I whimper. I can’t stop it from happening, and I don’t really want to. “I haven’t had a family in so long.”
Using the hand not holding mine, she wipes a tear from my cheek. “Well, now you do. With the way you, Bubba, and Johnny looked at each other, I’m pretty sure you’re going to have one for a very long time.”
“I want that. I want it a lot. My family sucks. My dad was super religious, and in his religion, gay people are on the same level as pedophiles and murderers. They caught me kissing another boy, and my fatherlost his fucking mind. He hit the other kid a few times, but he saved his wrath for me. My stepmom just sat there, letting it happen. I think that hurt worse than when he hit me. They barely let me keep anything, so I was on the streets without a penny to my name. It was awful. The only reason I survived is because of my best friend, Austin. You’d love him. He’s sweet. Not as sweet as me, but sweet nonetheless.”
“I met them at the house, sweetie,” she says, patting my thigh. “As I recall, you were a little too busy looking at my Johnny to notice.” My cheeks are probably a disgraceful hue of crimson, but who cares? Johnny and Bubba aren’t here to see it, so there’s no reason to be mortified. “And your momma?”
My jaw trembles. “She died when I was five.”
“Oh, sweetie.”
“Is it weird to miss someone you barely know?” I ask, my voice small and unsure. “Because I do.” I press my hand over my heart where Barbara’s warmth usually spreads when I think of Mom. “There’s a hole right here, and I don’t know how to fill it back up.”
She continues stroking my cheek, wiping away a tear as it falls. “What was her name, sugar? I can sew you a pillow and stitch it across, that way you’ll have something to hold when you can’t hold on to her.”
The sentiment brings more tears to my eyes, but my cheeks flood with heat, because the question is probably the worst question she could’ve asked. I’m already lost and afraid, and I don’t know how to tell her. “He wouldn’t say. He would never say, and I knew not to ask. He wanted me to think of my stepmother as my mom, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. She wasn’t my mom, she was an asshole.”
“Oh,” she says. “Oh, baby, he wouldn’t even tell you her name?”
I look up at her, and as soon as our eyes lock, she pulls me in for an unbreakable hug, and I weep into her shoulder, getting her pretty dress all wet. She holds me for a while, until I’m all tuckered out, andthen she slowly pulls away and pinches my cheek. “She loved you, you know. I may not have known her, but I know a momma’s heart, and I know every beat it beats is for her boy.” She presses a kiss to my forehead. “I may not be your momma, but you can think of me as another momma, if you want.” She strokes my cheek again before pulling away and using her hands to straighten the wrinkles in her shirt. “Alright. Peas are taken care of. That just leaves the pie. Do you want to help me peel the apples?” She points at a large bowl of apples next to the old coffee can she’s been using to dispose of empty pea pods.
I wipe my wet cheeks. “If I slice my finger off in the process, I’m holding you responsible.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Maya Angelou once said, “I would walk five-hundred miles, and I would walk five-hundred more,” just to find the man she loved. It’s a sentiment I share. I would walk five-thousand miles, if that’s what Ezzy needed. If it’s what it takes to get my boy back, I’ll walk it. Run it. I’ll do fuckin’ cartwheels from here to Kingdome Cum, if that’s what Ezzy needs.
It feels like we’ve been locked in this psychopath’s spare room for months. Of all the stupid, convoluted ways to keep me apart from my Ezzy, we went and got ourselves kidnapped by a rabid stalker. As if sliding off the road and flipping our car wasn’t bad enough, some creepy motherfucker pulled us from the wreckage, only to drive us to his secluded hellhole of a home and lock us in this room. It’s like that movie Misery, but the motherfucker is no Kathy Bates, let me tell you.
Johnny is distraught. He barely eats. He hardly looks at me. I know he’s still feeling guilty, but I keep telling him it ain’t his fault. Of course it’s not. Johnny couldn’t have predicted this, and even if he had, we both know our boy is safe, because he’s with family. Not my family, but maybe that’s for the best. God knows Ezra would probably rip her limb from limb if left in the care of my ex-wife or Jaden. Point being, our boy is safe, so everything else is secondary.
My leg is healing nicely, thank God. I was worried it wouldn’t. Fuck knows our captor don’t give a damn about our comfort or safety.
When a seemingly good Samaritan found our car flipped upside down at the bottom of a ravine, he dragged the pair of us to safety, telling us over and over that he was a registered nurse, and he was going to fix us up nicely. During our darkest moments, the man,Harold, had been our light, claiming the road to the hospital was blocked due to a storm, but he’d take us in the morning. Yeah, well, that was a fuckin’ lie.
We learned pretty quickly that the guy has been stalking Ezra for months. He’s been an active member on Ezra’s OnlyFans, busting nuts left and right to the sight of my sweet boy. He has pictures of Ezra printed in black and white, nailed to the bedroom wall, hung atawkward angles that make it look like a toddler decorated in here. It’s nice to get to see my boy just by looking up at the wall though,
We knew things were glum, but we didn’t realize just how fucked we truly are until the second week. He would yammer for hours about Ezra, and how Ezzy spurned him by blocking his ass on OnlyFans. He asked Johnny and me for details of our sex lives, but we both refused. It pissed him off to the point he gave me an open-palm slap to the face, but he’s skinny as a fucking rake, so he didn’t do much damage. All I had to do was cock an eyebrow and the fucker was gone with the goddamn wind. He didn’t come back damn near all day, and when he finally showed his face, it was all, “Yes, Bubba,” and, “No, Johnny.” Good. A fucker’s gonna learn real quick.
The next day, Harold fitted shock collars around our necks and put us on leashes. When he leaves the house, he reminds us that if we step foot outside the home, our heads will explode, but he’s a damn liar, because the shock collar is the same brand as the ones I bought for The Core Four a few years ago when they started getting a little too greedy with their lunch breaks. The collars lasted all of half a day before they had all four around my neck. Ungrateful bastards. Fuck, I miss them.
We could probably escape. We definitely need to get to our boy, but my leg is broken, and Johnny banged his head really bad in the crash. His head is better, but my leg is still in an awful state. I can barely move it. When we make our escape attempt, I need us to have enough time to get away, and with the pain the way it is, that’s going to take a while. Harold stole our phones, so we can’t call for help. It’s just an all-around awful situation.
Harold lets us share a bed, so at least we still have that small comfort. I’d be gutted if I didn’t have Johnny with me, or if I knew Johnny was gone, and I wasn’t there to keep him safe. Johnny is curled up onhis side, snoring softly, the light from our nightlight reflecting off his shining scalp, sending light fractals flickering across the room.
“Wakey, wakey, eggs and Daddy,” Harold sing-songs as he enters the room. He’s carrying a tray with two plates of pancakes and sausage, two glasses of orange juice, and two more of those damn pills. He claims they’re called Love Crushers, and the more of them we take, the faster Ezra will fall out of love with us. The fuckin’ freak has a shrine dedicated to my boy. It’s in his living room, in what could have been a beautiful window seat where one might kick back and read Whitman or Angelou in tranquil peace. Instead, he’s got a framed black-and-white printout of Ezra’s profile picture. Judging by the streaks down his face, I’m guessing it was low on toner at the time. There are various other Ezra-centric items on the altar he’s constructed. An old toothbrush. Ezra’s vintage Lisa Frank tracker keeper where he keeps all his notes about clairvoyance. divination, and thaumaturgy. He’s even managed to find one of Ezzy’s cum balloons, and he keeps it positioned right in the center.
“Harold,” I greet the guy, nodding. “Any chance you’ll be letting us go today?”
Harold snorts a laugh, but it just makes him hack up phlegm, and he turns his head, spitting whatever was just in his throat into the corner. “Good one.” He wipes a bit of stray spittle from his mouth. “I can see why our little Ezra likes you so much.” The man, who appears to be in his late fifties, licks his lips like a slut, then winks at me. He picks up one of the sausage links and waves it right in front of my face. “Is this how big his penis looks in person?” in a breathy tone I don’t care for in the slightest.
“Harold,” I warn. “We’ve talked about this.”
Harold’s shoulders sag. “I know.”
“What was the rule?”
He huffs. “I don’t wanna say.”
