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“Spend the day with me… Please.”
“Be at my place in half an hour.” I stuff my diary into my bag and head back out the station to actually take a day off.
When I get home, Abby is sitting on the couch sketching. “You’re back, I was wondering if you wanted to go grab some lunch?” She looks up from the drawing she’s focusing on.
“I would love to, but I kinda promised I’d do something with Squealer today,” I tell her feeling awkward.
“Oh, so things are stepping up between the two of you.” She pulls a smart-ass smile on her lips.
“It’s not like that,” I explain.
“You know, he hasn’t been with a single woman at the club since you two made that little pact of yours,” she taunts, abandoning her drawing and following me into my room when I go to change my top.
“That was his idea, not mine. We’re just a casual thing. Neither of us could handle more than that,” I assure her, pulling a sweater over my head and glancing over myself in the mirror.
“Casual, huh?” Abby pulls down the blind when we hear the low rumble of an engine. “So why’s he come to pick you up on his bike?”
“That doesn’t mean a thing.” I play it down, stepping up beside her to look out. Sure enough, Squealer’s out front straddling his bike and waiting for me.
“You tell that to the dozens of whores that are hanging around the club desperately waiting for their seat on a saddle.” Abby crosses her arms and looks at me judgingly.
“Get back to your drawings, you’ve got a portfolio to put together.” I remind her of the fact she’s got an interview next week with the college, and though she has no reason to be nervous, I know she’s got a lot riding on it.
“Get out of here, old lady,” Abby smirks at me, and I give her a warning look before heading out the door to meet him.
“Lookin’ good, Officer.” Squealer looks me up and down as I step toward him.
“You want me to drive, I can get my keys?” I offer, eyeing his bike.
“And where would the fun in that be?” He straightens himself up and slaps the empty space behind him.
“Sure, I just don’t want you getting the wrong idea. I know you boys have your silly little codes to adhere to. One time couldn’t be helped, but a second—”
“You think you're the first bitch to ride this saddle?” he sniggers at me. “Get on, Alex.” He snorts a laugh, and I dislike the feeling I get in my stomach when hearing that. It’s not frustration or envy. It feels much harsher, like a thorn sinking into flesh.
“Where are you taking me?” I shake it off quickly and hop onto the seat behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and waiting for the bike to rumble beneath us. I have too much on my mind, stuff I want to forget about just for a few hours.
“I don’t know yet,” he admits, and I’m cool with that.
We ride through roads and valleys that I never even knew existed for at least an hour, and eventually, he stops at a huge mansion-style house with a gated entrance.
“Where are we?” I ask as he leans forward and flicks out his kickstand. The building on the other side of the gates is beautiful, or at least I suspect it would have been once. Now it’s overgrown with climbing weeds and clearly derelict.
“Come with me,” Squealer holds out his hand, and all that cocky confidence I’m used to getting from him appears to be absent. But I trust him, so I take his hand and let him lead me through the rusty, ivy-covered gates. They make an ear-splitting squeak as they open, just like they do in horror movies. The entrance of the house is boarded up and has been decorated in graffiti, but that’s not where Squealer’s heading when he directs us around the side of the building. It seems like he knows exactly where he’s going when he finds a window with a loose board and slides it over.
“Ladies first,” he gestures his head for me to go inside, and I take another leap of faith, ducking in through the gap and entering the creepy building.
“I thought you said we were gonna do something fun.” I look around the huge room I’ve entered, it’s freezing in here and damp. All the furniture is covered in dust sheets, and the fancy wallpaper is peeling from the walls.
“There's plenty of time for that,” Squealer tells me as he squeezes through the tiny gap behind me. He breathes in the same musty air as I am, while he stares around the room.
“This used to be the day room,” he sighs, and when I look up at him, there's a sadness in his eyes that I’ve never seen before, and it makes me want to reach out and comfort him.
“All the fruit loops would be having their whacky conversations with each other or themselves. You’d hear some pretty fucked up shit,” he chuckles to himself bitterly.
“Screw used to sit right over there,” his head nods to the corner of the room. “He’d just stare out in front of him and scratch the floorboards.” Squealer’s boots creak over the dusty floor as he walks over to the corner and crouches down, his fingers running through the deep grooves that still remain in the wood.
“This was the facility where you lived?” I piece what he’s telling me together, kneeling down in front of him and stopping his hand by placing mine on top of it. Something’s off, he’s not himself, and I want to make it better for him.
