The dress was ugly, there was no questioning that; most of Grannie’s creations were draperies turned into dresses that wouldn’t look good on a damn dog. In most cases, the women in Purgatory walked around looking like clown-school rejects. But on Autumn, the drapery-turned-dress concoction didn’t look half bad.
Jesus Christ. Why was I thinking about this shit? I must have been more tired than I’d thought. I needed sleep, but first I needed a drink, several drinks actually. Then sleep. But drinking meant leaving Autumn alone here, something I was certain she wasn’t ready for. So drinking would have to wait until later.
And sleep, sleep would have to wait too. And she damn sure wouldn’t be sleeping beside me again tonight. I didn’t sleep with anyone, not only because of the severity of my nightmares, but because I just didn’t. If I was in bed with a woman, it was for one reason and one reason only, and usually a lot less clothing was involved.
An image of Autumn flickered through my thoughts, naked and in the bath, her big eyes wide and full of fear. And then another from last night, her clinging to me as I were her goddamn lifeline, pressing all those curves I suddenly seemed to be unable to stop staring at up against me. Every tear-filled, shuddering breath she’d taken thrust her breasts forward, and every shiver that raked through her tight little figure caused a gyrating sensation that left my body uncaring that she was filthy, stinking, and that her hair was still a rat’s nest probably crawling with vermin.
Out of thin air, Mensa appeared beside me, mumbling nonsense to himself while he pressed the tips of each of his fingers to the pad of his thumb, one by one. It was a tic of his, and one that drove me insane.
“You figure out those new bullet moldings yet?” I asked.
Ignoring me, he continued mumbling as he counted his fingers, his eyes fixed on something across the garage. I followed his gaze to the far end of the room where Autumn was now attempting to wash a filthy wheel well with an even filthier rag.
Raising my brow, I looked back to Mensa, who was still staring.
“Pretty,” he muttered. “Pretty girl.”
The way he said it, with his lisp and barely audible mumbles, it sounded like he’d said “pretty squirrel” instead of “pretty girl.” Combined with my mood, my lack of sleep, and the ridiculous direction my sleep-deprived brain continued to turn to, I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh.
It was all so motherfucking hilarious, and not in a good way, but in a sad and pathetic and hopeless kind of way. And if that wasn’t funny, me becoming this piss-poor excuse for a man, I didn’t damn well know what funny was anymore. So I laughed, and not in the maniacal, get-this-girl-a-padded-room kind of laugh like Autumn had engaged in last night, but a laugh all the same.
And when I was done choking on my own stupidity, I glanced up and found Mensa gaping at me. He wasn’t so much surprised but instead seemed afraid, as if my laughter had sent chills running down his spine. A quick survey of the room showed me he wasn’t alone in his shock, and that everyone was staring at me—Adam, Autumn, and Mensa. Even Tony had popped his head in from outside and was peering curiously at me around the heavy tarpaulin of the makeshift door.
Sitting up straight in my chair, I dropped my smile at the very same moment I let my feet hit the floor, and an unfamiliar feeling coursed through me.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” I demanded, embarrassment burning through me as I glared at each of them. First at Tony, who immediately ducked back outside, then Mensa, who went scurrying off, then Adam, who grinned and shook his head before turning. And then finally at Autumn, who was standing there staring at me from across the room, her clothing now as dirty as the rag she was clutching.
Getting to my feet, I locked my jaw and turned to leave. This wasn’t just embarrassing, this was downright uncomfortable. For the millionth time since I’d picked Autumn up off the ground and decided to become her savior, I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing or why I was doing it.
“Wait!”
Just as I was about to storm my way beneath the tarp, Autumn appeared beside me, red faced and breathing hard. “Where are you going?” she asked in a breathless voice. It took me a moment to realize she wasn’t actually out of breath from her sprint across the garage, but was downright terrified.
“Food,” I gritted out. “I’m hungry.”
“So am I,” she said while anxiously jumping from foot to foot. “You never have food at your house.” Then she lowered her voice to a near whisper. “Please, don’t leave me here.”
Jesus Christ, so much about her was so very childlike, and under normal circumstances would have pissed me off no end. I didn’t have the patience for this shit. I didn’t have the tolerance.
But I did. At least with her. With her, for some goddamn reason I did.
“Let’s go,” I said, lifting the tarp and jerking my chin toward the outside. “But you make a fucking scene, you start losing your shit—”
“I won’t,” she whispered as she ducked beneath my arm.
I followed her outside, glaring at her. She didn’t even seem sure of herself, so how the fuck could I believe her? Even now, as I started walking across the wide expanse of lawn, she hesitated.
Stopping, I turned and folded my arms across my chest.
“Jesus, Squirrel.” I sighed heavily. “You hungry or what?”
Chapter Twenty
Autumn
Was I hungry?
Was he insane? I was starving.
