Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
If he was a porn star, I would watch each of his movies and spend my nights dreaming about bumping into him one day.
But he’s here.
He’s saved me.
And even though he’s likely straight, the perspective of physical closeness is paralyzing. Because what if my body reacts and that sets him off?
Would he hand me over to the cops if he knew I’ve sucked him off in my dreams?
I stop breathing when Cesar grabs my hands and leads them to his shoulders, and then, he plucks me out of the car, into his arms.
I gasp when he picks me up with ease. I might be skinny, but I’m still a grown man. No one ever picks me up. I feel like a fucking princess as he carries me up the winding driveway bridal style. The wind howls around us, and he squeezes me harder when lightning strikes again, as if he wants to protect me from that too. I could feel like prey being taken to the serial killer’s lair for dismemberment, but Cesar is warm, smells nice, and carries me with the confidence of a knight saving the damsel from a burning castle.
He must have really hated Sullivan. Thinking about it makes my heart swell with pride. I did that. I killed the fucker. Maybe it wasn’t for Cesar, but he benefited all the same. Maybe we’re both knights. It’s just that now I’m injured, so he needs to save me, keep me warm in the storm—
I have to stop fantasizing. I’m a homeless fugitive with only one good shoe. Reality is what it is. I probably smell. Or is the orange and cinnamon still clinging to my clothes? I can’t tell anymore.
And yet, I lean into him all the same, because I’ve not had a hug in years. I’m so starved for this connection it’s embarrassing even if Cesar doesn’t know what’s going on in my head. He stiffens when thunder crashes above us again, icy shards hitting my bare cheek like tiny needles, but then his shoes thud on the wooden porch, and the small cabin protects us from the elements even though we aren’t inside yet.
Cesar fumbles with the keys, but once the door bangs open, we step inside.
It’s not… ideal, since the place is blackout-dark and smells of frost, but I can’t complain when I had a jail cell as my alternative.
“Fuck… never been here in winter,” Cesar mumbles, setting me down on the couch covered with a plastic sheet.
“Thanks,” I say, a bit flustered and feeling as if my debt with him is growing. I need to do something for him or I’ll implode.
I get up as fast as he sets me down, and despite limping a bit, I pull off the plastic cover and look around. The shutters on the windows make the place dark, as if it’s the middle of the night, but I get their purpose if no one lives here.
“Do we have electricity here? Water? Fireplace? I don’t want to bother you if you’d rather just go to sleep after the drive, but I want to be useful.”
Cesar is out on the porch. The wind pushes the door in farther, but I can’t take my eyes away from that tall, sharp silhouette. He’s hunching, as if bracing for something to dash at him from the storm. When that doesn’t happen, his feet move, and soon, he’s out of my sight, gone in the blizzard. Immediately, I feel a sense of loss and distract myself by searching for a flashlight. There is one on the dusty coffee table, and it comes to life the moment I flip the switch. Its wide beam reveals bare log walls. To the right of the couch Cesar deposited me on is a compact kitchen, with a small fridge, basic utensils, and a single gas burner, but before I can work out if there’s anything to cook with, something growls, and the electric clock nearby comes to life.
So maybe Cesar went out to turn on the generator. This means the place might have heating other than the fireplace. I wonder why he became so quiet, but maybe he’s just tired after a long drive. I’ll ask him if he wants to eat when he comes back. In the meanwhile, I pick up some trash to keep myself useful. A can on the counter, an empty packet of chips. I pick up a chair that was on the floor as I explore the living room and peel the plastic sheets off furniture.
The house is utilitarian in nature. No pictures on the walls, no particular color scheme, not even a deer head trophy for some rustic character. I’m not being critical, just assessing the place that might become my haven for a while. If anything, I’m excited to sleep under a roof instead of in my car. I’ll miss the few books I had to leave behind, the bundle of photos I had to remember my family by before it all went to shit. As impractical as it is, I had a Christmas garland I made with my mom as a kid in there and a few very personal baubles. Nothing fancy, but it stings that I’ll never see any of those items again.