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I follow her down the hallway back to the kitchen. My right side aches as I sit at the wooden kitchen table. I stifle a groan from the unpleasant sensation.
Amber flings the fridge open and cocks a hip. “Oh, look, what did I tell you?” She points at various items in the fridge. “Steak and steak and, oh, more fucking steak. Ew, and moldy cheese.” She chucks the wedge in the trash can at the end of the counter. “There’s also chicken and broccoli. God, he’s stupid. I gave him a list and he ignored half of it. Anything you don’t like?”
I shake my head. While she prepares something on the stove, Bamsy and I study our temporary home. Normally, new environments are an issue for me, but it’s comfortable here. Quiet. Homey. Amber showed me pictures before I came and drew a sloppy layout of the interior so I’d know what to expect. That always helps.
It’s a manufactured home, nothing to separate the kitchen and living room besides a change from tan carpet to walnut brown tile. A ceiling fan spins slowly over the beige fabric couch, and no one has vacuumed in what looks like months. There’s a TV entertainment system with a large LCD screen, video games, consoles, and porn. A large tower of porn DVDs. I can tell because one spine reads Big Beast Asian Sex Pool Party.
My mind fills with images of a werewolf in a speedo lounging around a pool with an erection. Then a minotaur and a giant wolf shifter join. They chase a group of giggling Asian women who don’t look like they’re really trying to escape. Those kinds of beasts?
I never imagined such porn existed. Do they use makeup and costumes, or are the beasts CGI? It’d be strange to have sex with a man wearing a green suit.
Amber sets a bowl of mac and cheese in front of me, handing me a spoon. “Eat up.”
I touch my chin and then pull my hand away in an arc.
“You’re welcome,” she responds.
I want to focus on eating my mac and cheese, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around these beasts who are having sex with Asian women. I’ll need to peruse the rest of those DVDs. I bet they’re quite the mix.
Amber chews on a spoonful of food, wiping cheese from her lip. “You think you’ll be comfortable here? Brody keeps to himself mostly, so it’s livable, and I’ll make him keep the TV volume low. I’m so excited we’re roomies. I need less testosterone around. More girl banter.”
I smile. It’s nice that she wants me here, but I can’t stay. Whether I leave willingly or the police drag me out, I’ll have to go. I have no choice. It’ll be for the best anyway. For now, I’m choosing not to think about the future. I’m focused only on my immediate surroundings and how wonderful it is to be out of that suffocating hospital.
I want to enjoy myself and this taste of freedom.
I pull out my phone and open my AAC app—my communication app. After a few quick touches, the phone voices my words.
Amber bursts out laughing. “What?”
I roll my eyes and hold up a finger. I was experimenting with voice files I downloaded from a forum. Accidentally left it on Kitten. Once the voice is switched to American Female Six, I try again.
Amber is still laughing. “No, keep talking in cat. That’s hilarious.” She wipes moisture from her eye, glancing at the mascara streak on her finger pad. “Brody is huge, yeah. But I hope you’re not scared of him. I know he looks intimidating and his brain is mush—he’s a filthy pervert—but he won’t hurt you. I promise. He’s really a pussycat.” She reaches across the table with perfect French-tipped nails. Bamsy takes her hand, so she smiles and shakes it. “Brody can be annoying, but I would never bring you here if you were in any danger, okay?”
I nod.
We finish our mac and cheese, and I talk to Amber in cat language because it makes her laugh. Then we play a puzzle game on my phone until the front door bursts open.
Brody’s forehead drips with sweat, and he wipes a stream before it drains in his eye. With a grunt, he yanks a blue spring mattress halfway through the door. He and Amber have another stare off as he catches his breath.
“It’s two hundred degrees outside,” he pants, black hair soggy against his head but still sexy in that swept-back way, the ends brushing the top of his shoulders. “Frank had a spare, so I carried it here.”
“Ew, Brody. I said to buy a mattress. I won’t let Paige sleep on a junkie’s old bed.”
“It’s—” He walks to the kitchen and pulls a glass from the cupboard, filling it with tap water. “He’s only an alcoholic, and it’s been in his shed for years. It’s clean. And free.”
“Where’s the bed frame?”
“You could say thank you.”
I survey the mattress as it leans against the door frame. I shrug. Looks comfortable enough, and I enjoy being thrifty. Finding new homes for vintage items is something I love.
“See?” Brody says after chugging the entire glass. “Paige likes it.”
Amber is quick to appraise the mattress, running her hands along the seams and squinting at spots of dust. She sniffs, then jerks away, pinching her nose. “It reeks of alcohol.”
“What? No, it doesn’t.” Brody gives it his own smell test and then straightens. “Oh. Well, we can use the shampooer. Give it a good scrub.”
“You can give it a good scrub,” Amber corrects. “I said to buy one, so this hand-me-down is your project. And it better be dry by bedtime.”
