So what happened to the stupid bear? Did it finally put all of us out of our misery and end this freaky fable of no return?
Come along then. As our story continues Kate gets a little bit (ehem) frisky , from all the bear hunting jungle –traipsing. And Miles – well – not so much.
Hedonism
"Complete masculinity and stupidity are often indistinguishable"
Henry Louis Mencken –
.
So. Really.
The blame for this Herculean screw up should logically have gone to the clutz who didn't lock the trap door properly.
Yes?
So Barbara's ludicrous rationalization behind sending him trudging knee deep in mud through the frigging spine-chilling jungle is obviously faulty? Yes? What with being girded out merely with a pathetically flimsy tazer and a toy-sized dart gun – clearly faulty. Yes? Granted, the true culprit is traipsing along a few paces behind him, infuriatingly zippy and sunny, jauntily swinging her own dart gun like it is a freaking brass band baton. Curly long hair bouncing off her back as she walks with an exasperatingly arousing rhythm of her janitor clad narrow hips. She is finally in her true element.
Flipping girl scout.
" So what's with you and Lara? You got a thing for her huh?"
Miles stomps on – refusing to answer – Silently extending his middle finger to her behind his back.
"Ooooh," she mocks wiggling her head sideways like a fucking Bollywood dance number. " Grouchy, are we?
Honestly. He isn't quite sure what he'd do if he were to actually find the bloodthirsty beast. And frankly he finds it exceptionally taxing to keep his mind on the game. The humming and zumming in his mind outclassing the noise of the jungle by a zillion decibels.
While Barb the boss handed out the hamster sized assault weaponry – the token finally dropped. It was to put it in a cliché; like the light had suddenly been turned on. And he had immediately wanted to turn it off. No – more violently – to shoot the fucking light bulb into sharp little shrapnel.
Barbara. That Barbara.
No.
It can't be.
But has do be.
Barbara. The Barbara that seduces mom to the brink of breaking up the family. The Barbara that almost had his father in tears. That Barbara. And then the frightening unlikely reality of this Barbara – as sensual and alluring as a hemorrhoid cream smeared across a plank.
No. Impossible.
And there and then. He had had his mother's three conquests (or three of them more likely) lined up in front of him and at first he hadn't been able to make sense of it. Then, as he started walking towards the direction of the bears frigging escape route, with Kate like a frolicking drooling puppy in his tow, the image had started to emerge out of the foggy facts. He had felt like slapping himself on the forehead, though he didn't since he was carrying the tazer and honestly he has no idea how to work the bloody thing.
Lara is no jezebel. No fucking Scarlet Letter. No slapper.
She is a freaking social worker!
And as soon as his mind had processed that thought he had been forced to recognize the undeniable truth in it.
She is a social worker - and not in the sense you call working girls social workers - no, she is an honest to god fricking saint. You line up her " conquests" and you find the three most pitiful, needy souls on the whole damn island. Oh and Roger Linus not to be forgotten – hell, had that continued on - he might have ended up the stepbrother of little bug-eyed Ben.
Lara had showed them all a little bit of compassion – oh – (and Miles mind is practically spinning in ultra rapid motion now) they had probably interpreted it to mean something else. These fucked-up people, Lara had managed to see past their less than desirable exteriors and in to their needy little worm eaten hearts.
It fucking warms Miles to his shallow core just to think about it.
Though Kate isn't exactly a butt ugly. The theory is a bit shaky on this detail but she is needy as hell and fucked up beyond all doubt. Yeah. So that is it.
Mom. A saint.
They keep going. Through the dense fecund vegetation of the island. They push their way through it, branches swaying from side to side and lashing across their faces as they struggle on. It is exhausting. And Miles is frightened out of his pants thinking of all the creepy crawlies and snakes that probably lurk there. Just thinking of it makes his entire body itch. He shudders and tries to block it all out. Kate is fucking singing behind him. Singing! She is obviously completely and utterly tone deaf to boot. Wow, she really is getting into the groove of the 70's. He is guessing from the lyrics that it is Ziggy Stardust, but hell, it might as well have been the God Save the Queen from the sound of it. She doesn't hit one tone right.
Fucking torture.
"Stop swinging that thing! You make me nervous," he snips dryly. She looks happy to have gotten under his skin and dangles it even more buoyantly but blissfully stops her ghastly singing.
" What? This old thing? Harmless I tell you. Bet it couldn't hurt a fly," she smiles at him like he is the fricking sun. Or the sun god Ra at the least. The red scarf long since shed and bound around her neck like the freaking Communist Red Guard.
Wah, and Chairman Mao would have loved to have her in his propaganda flics. Smiling like an alligator, showing off every single one of her 133 pointy teeth. He'd probably have had her waving a huge red flag in triumph over the superiority of the communist system. Red healthy shine to her cheeks. Naughty freckles glimmering in the sparkling light filtered through the emerald green canopy above. There is something there. Something that this insane excursion has awakened. He recognizes it in her newfound Conan the Barbarian stride as they push on.
" Still, I'd much rather you pointed it elsewhere."
Shit. She's hot. Even the beads of perspiration glittering on her upper lip are hot.
"Sure thing Miles! " she quips but as far as he can see, makes absolutely no effort to control herself. Rather making sure to studiously waggle it even more sloppily. Tip of tongue visible between her teeth as he steals a quick glance. He wishes she'd walk in front of him. It is freaking nerve wrecking to have her, armed to boot, trotting along behind him. Probably ogling his ass - as ususal.
They are near the beach front now, walking on in relative silence. Only some truly disturbing whistling from the Red Guard behind him. The theme from Dr. Zivago… Was there a bear somewhere in there ? Miles is totally convinced that she is doing it only to irk him some more. Fucking girl seems to thrive off it. Well. He won't oblige. He is cool. Miles is always cool and smooth and …..She rudely cut's off his own little private pep talk in his head with a rather shrill:
" Miles!!"
It makes his heart jump up and position itself in his narrow throat for some reason. Thump, thump, thump.
"What now? " he says pissily in order to cover for the excitement he feels at the change of her tone.
" Look there. Over there!" she hisses.
"Where?" Annoyed now. Whatever he expected her to say it was far more exciting than this.
"There!" she bursts out impatiently, pointing with the dart gun. And as he turn his head to follow the direction in which she is pointing:
SWISH!
A razor-sharp, jagged pain searing through what seems to be his left buttock.
"Oops! Oh sorry! So sorry - got excited! So sorry Miles!!!"
Oh fuck me Betty he thinks as he falls like timber towards a black fluffy cloud of darkness. Face down.
Oblivion.
Nullity.
"Miles! Miles! Wake up!"
He senses someone pulling at his sleeve, and he thinks: don't! Leave me here. It's nice and soft and feathery here. Mmm. Bees and birds going chirp chirp chirp.
Someone is lightly slapping his cheek. Repeatedly - and it pisses him off enough to attempt opening his eyes.
" Son of a bitch. Cut it out!"
He wedges open one eye. It seems to take all the energy he's got, just that one eye.
Where am I?
" Wake up Miles, bear got away. It took off across the strait - towards the mainland. Who knew polar bears could swim huh?!"
He sees her in what seems to be a fisheye lens. Man – it isn't a pretty sight to wake up to. Her ginormous front teeth bared in a mega-sized guilty half smile. He can't keep his eyelids from sliding shut for the life of him.
" Yeah, who fucking knew…" he mumbles. Caring very little in deed about the propensity of swimming among any arctic mammals at all. Especially now. With her fingers sweeping his forehead.
" Sorry. I didn't mean to shoot you. Just went off!" she tries to justify herself.
Cool light little fingertips against his own clammy skin, tracing his hairline, brushing the hair upwards.
Purr.
He swears, it has him purring like a fucking kitten. Oh hell. Let her feel guilty for a little while longer. He basks in the unexpected attention. Until. Her perfect lips, soft and humid like raspberries in milk, flick across his cheek. He can smell her.
Stop! You crazy woman. Get a hold of yourself!
" You shot me!" he squeaks, vainly trying to ward her off with his hands.
" Sorry, " she says simply and what the heck do you say to that? She dodges his hands deftly and doesn't let him push her away. She is kneeling on the muddy ground, covered by decaying leafs and twigs and branches that poke him in the back as he lies there. Weak as a newborn duckling, still unable to rise since he hasn't yet regained sensation in his legs. Her hands wanders in behind his head, fingers snaking their way to the nape. He can feel the goose-bumps popping up in the wake of her drifting finger. The way she leans over him, gives him a heart stopping view inside the opening of her jumpsuit, zipped down just so.
" What do you think you're doing, " he says and it comes out exactly as bitchily as he had intended. This has to be nipped in the bud. He can't. Won't.
" Your fault Miles." She shrugs and looks at him in a way that brings a flush of heat to his cheeks. Fuck – he hopes she can't tell. Cool it Miles. Just a girl.
" My fault? You drugged me with bear dope. How is it my fault?! He swats at her hands trying to get her to stop doing that, whatever the hell she is doing with the hairs on his neck. Ah – and it feels so good. It is abnormal. It isn't right!
She zooms in on him. Face too close to his. He can see every pore on her skin, the texture of her lips, open just so. Eyes heavy lidded and sumptious and he can't freaking believe she is looking at him!
" What's the deal with Lara, Miles?"
Hey. Give a guy a chance! It comes out of nowhere. But wait a minute…. Is that jealousy? The idea thrills him more than he is willing to admit. Shouldn't tell her. Shouldn't. But god! Her fingers in his hair, his neck and now moving over out. Marking out his cheekbones, stroking his temples in small soft circles. It makes his palm sweat and the hair on the scruff of his neck waver like grass in the wind.
" She is my freakin' mother!" he blurts out.
She stops. Oh god. Don't stop.
She sits up rigidly. Quickly pulling her hands back in as if she has suddenly woken up and realised that he is not a dream man at all but a big fat salad-killing slug sprawled out uselessly on the jungle floor. As if she is hoping he will miraculously just slide off into the sunset, leaving nothing but a slimy trail behind.
" But. But….Lara's baby?"
He nods the best he can but if feels like something is impaling him from below.
" So that's you?"
"Yes Einstein, it is me."
" Oh, no no no. So I kissed your mom?!"
" Yep."
" Oh Christ ." She lets out a little sigh that says bugger it all. But then a shrug, that is so tiny and unremarkable that he nearly misses it and the smile too, that is slowly creeping back, lightening up her green insane eyes.
" So you see how this – the you and me – is a bit….icky? He says. Reasonably. Because that is who he is: very reasonable Miles.
" Oh yeah?" The glimmer of the smile turned on in full storm-trouper mode force. Shit those teeth are large and white. Almost fucking blinding him. He has to put up the back of his hand to shield his unprotected vision. That and those lips stretching across the entire bottom half of her face. It is outrageous.
" So you and me…not happening?" He can't see her but he can literally hear the enormous shit-eating grin in her voice.
"No, you got that right. No. Not happening." Happy that she seems to accept it for what it is. Just the way it has to be. Reasonably.
" So we're not on. You and me…no?" Her voice tickles him down to his toes or perhaps he is regaining his sensation finally after the near fucking spinal puncture she administered.
" Yep. This ain't on!. No man. Not gonna happen." But Miles is paralysed – though more in psyche than body as she moves her quick little monkey hands, nimbly slipping down the zipper of his overalls.
" Tsst!" she tuts. Who the hell does that!? I will not be ignored! She pays him no mind.
" But you and my mom. We can't!"
" Oh suck it up Miles!"
" But you drugged me…This is so wrong!
" Tough!"
"But…."
" Just shut up Miles."
Oh to hell with it all. - Miles moral compass spontaneously combusts as she tugs down the upper part of his overalls. I will blame the drugs. No one can hold me accountable. I've been shot up to the eyeballs with mega strong bear barbitals. I mean, who could be reasonable under these extreme circumstances?
Eeek!
" What are you doing?"! No no no you won't, - you brazen hussy!"
" Stop being such a baby Miles," she giggles, and he watches aghast as she flings his sturdy, prudishly white Dharma issue underwear up in a tree somewhere. Her hands on him.
Mmmm. Not half bad. He protests some more, just for good measure, but mmmm.
But then, like a ghostly head on a silver platter, out of nowhere he imagines LaFleur's ugly mug floating in the air above him. Tut-tuting too at Miles' lack of prowess. Hell.
Uh-u. No come on now little Miles. You can do this little buddy. Don't let me down. Not now. Not with her. She is just a chick. Gorgeous fucking chick and – no – it isn't working.
It is Kate.
Humiliation overload.
" Eh. What's wrong Miles? Is it me?"
Quick. Divert! Blame it on, eh, bear dope.
" No it's not you." Sulking in defence. Chop-chop, hastily drawing the overalls back on. Modest underwear hanging high up on a branch above - waving tauntingly in the breeze.
She sits there on the sodden ground looking at him dumbfounded. He turns his back on her as he zips up. Funny, the legs seem to work fine now, though a moment ago, he could have swore he was completely incapacitated.
" So what then? You're not attracted to me? Is that it?" She sounds like a hurt little girl and seems to grasps for straws. Any straws. He hears her getting up. " Is it because of Lara?"
" No hell, no, he mutters as he bends to pick up his dart gun, thinking briefly that he has a newfound respect for it. " It's LaFleur. Can't do it thinking of him."
Yeah. The f-ing asshole. Fuck him and his fucking powers to bug him from miles away.
And then, pronto, nippy-swift as a warhead-heat-seeking missile, she grabs his sleeve, twists him around in one seamless sinuous motion and punches him. Lickety-split, solar plexus-making you vomit blood, kind of blow.
Hell - that girl's got some knuckles on her. Though he is sort of grateful she didn't aim at the face like every-frigging-body else. Sparing his already hideously disfigured features.
"Why Miles? Why did you have to go and kiss me like that? Like in the shower?" Her eyes large, alarmingly green and demented. Miles hangs forward, palms on his thighs, trying to pull a normal gulp of air out of his punched out torso.
" Not cool!"she continues, seemingly on a roll. "And Sawyer of all people. Seriously Miles, you could have just told me that you're gay."
I know I should wrap it all up. Enough, enough of this crap but it is just so much fun to write them all down a big black hole. Promise I am almost done though, I have 3 or 4 more chapters top to wrap it up..
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