All that cocksucking—and one attempted assault—for gas money and this piece of shit decides to give out on me. Karma can’t be a real force, because if it were, I know about a hundred people back home that would have been swallowed whole by it by now. Yet, here I am, facing the wrath of karma for the things I’ve done. When bad people do bad things to others, the consequences of those bad things are burdened by the people they are done to. Apparently, when not-so-bad people do bad things to bad people, the full blunt of karma returns in kind.
I manage to park the car just off the side of the shoulder before it dies with a clunk. It’s a fool’s errand, but I attempt to turn the ignition anyway. It just sputters. Smoke rises from the hood, sizzling into the lonesome night sky. I grip both hands on the steering wheel and shake it violently, screaming quietly through clenched teeth.
It’s not lost on me that I should have just let Ray the trucker breed my ass. Should have let him do whatever he wanted to do to me. Should have let him fall in love with me, own me, and take me home to start a new life together. Sure, it would have been absolutehell, but at least I’d have somewhere to lie my head. Somewhere to sleep. Somewhere to be safe. Somewhere far away from here and the people that can’t be far behind me.
I grab my backpack from the passenger seat before exiting the car. While I could sleep in the car for the night and figure out a new plan in the morning, I know it’s not the smartest decision to stick around the scene of a crime.
A chorus of crickets echoes through the forest on both sides of the road, singing a song too foreign for me to understand. The melody of melancholy is unmistakable, though—a collective yearning for a life better than this.
I circle around to the trunk of the car and insert the key into the lock. Yeah, this fucking car is older than me. When I pry the trunk door open, a stench fills the night air like damp meat that’s baked in the sun for far too long. I cock my head, chest heaving, and force away the urge to vomit. Without looking, I grab the half-filled red gas can from the side of the trunk.
I make quick work dousingthe bodyin gasoline, soak the upholstery, and finally the exterior with what’s left. I stand off the side of the shoulder as I strike the match that irrevocably burns my life to the ground.
My mother always said I was a star, born to combust. Little did she know it’d be like this. Standing beside a burning fire on the side of the highway. A fire I lit myself. Others would say the point of noreturn was pulling the trigger on Magnus’ sorry ass. I’d say this is the point of no return. Can never go back. Not now. The act of burning, of incineration, is the ultimate act of destruction. The one thing a soul can’t survive. The only roadblock to one’s faithful soul finding its way to God.
As I disappear into the night, I faintly hear the echoes of Magnus’ screams as his soul is torched by the flames of my betrayal. And as I leave the scene of the crime, all I can think is that I wasted a bullet when I shot him in the head. Should have doused him like I doused the car. Should have struck the match against the side of the box as he watched helplessly, all the while knowing he’d end up lost somewhere between this life and what comes after.
CHAPTER 3
NOAH
Yellow lines.
Going everywhere.
Going nowhere.
Wherever the lines go, I go.
No set destination.
The moon—bright, orange, and full—lights up the night sky. Shallow, gray clouds circle around in a constant flirtation of obscuring my favorite nightlight. Car beams light the road ahead in a dim, yellow fog that’s straight out of a recurring dream I can never quite remember until I’m in the midst of a déjà vu panic. I’ve been here before. Literally. Figuratively.
Most people spend their entire lives yearning for a life not lived alone. They search every face in every crowd, hoping that the next stranger will be the one to save them from emptiness, from the loneliness. That next stranger becomes someone familiar until they’regone, becoming a stranger once more. A stranger they hate, but a stranger nonetheless. And then, just maybe—yeah fucking right—thenextstranger will be the one.
I, too, find solace in strangers. I find safety in their bodies as a proverbial pillow to lie upon. Finding a new home every night and then abandoning it as soon as I’ve come. Only then do I come to my senses, because the world and the people in it will break your heart over and over again. The world, and the people in it, will never take responsibility for the things they do to you.
People always leave.
I am people.
I stayed far too long once, and now I’ll never stay again. On my way out, at least I took responsibility for the things I did tohim.After everything he’d done to me, pushing him down the stairs was the least I could do. Didn’t even mean to do it. Years of sadness ballooned into an eruption of anger and I lost control.
I’m always in control. Hate losing it. It’s happened twice and it’ll never happen again.
The grip I have on the steering wheel could break bones. My right hand is always sore after a long night of driving. My left hand? Not so much. I shift back against the seat and try to pray away the steeled horniness trapped in my jeans.
The usual trucker isn’t going to cut it tonight. I need something tighter, firmer. Need to drive my cock into a beautiful bubble butt. Can’t be a marriedman because they’re not experienced enough to really take a pounding. Needs to be someone like the guy from earlier. Tall, lean, and a total fucking slut.
In my imagination, the mysterious man at the hotel is a cockhungry sociopath. Only cares about getting off. Disregards career, family, and friends, all in the name of losing control with a stranger. The kind of guy who kneels on a bed, ass in the air, and circles back and forth. Hole pulsing. Waiting with an insatiable hunger to be filled and bred.
I apply pressure to the erection fighting to escape, push it down and to the left. Thick and pulsing. Crying for human contact with tears of precum pooling at my inner thigh. Big guy is spoiled. Ain’t ever been neglected and I’m not about to start now. I raise my knees upward to balance the steering wheel as I make quick work undoing my belt buckle, unbuttoning my jeans, and pushing them and my boxers down enough so that my cock springs free. I reaffirm my grip on the steering wheel with one hand and take my cock in the other.
I’m good at playing pretend. Been doing it since I first got tired of Kevin sticking his dick in me whenever he wanted. Mama said good boys were good at pretending. Wanted me to be a child actor because I was so good at it, but when that didn’t pan out, she sold me to the highest bidder. In the end, she got the life she always dreamed of, and I got the life everyone elsedreamed of. Nobody could see beyond the curtains because the shades were always drawn.
I pretend my hand is the ass of the man, tight as I fill him. Stretching to accommodate each careful inch until I’m buried to the hilt. I think about the muscles in his back, pulled taut as he balances himself with strong hands, fingers grasping at tangled sheets. Think about the arch of his ass, and the way his bubble butt bounces with each of my thrusts. Think about the masculine grunts that crawl out of his throat. The same masculine grunts that quickly turn into something more submissive, like moans that grow louder, reaching a crescendo when I hitthatfucking spot. Over and over again.
My cock oozes with precum, slicking the head, the shaft, and the space between my fingers. My other hand tightens, fingers curling around the leather steering wheel.
