I had no intention of going near the crime scene, but I had to ride on the road to get to the railway track. Then, about a mile along the track, a small opening cut into the thicket of the forest was the beginning of the dirt track. I was pretty familiar with the track as I had been on it many times last season, and was aware of the fork that split the track into two directions, then many other tracks that split off from them. I was aware of the many hidden obstacles and snags, such as mud pools and cliffs that appear suddenly or were covered over by the undergrowth.
The roar of the motorbike grabbed everyone's attention as I cruised past because few other vehicles were around. Most relied on buses or bikes to get around, but we, the noisy few, enjoyed breaking the silence.
As I arrived at the bend where the bus would then ascend the hill, deeper into campus, I instead rode straight ahead toward the carriages parked on the spare track. They’ve been cordoned off with police tape as officers stood guard, watching me closely as I moved closer.
They couldn’t recognize me with my helmet on, but I didn’t plan on causing trouble this time anyway. I kept a wide berth of the carriages, then moved over the spare tracks to line up with the main tracks that led to my destination.
As I rode a little farther up, I looked back to see three investigators standing in a circle talking, and nearby on the ground was a body bag. It’s been a week, so the body would’ve degraded some without being in a freezer, but they could still gather DNA from it.
Surprisingly, my stomach clenched when I saw the body bag—it felt too real. Someone died on a train, and we were there when it happened; that meant we were all guilty until proven innocent.
My bike shuddered as I drove over the stones alongside the track that cut through the thick forest, blocking the view as I rode around the bend. I spotted the place where the trees partedand a narrow dirt track drove through. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d miss it.
I glanced back one more time to check the coast was clear before disappearing into the trees, surrounded by tall trunks and green bushes and steeped in shadow. After a few minutes, my shoulders began to relax, and any angst I had over the police interview tomorrow dissipated. This was my drug. I had actual drugs too in my pocket, but disappearing into the woods, tearing up the earth with the tires, speeding up hills was the most intoxicating drug ever.
The fork in the track loomed, and I decided to go to the lake and sit by the water to smoke pot and stare up at the clouds. Twinkling water caught by the sun could be seen in between the trees and foliage before coming out onto the shore several moments later. A wave of cool breeze peeling off the water struck my neck as I scanned the area to ensure that I was alone.
I stalled my Suzuki, took my helmet off, and allowed my lungs to relax and take in the cool air. There was no one here that I could see, at least, so I found my joint in my pocket, struck a match, and took a strong pull.
Adina was on my mind as I climbed off the Suzuki, then sat beside the lake on a decaying log. She was a pretty girl. Thick, black hair, pulled back into a ponytail, freckles across her cheeks, a cute nose, and intelligent eyes. She was no fool. Her father was a crafty, sharp businessman, difficult to screw over, so I’d expect her to be similar. Even Mr. Warwick failed to knock him off, and I kinda admired them for that.
Not my family. Not my circus.
Except, the Warwicks were my family in a way, but we’re just not blood-related. They took me in at desperate times and looked after my mom, and I’ll always be loyal to them for that, but still…the shit that had gone down between the Warwicks and the Boleyn was not my business. But I was tangled in the webthrough feelings of allegiance because we feel like we owe them our lives, not because I care for their battles.
The glare of the sun on the water made me squint, and I checked my bag and then my pocket for my shades to see someone on the edge of the lake. It looked human, not the frame and movement of an animal, and then, when they stepped further out from the surrounding trees, it was evident that it was a man with a fishing rod.
My heart sank a little because I preferred being here alone, like this lake hidden in the woods was my little secret. But in reality, others from college would know of its existence, and when the weather was warmer, students came down from campus and partied, skinny dipped, and fucked around.
The lone fisherman flinging his line onto the water was far enough away for me not to be bothered by him, though, so I lay back on the rocky shore, took another pull, blew smoke out, and thought of Adina.
Damn Adina. She’s kinda got under my skin to the point that my cock was hard against my zipper just thinking about her. She didn’t have to do anything. Nothing. No flirting. She didn’t even have to speak to me. All it took was me going into her room, engulfing her scent, and touching the sheets she slept in.
And now I’m hard. And there’s no one around but a fisherman, knee deep in water, slinging his hook.
I left my cock hard without touching it because I enjoyed the feeling of the pressure without release. But I didn’t particularly like that she had this sort of control over me, without trying. Would a girl like her even be attracted to an antisocial man who enjoyed hissing and barking at girls to create a distance between me and them?
Would a girl like Adina Boleyn be attracted to a metalhead, grease monkey, dumbfuck?
I took another pull of my joint as a cloud the shape of a face drifted across the blue sky. The more it moved, the more it changed into the disturbing face on the cover of one of Poppy’s albums. Fuck, I should’ve bought my iPod.
Nah, the sound of nature was soothing music in itself. The rhythm of the short, choppy waves, birds chirping in the trees, and rustling leaves as the breeze rattles the branches. Poppy’s disturbing album-cover face disintegrated as another froth of white, looking more like Gandalf, cruised across the sky.
The pressure in my cock eased as my body relaxed and sank into the hard, stony ground, and for several moments, I forgot where I was, and the interview with the cops was a million miles away.
19
Dad: How has your first week been?
Me: Hell
Dad: Don’t forget to do what I asked.
Hello. I just messaged that my first week was hell, and you said nothing. You’d think a loving father would ask, “Well, now, why was your week so awful, Addie?”
And then I’d reply, “Because that woman you married hates me and that’s why she wanted me to come to this shithole, so I’d be relentlessly bullied by the jockwanks and then I’d fail my end of the bargain with you and she’d win.” That was what I feared the most—her winning and me failing. Because if I failed, I wouldn’tbe offered the job in my father’s company, and she would have free rein over everything, including my father’s money. I needed to be there to watch her.
And then my father would say, “I’ll divorce her immediately.”
