Chapter 10

Flo lay awake in her tub. Candles. Cheesy romance novels. Literal paperbacks because she knew what happened when you dropped a tablet into the bubble bath. Her vibrator sat on the rim. She stared at the ceiling.

Despite how much she wanted it to, the ritual never worked for her. She hadn’t cum. She was pruned up. The book sucked. If she wanted to masturbate, it was better to be face down in her own pillow trying to keep quiet so her dad didn’t hear her. Or her son. Recalling her high school methods gave her real cums.

She slumped and folded her knees until she could submerge her head. The hammering knock on the front door hardly made it to her ears.

What did it matter?

No one was interrupting anything.

She stood up, grabbed a towel. The knock came hard once again. She heard her phone buzzing down the hall and into her bedroom. She grabbed her robe, stepped into slippers, and tried to keep her wet bangs from her eyes as she crossed the house to the front door.

Don was stalking up and down on the front step. Trevor was sitting down, looking annoyed with Dad, playing on his tablet.

“Is everything OK? What’s going on?”

“Frankie’s locked up. You gotta take Trevor,” Don said. He didn’t even look twice at Flo’s state. He rubbed his son’s hair.

“What did he do?”

“Small possession charge,” he said. “He was in a car crash with some party girl or something. She’s in the hospital.”

He didn’t look at Flo as he answered. He was already in his truck. His words came out as mumbles.

“I don’t need to take a bath too, do I?” Trevor asked, looking up at Flo.

Her vibrator and smut was all over the bathroom.

“Not right now, kiddo. I give you thirty minutes before you’re a filthy imp again though,” she said.

She held the door, he slung a little backpack onto his shoulder and marched inside. She watched Don drive off in his car.

Frankie had been looking for Richie.

Is Richie safe?

Does Richie want to help her finish her bath?

She turned around and closed the door tightly behind her. Maybe Trevor could give her another twenty minutes to handle her bath...

He had already pushed a kitchen chair to the counter and was climbing up to grab cookies.

Be a mom, Flo. You can be a lovesick little whore later.

She smiled, thinking of herself as a whore.

Oksana hadn’t been able to keep her head on straight. She skipped classes. Second semester of college and the first classes she had dodged since she had faked the flu in grade eight. Besides, there was a really cute Indian girl in her World History class. Oksana couldn’t even think about girls right now.

Boys.

Boy.

She didn’t care for boys, though she lamented they were so much easier than girls. They were dumb too, especially with her tits in their face. That’s why she normally wore loose sweaters. It was sometimes nice to have a conversation looking someone in the eye.

She had on a lace trimmed black tank top. It hugged her belly, squeezed her tits. That and her most uplifting bra: there wouldn’t be a functioning straight male brain cell in miles.

“Sorry, I’m waiting for someone.” She turned down the fifth pickup attempt she had in the last twenty minutes.

“I can wait with you,” said handsome smile.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Oksana said coldly.

“He’s a lucky guy,” but the guy relented.

That got Oksana’s brain going. Was it luck? Grab a four leaf clover and all of the sudden you’re swamped in pussy? Maybe it was luck. Not a whole lot of other things made sense.

She beamed. There was Richie. She hopped off the seat she was on and jogged by the coffee shop. He didn’t even notice her until she hit him with a hug. He nearly dropped his phone.

“Oh! Hey, give me sec, Oksana,” he put his arm around her and pulled her in. She bit her lip and watched his screwed up face.

“When? This morning? Is she OK?”

Oksana frowned. She had the urge to grab his cock. One look in his eyes and she eased her hand back from the crotch of his jeans.

He smelled like that cute brown girl.

Lucky bitch. She had visions of yanking open that beautiful brown ass. Just the kind of pornographic male gaze body Oksana loved. Instead of imagining her face diving into the wet, she saw herself leaning aside as Richie loaded himself into the woman.

That would be fun.

“Shit. No, um...” he frowned. “Oksana do you have your car?”

“Yeah!” she said.

“Is it OK to head over to the hospital now? She’s not in surgery?”

Oksana undid herself from the hug. Hospital? Surgery? She instead took his hand.

“Thanks for the call, Mrs Little,” Richie said. “I’ll be checking in on her as soon as I can.”

His face turned ashen.

“The first chance I get. I’ll tell Harper too.”

He sighed his goodbye and hung up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Caitlin was in a car accident this morning,” he said. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Can you give me a ride to the regional?”

“Anything,” she said, surprised at how she meant it.

“Right, yeah, I blanked on that for a second,” he frowned, looking down at her boobs. She straightened her back. “I’ve never seen you dress like that before.”

“These are date clothes,” she said.

“And I was a work friend,” he nodded.

“You don’t have to be,” she said.

“I know what anything means. I’d love the distraction, but, sadly, I need a drive first.”

Frankie was in pretty good shape for having been in a car crash an hour ago. There’d be a nurse checking on him again in an hour, making sure he didn’t have a concussion. He hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt, but the airbag fired right, and besides some gas burns from the rapid deflation after deployment. He looked fine.

His jaw hurt like hell though. Right hip and knee too.

He leaned back in the holding cell.

Stupid bitch! She should’ve seen that tree! He fell forward with his head in his hands. He had called his brother. What if Don thought it was better for him to be held for the full 72 hours? Wouldn’t post bail.

Frankie needed to see Richie for fuck’s sake.

It wasn’t like the bitch didn’t want to see Richie either.

Frankie was really looking forward to Richie fucking the dumb out of that redheaded bitch.

“Frankie Sievert?” The cop came up to the door. Frankie lifted his head.

“Yeah?”

“Hands to yourself, we’re watching you,” he said. Frankie stood up as the cop gestured and the cell door was opened from down the hall. Frankie kept the swear words to himself and marched out. The cop stayed behind him, hand on the baton.

One time. He had been fourteen. He didn’t hit people anymore.

He was led through the precinct to an interview room. His brother was waiting. His lawyer was with him. Good, all of the public defenders were assholes.

“Thank you Officer McDaniels,” the lawyer said in her snide voice. The cop nodded and closed the door.

“Hey Donnie,” Frankie said, dropping himself into the chair near the handcuff bar.

“Who was this chick then?” Don said.

“Who’s this chick?” Frankie looked up at the woman. She was grumpy as hell, a little overweight, mid-forties. Her hair was definitely not naturally red.

“Mrs Cowie is handling the case,” Donnie said. “Mrs Cowie, my brother, Frank Sievert.”

Mrs Cowie nodded.

“Cowie? You’re, um, the babysitter’s mom? Richie’s girlfriend.”

Mrs Cowie’s eyes darkened.

“The possession charge isn’t going to stick,” Mrs Cowie started.

“They planted that shit on me,” he interjected. “It was the redhead’s anyway.”

“Don’t talk,” Mrs Cowie said sharply. Frankie slumped his shoulders. “Caitlin Murdock, the driver of your accident, asked the police to remove you from her. The clinic also didn’t want you anywhere near the pharmacy. Is she going to accuse you of anything more?”

“Like what?”

Mrs Cowie looked at Don.

“Tell her Donnie, I fucked up once when I was fourteen! I don’t do that shit anymore,” Frankie said.

“I don’t know. You bothered Flo the other day,” Don said. “Maybe we should be talking about long term care.”

“What are you saying?” Frankie grumbled. “I was just looking for Richie, alright? She was the only one I could talk to that had his number.”

“Richie Jackson?”

“He works at Burger King with my ex and this Richie kid,” Don said, gesturing to Frankie.

“I just gotta talk to Richie. Everything’ll get sorted out,” Frankie said. “So, if the possession charge is bogus, get me out of here, lawyer.”

“No, not until the nurse clears you that you’re not concussed,” Mrs Cowie said.

“Shit. Look, you know Richie. Tell him I need to see him. Right, your daughter’s his bitch right?”

“Jesus Frankie!” Don said. “Watch your language? She’s a mom and a lady.”

“Thank you, Mr Sievert,” Mrs Cowie said. “We’ll see about getting you out tomorrow. If they don’t call for another CT scan.”

“See you, Frankie,” Don said. “Try to get your thoughts in order.”

Mrs Cowie buzzed the intercom. The cops came back and led Frankie back to his cell. Don walked out of the station with Mrs Cowie.

“You OK, Mary?” he asked.

“Richie Jackson and my daughter have been driving me crazy these last few days,” she said. “Both daughters really.”

“Tell me about Richie?”

“I’m not really an unbiased source,” she said. “He’s a teenager. All hormones and no forethought. Can’t see my daughter for the sexy trees, to mangle a metaphor.”

“Nice and mangled,” Don said. “Can I steal it?”

“It’s yours,” she sighed. “He’s not a bad kid. His impulsiveness and Harper’s hardheadedness go together like gasoline and matches. I don’t want my daughter getting hurt.”

“No parent does,” Don said.

“How’s your boy?” Mary Cowie asked.

Don smiled. But her phone rang and she apologized with a gesture. She steeled her face and raised her shoulders. “Darleen, oh my god! I heard. How’s Caity?”

Don waved, and Mary nodded as he left for his car.

“That’s incredible news!” Mary said. “If I see Harper, I’ll tell--”

“That’s OK, Mary. She and her boyfriend are looking in on Caitlin now.”

“She’s there?” Mary said, sighing in relief. That was the first confirmation she had of her daughter in a few days. “I’ll come visit too. Caitlin’s a sweet girl.”

She rushed for her car.

Natalie stalked her brother’s first classes and hadn’t found him. She felt angry and distracted. She texted Perla.

“I dropped him off twenty minutes ago.” Came the reply.

“Where the fuck was he?”

She frowned. She might as well go to class.

Her phone buzzed.

“Theyre towing Caitys car away from the house.”

“Its wrecked.”

“Was she driving your brother today?”

“Have you seen him? Is he OK?”

The texts from Mom arrived rapidfire to Natalie’s phone.

Terror hit her instantly but subsided on the next breath. No, he wasn’t in Caity’s car. Perla had driven him. He’d have gone to see if Caitlin was OK.

“I’ll check the hospitals.” Natalie texted back. She was practically skipping when she got to her car, ready to speed out to find her brother.

She squirmed. Her panties were getting soaked. She did her best not to think about that.

Richie held Caitlin’s mom. He patted her back and looked apologetically over her shoulder to where Oksana was returning with coffees.

“She’s not in much danger. It’s only surgery on her wrist. She’ll be fine. Didn’t she say so before they wheeled her into the surgery room.” He patted her back robotically again. Was that what they called it? A surgery room?

“Mrs uh...” Oksana frowned without knowing.

“Little,” Richie said.

“Mrs Little, your coffee.”

“Thank you Harper,” she said, pushing herself up off of Richie. Oksana kept her mouth shut. Harper was fine. Besides large breasts and brown hair, Oksana and Harper wouldn’t have been mistaken for cousins, let alone each other. Harper was at least sixty pounds heavier and four inches taller. Oksana had darker skin and brown eyes. Richie led Darleen to sit down next to the door.

“Here you go, three sugars, two milk,” Oksana said.

“You’re a dear,” Darleen said. “Oh my god, I sound like my mom.”

The doctor came out from the back room just then. Darleen hopped up. Her coffee went flying. Oksana managed to dodge the steaming liquid.

“I’m so sorry! Is my Caity--”

“Everything went well. We’ve reset the bone, she seems to have avoided nerve damage. Her bone tore her radial artery, but the paramedics arrived quickly. We’ve had to give her two units of blood, but she’s gonna be OK. She wore her seatbelt and the airbag worked, she was just unlucky with how the dash crumpled. She should be fine, the cast should come off in two months, and with a few months more of physical therapy, I expect her to achieve a full recovery.”

“Can I go see her? We go see her?”

A nurse was leading over a janitor to clean up the spilled coffee. Richie nodded and thanked her.

“Yes, she’s still sleeping from the anesthesia. I’ll check back in on her when she wakes. Call a nurse and they’ll come get me,” he said, and took a deep breath. “They moved her to room 308, elevators are right behind you.”

Richie caught Darleen before she could slip on the coffee. He led her, hand on her shoulder, to the elevator. Oksana followed, sipping her own coffee and still holding the tray with Richie’s.

308 was a single room. Caitlin looked serene in her bed. Her left wrist was plastered and elevated. Otherwise, she looked fine, but for her messed up hair and the reddish seatbelt burn on her clavicle.

“If you’re gonna hug her, be careful, and from her right.” The nurse scribbled down a few last notes and hung the chart on the foot of the bed.

“How long is she supposed to be sleeping for?” Richie asked.