Page 9 of His Hostage

I turn around and put out the cigarette on my porch. I turn and walk away.

“Hey, where are you going?” he asks, cornered by my rapid decision to flee the scene as fast as possible.

“It was nice talking to you, finally,” I say, unable to even look at the man.

“Shit,” I hear him mutter and kick at the dirt. “Talk to you later, then.”

I close the door and lean against the inside, falling slowly to the floor. I’m not in the state to do something like this.

This is my neighbor. It’s a situation I don’t want to get in. I close my eyes and breathe, wondering how I could act so stupid.

But that feeling he gave me — the one between my legs was unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. Unfortunately for me, it’s still lingering.

5

Rowan

The worst thing about hiding out is the lack of pussy around my cock.

When I wake up, I’m harder than a woodpecker’s lips. My bottle of Jack is next to my pillow, mostly empty, alongside my loaded gun.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

I crawl out of bed, opening my eyes, despite the bright rays filtering in through my window. This has been my daily routine for the past six months.

I fall asleep after drinking myself stupid, and I wake up with all the regrets pounding against my skull. I’m a wreck.

Have you ever felt like your whole life has been stacked against you? Have you ever wondered where the hell you’re even going?

Sometimes I wonder if my trajectory is just one big downward spiral. As of right now, there’s no hope left for me.

Sure, I can flirt all I want with the woman next door. I can get my rocks off and have fun, but it doesn’t change shit. I’m still a lost cause. I’m still a nomad with no home in sight.

I’m fucked.

I close my eyes again and try to calm my anxiety. Worrying never helped anyone. It sure as hell won’t help me.

I grab a cigarette and light it, walking outside. Stretching my arms, I bask my naked body in the healing rays of the desert sun.

The desert has always been my home. I was born in the desert, and I’ll die here, too.

“Seriously?” I hear that woman’s voice and turn, cigarette barely balanced between two lips.

I smile and wave. “Morning.”

“Jesus!” she yells, covering her eyes.

I glance down at my cock and cover myself loosely.

“You have neighbors now, you know,” she adds.

“I have one neighbor,” I correct her. “And you don’t have to look if you don’t want to. Truth is, I think you do.”

I grab a hat that’s been sitting on my porch, collecting dust. I put it over my very erect flesh. It covers me enough.

“You happy? Out of sight, out of mind,” I say.

“I’m not joking,” she says. “You don’t pull that crap while I’m living here. Got it?”

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