.
Where was I?
Oh, right, Gwen's house. She didn't live that far away, but longer than ten minutes, especially if she had to get dressed and shit first, which she probably did. She was most likely asleep when he texted. What do you want from me, I'm weak, okay? All I did was say good morning, though. And she texted back pretty quickly, so...I dunno. It's only been ten minutes is what I'm saying.
Anyhoo, these tubes, man...yeah, looking pretty clean. I better wipe them down anyway, just to be on the safe side. I don't want my Zenith to crap out on me like my punk ass laptop. You know what sucks? I have an 8-Track player but only, like, three 8-Tracks to play on it. I knew they wouldn't exactly be available in every corner store, but jeez, man, they're even rare online. The ones I have suck, too. The coolest of the lot is one by Skynyrd that I found propping up an outhouse toilet seat, now I'm singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long.
(Stop looking out the window).
I hate that song. Every time it comes on the classic rock station I think it's Werewolves of London and I get happy...then Kid Rock starts singing and I'm sad again. Dude was cool when he first started out then he turned into Diet Ted Nugent or something. Only lamer.
Speaking of songs, I've had one stuck in my head since last night that I want Gwen to hear. It kind of reminds me of her. I'm going to tell her it's my song to her. Should I do it romantically? Like...remember that eighties movie where the dude's standing outside the chick's house with the boombox over his head? Did I mention that at some point? I feel like I did. If so, my bad, but it was supposed to be mad romantic. I personally always thought it was creepy. He's got a long trench coat on and he's standing there like a statue with this fucking expressionless face. The moment she goes the bed you know he's coming through the window with a knife in his hand. I wanna be romantic though. Girls like that, and I want Gwen to have the most romantic shit there is. Fucking hearts with goddamn arrows through 'em, candies shaped like Cupid, all the stuff other girls look at and go Oh, my God, Becky, look at her stuff. And their eyes start glowing lime green with envy. Yeah. I want her to have that. I really do.
How, though? I can dress up like Chris Farley from Saturday Night Live, you know, the chippendale dancer, and give her a striptease to it.
Shiver.
No, I like this girl, I don't wanna fucking scar her. Imagine my awkward ass dancing around...swaying my hips stiffly from side to side. Uh...you, uh, y-y-y-you like this? Baby? She'd break up with me on the spot and she'd be right to do so.
He couldn't lie, though, the thought of being in front of her in just his boxers, her sitting on the edge of the bed and him shaking his wee wee in her face, was kinda hot. Her looking up at him with big, lustful eyes, her teeth brushing her lower lip, her hands rubbing down his chest and stomach, her fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers...ummmm. Yeahboi.
He sighed and looked up from the radio…
...and holy shit brah here she comes! He shot to his feet like a waiter spilled some soup in his lap, and the chair fell backwards, hitting the floor with a muffled thud. She was moving along the sidewalk with a springy bounce in her step and a smile on her face. A shaft of sunlight fell over her and the Hallelujah Chorus struck up; here comes my girl...yeah, she looks so right, she is all I need tonight ( little Tom Petty for y'all asses). Grinning like a dumbass, he pushed away from the desk and turned, promptly tripping over the chair and sprawling headlong across the floor. Ow, fuck! He got to his knees and shoved the chair out of the way like he did that red head thot yesterday. "Move, bitch." He pushed to his feet and hurried out into the hall, nearly colliding with Lupa at the head of the stairs.
"Holy shit," she said around the filter of her cigarette, "watch where you're going." She shoved past him and started down the steps. He made a fisted and cocked it, but didn't swing because, come on, that's my sister, dog. Instead he followed behind, and because this is Lupa we're talking about, she took her sweet ass time, getting to know each step and stretch of bannister personally. Hey, George, how're the kids? Beverly, looking good! Have you lost weight?
It's almost like Gwen wasn't almost at the fucking door.
Flashing, Lemy leaned into her ear. "Can you move any slower?"
She abruptly halted three treads from home plate, and he bumped into her; she swayed and they nearly fell. "C'mon!"
"Would you like me to go in reverse?" she asked.
"You basically are!"
She backed up a step, pushing against him and upsetting his balance. He grabbed the rail and held on. "Stop!"
"Beep, beep, beep," she deadpanned.
Fuck this. He bent his knees and leapt over the railing, landing on his feet and stumbling against the couch just as Gwen knocked on the door. He went to answer it, but Lupa cut him off. "That's for me," he said.
"Your Lame Headband of the Month Club delivery?" she asked over her shoulder and laid her hand on the knob.
If you weren't my sister…
...I probably wouldn't do shit either.
She opened the door, and Gwen flashed a tight smile. "Hi, is..?" she looked over Lupa's shoulder, saw him, and broke out in a sunny smile. "Hey, Freak!"
"Hey," he grinned.
Lupa clamped her cigarette between her fore and middle fingers and stared at Gwen. Gwen's smile faltered a little, and she stared back. "Can I help you?" Lupa asked.
Oh, hell no; I am not letting my family make this fucking weird. He came forward and shoved past Lupa. She pushed against him, and he pushed back, shooting his arms against the doorframe and bracing himself. Gwen's brow raised in bemusement. "Hey," he said again, then, over his shoulder, "will you fuck off? You're embarrassing me."
Lupa staggered back and took a rip from her smoke. "That's for saying I'm slow." She blew a plume of smoke into his face, then turned on her heels and fucked off.
"Sorry about that," Lemy said and hooked a thumb over his shoulder, "she's, uh, she's temperamental. Cuts herself and shit."
"Do not," her voice drifted from the dining room.
Gwen giggled. "Wow, okay."
For an awkward moment he didn't know what to do, then he leaned in and pecked her on the lips. She smiled and did the same to him, her mouth lingering over his and her breath flowing into his nostrils. He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her again, his tongue slipping into her mouth and hers licking it slowly, playfully. She stepped into his arms and he took her butt in his hands, squeezing it and bringing her body flush with his. "It's almost like you're happy to see me, Freak," she said.
"I am," he said.
Her eyes glinted. "I'm happy to see you."
He started to speak again, but Loan cut him off from the couch. "Shut the door! You're letting in the outside." He shot her a dirty look; she was sitting on the couch with a video game controller in her hands. She wore a rumpled black hoodie that was two sizes too big and probably hadn't been washed in a month, and her short blonde hair was matted and messy. Lemy grimaced. God, that girl was a mess - and Dad and her mom just let her go. Twenty-one, no job, played video games all day, lived on Doritos and Mountain Dew, had Warhammer and fucking...other geek apparel...stacks of mangas or what the fuck ever you call it in her dirty pigsty room...she was an internet joke or something, a female fucking neckbeard; if Dad didn't throw her pity meat every once in a while she'd still be a virgin..and always would be.
"Let's go upstairs," Lemy said and turned back to Gwen.
"Alright," she said and shut the door behind her. He pecked her lips again, took her hand in his own, and laced their fingers together.
At the top of the stairs, Lizy popped outta nowhere and scared the shit out of him. "Hi!" she said. "Can you…?" she tilted to one side to see around him, and her face fell a little. "Oh...your girlfriend's here. Nevermind."
"Hi," Gwen said sheepishly and lifted her free hand.
"What do you need?" Lemy asked.
Lizy sighed. "My T-Rex is broken again."
Oh, it is? Waaaat? I never would have suspected in a million years. "Bring him here," Lemy said.
Lizy blinked. "Can you go get him? T-There's a spider in my room."
Huh? "Since when do you not like spiders?"
"Since they started getting real big," she said. Her eyes were real big too. Lemy snorted. How can you you turn down a face like that? Kid's too goddamn cute for her own good; if Lana entered her into a beauty pageant she'd win hands down.
Though, to be honest, he didn't particularly like the thought of his little sister being in some kinda goddamn meat parade. "Alright, where is he?"
"My bed."
While Lemy went off to get it, Gwen stood awkwardly th the top of the stairs as Lizy looked her up and down as if trying to decide if she was worthy or not. Of course I'm not, Gwen thought.
"You do adult stuff with my big brother," the little girl said evenly, and Gwen's cheeks flushed.
...Wow? Heh, she didn't know how to respond to that, but okay. "Y-Yeah. I do."
Lizy stared at her for a moment. "That means you love him."
It was statement, not a question.
"Yes," Gwen said with a smile, "I love him."
Lizy nodded. "Well, I love him too, and one day I'm gonna do adult stuff with him." She crossed her arms and cocked her hip, looking so much like her sister Leia that it was scary. "Just so you know."
Gwen was shocked into laughter. The Loud girls start early, don't they? "Sure," she nodded, "that's...fine with me."
"Good."
Momentarily, Lemy returned with a toy dinosaur in his hand. "Alright," he said and went into his room, "let's fix this guy up."
The little girl broke out in a big smile and followed her brother, Gwen bringing up the rear. She could understand why Lizy wanted to 'do adult stuff' with Lemy, he was amazing. So kind and sweet and gentle - he said he'd only been with Lyra and Leia...why the others weren't knocking down his door was beyond her.
Oh well.
More for me.
In his room, she sat at the foot of the bed while he dropped into his chair. Lizy stood next to him with her hands behind her back and a shy look on her face. "Can I sit on your lap?"
"Sure," he said easily and held out his arm. The little girl smiled and crawled up, situating herself on his knee. Lemy reached around her and laid the dinosaur on its side. "I thought I told you to stop sending him down the stairs," he said as he reached into his drawer for a screwdriver.
"But it's fun," Lizy said.
"Yeah, for you," Lemy replied, "but look at him. He's missing pieces and sh - stuff. Looks like a dog chewed him up."
Lizy giggled. "He doesn't look that bad."
Lemy opened the dinosaur and did something that Gwen couldn't see, then replaced the cover and sat him upright. "Got your remote?" he asked.
The little girl reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a small remote control. She pressed a button, and the dinosaur took a few jerky steps forward, letting out a roar. Lizy's face lit up and she twisted around to look at her brother. "There you go," he said, "no more stairs." He tapped his pointer finger against her forehead, then kissed it. Lizy laughed and squirmed.
Gwen's heart melted. He'd make such a good dad.
Something deep in her loins stirred, and she pressed her knees together.
"I won't send him down the stairs anymore," Lizy said. She took the dinosaur in her hands and jumped up. "I promise."
"Good," he said, "I don't know if he can handle much more abuse."
Lizy ticked her head to one side. "I don't know. He's tough and strong. Like you."
Lemy laughed. "Yeah, I guess he is."
She took her toy and left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. When they were alone, Lemy sat back in his chair and sighed.
Gwen watched him for a moment, then scooted closer. Her heart was inexplicably racing and her core was beginning to burn. "You're really good with her," she said.
"Yeah, like I said, we're close," he said and turned to face her. Her eyes immediately darted to his crotch, and her body cried out for penetration so hard she cringed...to be filled with his hot, creamy essence...to be planted with his fertile seed. "Sometimes I think…" he trailed off, and his eyes darted away as if in thought.
Gwen frowned. "What?"
He sucked his lips in and shook his head. "Sometimes...I don't know, it's like...cuz Dad doesn't really spend much time with her either, you know? It's like, sometimes I think she looks at me as kind of a surrogate." He held up his hand. "Kind of."
Gwen reached out and laid her hand on his knee, the touch of their bodies producing an electric spark that both of them felt. "You're a good big brother," she said, "and you'd make a wonderful dad."
"Thanks," he said, "I try."
She got up, turned, and sat sideways on his lap, her right arm snaking around his neck and her left hand cupping his cheek. He stared up at her with those big brown eyes, so full of love and warmth, and her center quivered. "You're amazing," she said, "kind, caring, loving, sexy…" she grinned salaciously.
"You're all those things too," he said. "And more."
A ripple went through her as it always did when he complimented her. "Do you really think so?" she asked.
He slipped his arm around her waist and held her close. "I do."
She smiled and blinked back tears. She never thought it was possible to be this happy, to have something so good and beautiful. Not possible for her, at least.
"I have something I want you to hear," he said and leaned over. "It's...it's kind of cheesy, I guess, but...every time I hear this song I think of you." He pulled open his drawer, took out a CD case, and opened it. Gwen watched as he took the disc out and dropped it into the CD player. Her eyes flicked to the case: The cover boasted skulls adoring each end of a four point cross. Hm. What kind of song on there makes him think of me?
He hit PLAY and sat back, his free hand taking hers and squeezing. Guitar filtered from the speakers and she rested her head against his, her arm tightening around his shoulder as if to keep him from floating away.
She's got a smile it seems to me
Reminds me of childhood memories
Where everything
Was as fresh as the bright blue sky
A smile touched her lips and his hand rubbed a lazy, comforting circle in her upper thigh, sending pangs like gentle thunderbolts into her middle.
Now and then when I see her face
She takes me away to that special place
And if I'd stare too long
I'd probably break down and cry
She lifted her head and stared into his eyes; she pulled away from his grasp and ran her fingers through his hair. Her body and heart were leading her, and she put up no resistance as her lips were drawn slowly and inexorably to his, not that she would ever want to. She was completely and totally his; her heart belonged to him, her soul, and her future too.
Oh, oh, oh
Sweet child o' mine
Oh, oh, oh, oh
Sweet love of mine
Their tongues danced in slowly harmony to the music, her hands caressing his face and his on her knee. She turned and straddled him, her legs on either side. The kiss deepened, his hands fleeing on her legs, skin scraping skin, the hem of her dress inching higher and her wet heat intensifying. His growing bulge raked against her lips and her body fluttered.
She's got eyes of the bluest skies
As if they thought of rain
I hate to look into those eyes
And see an ounce of pain
His head prodded against her opening, his body desperately seeking holy union with hers. She took him in her hand and guided him, then, holding his gaze with her own, she sank down, accepting him deep into her sacred womb, a place no other man had touched and never would touch, a place for him and him alone, his refuge as he was hers. Sensations crackled between them, and both moaned softly as they joined, his member filling her, warming her, completing her.
She splayed her hands on his shoulders and lifted her hips, then brought them flush with his. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and stared into her eyes, his gaze penetrating her just as deeply as his penis, searching her soul, her heart, seeing her - flaws, vulnerabilities and all - and loving her anyway.
Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place
Where as a child I'd hide
And pray for the thunder
And the rain
To quietly pass me by
"I love you," he said with fierce earnestness. Gwen responded by tilted her head and kissing him, her tongue wildly swirling and tasting the inside of his mouth, her fingers gripping his shirt and her hips rocking faster. She needed him deeper...in every sense of the word; in her body, in her spirit, in her mind...he was the light in her darkness, and the darkness within was great; deeper to cast away the shadows, deeper to scatter the festering night, deeper to heal her broken heart, and to save her shunned, unloved soul.
Oh, oh, oh
Sweet child o' mine
Oh, oh, oh, oh
Sweet love of mine
She pressed her forehead against his as her body began to unravel. She peppered kisses across his cheeks and his forehead, her nails grazing his scalp. He thereaded his fingers into her hair and pushed up, up, getting deeper, higher, touching the opening to her altar, the one now and forevermore dedicated solely to him. "I love you," she trembled.
"I love you too," he said, "I love you so much."
Her walls clenched around him and she cried out in prayerful worship. His orgasm expanded against her own, and spine-tingling heat spurted into her garden. She held his shirt, bowed her head, and rode out her climax like a woman riding a wild Mustang, the sun shaft glow of religious rapture falling upon her from the heavens and lifting her as if to God. Tears spilled down her cheeks and his seed continued to pump into her, their bodies and spirits in hallowed communion, their hearts throbbing in time, beating now as one.
When it passed she buried her face into the crook of his neck, their bodies still joined, now quivering and sticky, and wept deeply. Lemy simply held her shaking body to his, tightly. "I won't let go," he vowed, and she wept harder, "I promise. I'll never let go."
He was crying now too.
Where do we go?
Where do we go now?
Where do we go?
Where do we go now?
Where do we go?