“No?” Preppy asked, smiling awkwardly. I eyed him skeptically and crossed my arms protectively over my chest. He jumped down from the bed and clasped my elbows in his hands. “We can fix that. Don’t you worry. We can fatten you up and put some tits and ass on that boney body of yours in no time.”
I suddenly remembered what King had said about Preppy, the things he liked to do with women. I tore my elbows from his grip and took a step back. If King wasn’t around, would Preppy hurt me? I swallowed hard, and the look on my face must have given away my thoughts.
“Ah, I see. Boss-man threatened you with me, didn’t he?”
I nodded reluctantly. “Is it true?”
Preppy took a step toward me and again grabbed me. This time, he yanked me forward until I had to tilt my head up to look him in the eyes.
“Yes, it’s true.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Surprisingly, his touch didn’t make me shudder. The man standing in front of me was capable of the same brutality as King and did things that made my skin crawl, but Preppy himself didn’t. I felt oddly comfortable in his presence.
“I’m not sorry for it, either. I’ve had some shit happen to me you don’t want to ever fucking know about. I’m not making excuses. Shit is the way it is. I am the way I am. That’s all there is to it. That’s all there is to me. However, I’m concerned why King felt he had to threaten little ole you, with crazy ole me.”
“Maybe, he’s losing his touch,” I whispered.
“Ah, she makes jokes, too.” He smiled. “What is it about you?” Cupping my face in his hands, he searched my eyes as if he was looking for an answer my words couldn’t provide. He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows.
“I keep asking myself the very same thing.”
Preppy suddenly took a step back and shook his head as if he was clearing his thoughts. He smiled again, this time a full toothed, ear-to-ear smile. I was fast becoming familiar with this being his patented look. He clapped his hands together and rested his chin on the backs of his interlocked fingers.
For some reason, Preppy started talking in a fake Spanish accent. “Boss-man has informed me that you are now our slave, and since he’s got important shit to do today, I am to take you with me on my run. So, get fucking dressed, slave, and let’s get this fucking show on de road!”
Preppy pointed a finger into the air and snapped his heels together.
“Those should fit,” Preppy said, pointing to the clothes on the bed. “Put them on, and let’s roll. Time’s a motherfucking wasting.”
“We’re going somewhere? Whose clothes are those? Where are we going?” I asked without stopping to take a breath between questions.
“I know you said you lost your memory, kid, but is your short-term still intact? Because I’d hate to have to repeat myself like this all the fucking time.” He spoke mockingly slow. “Yes. We are going somewhere. Clothes are on the bed. Get dressed. Meet me in the kitchen in five minutes.” He resumed normal conversational speed. “And stop asking so many fucking questions, or it’s going to be a long, looooong day.”
“You’re leaving me alone?” I picked up the clothes and held them to my chest. “The other day you had to watch me pee, and today you are just leaving me?”
“You would rather I watch?” Preppy said with a wink. “Cause we can make that happen, although I’m under strict orders—and I quote—’not to fucking touch you’.” He punctuated each of his words while making air quotes with his fingers.
“No, I’m just confused is all. About Nikki. About King. About you. About everything.” I bit my lip.
“Me, too, kid. Me, too, but I’m just following boss-man’s orders,” Preppy said. “But let’s just fucking roll with it, and maybe, we can have some fun in the meantime—the boring PG kind—that is, when King isn’t around to be the fun police. Now, hurry the fuck up!”
Preppy left the room without closing the door, whistling as he walked down the hall. The whistle faded, along with his footsteps, as he got further and further away, disappearing altogether when he turned and bounced down the stairs.
The clothes Preppy had given me were simple. A pair of jeans, a black tank top, and flat black sandals. The sandals fit like they were made for me. The clothes were all two sizes too big, but soft and comfortable. He’d also left me a new toothbrush and a pair of bright red lace panties with the tag still on it. I spent four out of the five minutes it took me to get dressed on just brushing my teeth.
I’d gone to bed with my hair wet from the bath, so it was a bit crinkly, I did the best I could taming it with a brush I’d found in the bathroom.
I was wearing real clothes and real shoes.
It was heavenly.
The bath had done wonders for my wounds. I found what I needed in the bathroom and changed the bandages on my ear and foot. Then I applied aloe onto my sun burnt skin, which looked a lot less red than it had the day before.
When I found my way downstairs and to the kitchen, I stopped dead in my tracks. In the middle of a small yellow kitchen with avocado green appliances was an old, faded table completely covered from top to legs with carvings and little drawings. People’s names, pictures of penises, quotes, and a lot of INSERT NAME was here’s. But that wasn’t what caught my attention. It was what was in the center of the table that had me drooling.
Pancakes.
Stacks upon stacks of mouthwatering, buttery, perfectly round pancakes.
Preppy stood at the stove with a spatula in hand, flipping pancakes on a griddle pan. He wore a lacy red apron over his red short-sleeved dress shirt and faded jeans. His yellow checkered bow tie peeked over the top. His white sneakers were scuff-free and matched his white suspenders.
But pancakes.
Before he was done telling me to help myself, I’d already shoved two so far in my throat I might choke, but I didn’t care. They could be fucking poison, I didn’t care. If I died with a mouthful of pancakes while the poison ate out my insides, it would be a fate I’d surrender to willingly.
Because pancakes.
Preppy turned the burner off and flopped another stack down on the plate in the center of the table.
“Slow. Remember?” he reminded me. He poured me some orange juice into a red plastic cup, and I managed to swallow down the pancake that was threatening my life. After that, I made a half-assed attempt to take smaller bites and chew slower.
“So, what exactly are we doing today?” I asked.
“Errands,” Preppy answered vaguely. “Business.”
“Why can’t I just stay here?”
“Oh you can, but I would have to cuff you to the bed again. I’ll be a while. So eating, peeing, or anything other than laying there is kind of off the table.”
I rolled my shoulder, which was still sore from being tethered to the bed. “Business it is then. What kind of business?”
As with most of my words lately, as soon as they were out, I wished I could suck them back in.
Something you probably shouldn’t be asking about, you idiot.
Preppy didn’t seem to mind my stupid question, but he didn’t answer. “Shut up and finish your food, so we can get out the door this fucking century.”
Preppy had a way of talking that was different than anyone else. His demeanor was light, but his words and language were crude.
But then I shut up, and I did what I was told.
Because pancakes.
* * *
I followed Preppy out to a large garage on the back corner of the property. I moved slow and still limped. Although my feet were much better than they were the previous day, each step was still more painful than the next.
I’d never really seen King and Preppy’s house during the daytime. Now, I took a good long look around.
It sat directly on the back bay. The house itself was huge, and so was the property, at least an acre. Parts of it looked like it had been under renovation at one point, but whoever was doing it had given up. Rusted scaffolding lined one entire side of the house. Blue siding sat under plastic at the bottom, covered in dirt. Weeds had grown around it on all sides. Rusted buckets of paint and miscellaneous tools lay, strewn around in the grass. The back of the house was partially painted a dove gray. THE KING OF THE CAUSEWAY was written in graffiti onto a high peak of the house with black spray paint. It looked as if someone had tried to paint over it at some point, but the bold lettering was still clearly visible through the thin attempt.
“Are you my babysitter now?” I asked as we rounded the house.
“I guess I am.” Preppy said. “I’ve done a lot of shit for King, but this is kind of new for me. I’ve never taken anyone on a run before. But he’s also never taken in a stray either.”
“Stray?”
“Well, you’re kind of like a stray dog, without the mange. Cute, but too skinny, and kind of scraggly.”
“Okay, I guess, but I wasn’t taken in. I’m here against my will,” I corrected.
“When King saved you from that bum the other night, was that against your will?”
“No, that guy was going to kill me.”
“Okay. So here is another question: you got somewhere else to be?”