Flock (The Ravenhood)

“Girl, you are glowing,” Melinda says as we clock out. You must be spendin’ all your time outdoors these days.”

“Mostly, yeah.”

“Well, if that smile you’re wearing has anything to do with the one matching our supervisor’s…” she pauses, giving me time to confirm or deny, I do neither.

“Anyway, even if he’s trouble, he’s pretty to look at.”

He is, he’s beautiful. For the last week he’s treated me with nothing short of devotion. His kisses are lasting longer, his looks filled with more. My feet haven’t touched the ground since he bulldozed his way back into my space and began ruthlessly chipping away at my reinforced heart. We spend no nights apart, and I don’t bother reporting to Roman where I’m going anymore. Most nights with Sean, I spend the night at his house. Dominic’s being his usual charming self, and only once have I extended any sort of olive branch. He locks himself in his room constantly, music blasting until the late hours of the night. In an effort to ease some of our tension, I made some homemade ice cream and brought a bowl up to his room where I found him pacing in front of his computer, if it can be called that. It looks more like a space station equipped with three massive screens and two keyboards. I set my offering on his desk, and he all but slammed the door in my face in thanks. When I asked Sean what Dominic was working on, he quickly changed the subject, and so I dropped it, no closer to finding a piece of the puzzle that is Dominic King.

As a veteran wallflower, I’ve spent years simply observing people, some more than others, to try and figure out what makes them tick. Though I’m in the midst of shedding my introvert skin, old habits die hard. Dominic is definitely a new focal point for me.

The bigger question in my mind is why is an MIT graduate working at a garage, instead of looking for a job to get him into a higher tax bracket? Surely Dominic didn’t get a degree at one of the best schools in the country to replace brakes and mufflers for the rest of his days.

But I keep those questions to myself. One, because it’s not my business. Two, because Dominic is a motherfucker and still engages me at every turn. However, I’ve been giving back just as good as I get. Since that day we called a semi-truce, we’ve grown more playful in our sparring matches.

Despite my curiosity about Dominic, the majority of my attention outside of work belongs to Sean. A few times since that day at the pool, I’ve felt a little guilty for trying to shut him out, though I got the apology I think I deserved. But some part of me is still holding back. Maybe it’s the jaded part that keeps me on edge. I think most of it is because some part of me can’t believe he’s real. The irony is the cynic in me doesn’t want to be right, because even she’s falling for him.

The summer nights have been alive, full of electricity as we split our time, going to Eddie’s on occasion to throw darts, or shooting pool with guys at the garage, or simply driving around as I try and up my skill behind the wheel of his life-sized Matchbox car.

Tonight, we’ve decided to forgo all our new norms for some one-on-one. Through a set of unlocked gates, I pull up next to a large barn and park in a space to see Sean waiting for me. I can’t help the elation that stirs when he peers up at me with a knowing smile before he crushes out a cigarette with his boot.

“Hey, baby,” he pulls me to him, kissing me deeply as I lift up on my toes and return his kiss.

I glance behind him at rows upon rows of apple trees, the angry branches filled to the brim with the blossoming fruit. There are a dozen or more farms in Triple Falls, and the locals take their pride in their apples seriously. Annually, at the start of autumn, Triple Falls holds an apple festival in the square that most townies consider the highlight of their year. Townies, including Melinda, who insists I cannot miss it.

“What are we doing here?”

“Midnight picnic,” he turns to gather the supplies stacked on his hood. He hands me a familiar blanket before gathering the rest, which consists of a battery-operated lantern and plastic bags before starting us down a path through rows of trees. It’s picturesque, especially under his small camp light, the mountains in the distance silhouetted by the night sky.

“How did you get access to this place?”

“A buddy’s parents own it. But it’s all ours tonight.”

“This is incredible,” I look around as I follow him down a line of trees, and he stops when we’re far enough down that our cars are impossible to see.

“Good apples, but I’ve got the goods here.” He lifts a plastic bag.

I eye the lid of the container which reads The Pitt Stop. “From your parents’ restaurant?”

“Yeah, it’s lukewarm, but it’ll still be good. Let’s park here.” I toss out the blanket and begin spreading it out. “I’ll take you there on our next day off.”

“Promise?”

He pulls the light toward his face. “Scout’s honor.”

I roll my eyes. “You were never a Scout.”

He chuckles. “What makes you say that?”

“Maybe because of your issue with authority. I can see you arguing with your troop leader about rules and principles you refuse to abide by because they were created by self-righteous assholes.”

He sets the lantern on the blanket and pulls me to him, kissing me soundly. “You’re getting to know me pretty well.”

“I am.”

We take our seat on what I now consider my lucky blanket before he carefully unpacks a small feast. Aside from our one fight, it’s been almost idyllic with him. At times, I try to imagine life in Triple Falls without him and can’t stomach what it would be like if dinners with Roman and shifts at the plant were all I had to look forward to.

He’s not just a distraction with a nice penis, although, his penis is incredible. Emotion swells in my chest as I study his profile in the soft glow of the fake camp light. Whatever reservations I have, I want to let them go. But I still have lingering doubts I’ve kept to myself to keep the peace. Yet one question gnaws at me daily, and if I want to give myself over to him fully, I need an answer.

“Sean?”

“Yeah?” Distracted with his task, he kneels on the blanket, opening the first container. The crickets sing loudly around us and I take in the scene, the gnawing to ask growing at the setting, the sounds around us, a romance addict’s fantasy. I’ve had so many firsts with Sean—at twenty-five, adventurous as he is—I’m sure I would be hard-pressed to give him one of his own. And that’s some of where my hesitance lies, with the question I don’t want to ask because I know how it will sound. I slip off my shoes and socks and run my feet in the cool grass, deciding it’s best left alone for the moment.

“Cecelia.”

“Yeah?”

“You had a question?”

“I forgot it.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You don’t want me to ask it.”

He looks at me expectantly. “All right, now I have to know.”

“How did Dominic know about the waterfall?”

He exhales, putting his hands on his knees, before peering up at me with guilty eyes. “Your real question is, how many girls have I taken there, right?”

“Is that like the place you take all women?”

He shakes his head slowly. “It’s a place I love, that I will often frequent with any company. It’s kind of slim pickings around here at times, like there are only a few restaurants in town worth a shit. This is a small town. If you stay in one place long enough, you’re bound to have repeats.”

“Repeats,” I parrot, sipping my iced tea.

He eyes me warily. “Shit, bad choice of words. Look,” he moves to sit and draws up his knees, his toned forearms resting on them. “No, you aren’t the first or second girl I’ve taken there.”

Suspicions confirmed, I try to hide my disappointment. “Thanks for the truth. I guess that day was special to me, that’s all.”

He chucks my chin. “Then let it be. You think I was thinking about the last girl I was with when I had you underneath me? Fuck no. And I like that you’re jealous.”

“Eww,” I prop up to my elbows and drop my head back dramatically. “I guess sometimes I make it obvious you’re dating a teenager.”

“Jealousy isn’t limited or nullified by age, babe. And you’ve been hurt. You’ve told me you have from the start. You’re being cautious. You don’t want to be fucked over again. Nothing wrong with that. I get it. And I’m not mad you asked about it.”

“Do you get mad?”

“Yes,” he says softly, so softly, it’s scary, “and it’s not something you want to see.”

“Oooooh,” I turn on my stomach, kicking my feet into motion behind me. “Do tell. Were you an angry child?”

“No, I was more like ‘Tarzan with Chimpanzee rip your arm off if you fuck with me’ tendencies.”

I laugh. “I believe it.”

“I did get into a lot of fights.”

“Why?”

“Because I was a little asshole.”

“So, what’s changed?”

“Cute. I was going to share my banana pudding, but…”

“Hey, I’m sorry. You haven’t given me many reasons not to trust you.”

He frowns. “Cecelia—”

I reach over and run my hand down his jaw. “I hate that I asked. But it’s been bothering me.”

“Next time ask so you aren’t wasting your time.”

“I did, but we were fighting, remember?”

“My bad, but I mean it, don’t let shit eat at you. Ask.”

“I will.”

“Good, now eat.”

And we do. After, we lay back looking up at the stars as his Zippo closes and an unmistakable smell invades my nose.

I grin over at Sean just as he passes the joint to me. I take a deep inhale and release it, already laughing from the act alone.

“You’re such a lightweight,” he chuckles.

“And proud of it. Why do you smoke?”

“It’s as relaxing as a few beers to me. And if you relax, and don’t think about anything or anyone but where you are and who you’re with, you can control the high and it won’t control you.”

“Okay, dude,” I say as I inhale in my best stoner impression. He grins and takes it back, and I turn and lay back on the blanket, gazing up at the night sky.

He grabs the hand resting on my stomach and brings it to his mouth to kiss the back of it. His eyes close and my chest buzzes from the intimate act.

“I thought I would hate it here,” I admit.

“Glad you don’t.”

“You’re the main reason I don’t. You know, I have to leave next year. I’m only here until next summer.”

He pauses his kiss on the pad of my finger. “We’ll make it count.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Nothing’s certain.”

“Oh, Lord, not this again.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Always so damned cryptic with me. I’m not an idiot, Sean, you’ve been trying to indirectly tell me something since we met. What the hell is the big secret?”

He leans in, his grin dazzling in the dim light. “You’re the secret.”

“Oh, am I?” I reach for the joint. “Give me that, God, I’m going to need it if I’m going to listen to your madness.”

“You love it.”

“The devastating truth and life philosophy according to Alfred Sean Roberts.” I take a small hit and pass it back to him.

“Knowledge is power, baby. Strongest weapon out there.” He takes a hit. “You know why they outlawed weed?”

“Not a clue.”

He props on his side, the cherry glowing brightly as he takes another pull. “Because the powers that be at the time couldn’t figure out how to regulate who grew it and tax it. So they created all this propaganda about how lethal it is. Look up Reefer Madness on YouTube when you get a chance, and you’ll see just how far they went. And people believed it because they were told to believe it.”

He leans down and spreads my lips with the swipe of his tongue so I open for him. He exhales a plume of smoke into my mouth, forcefully puffing out my cheeks. Laughing, we break apart as I sputter and cough swatting his chest.

“Reefer Madness?”

“And I quote,” he widens his eyes. “‘Marijuana, the burning weed with its roots in hell!’” I giggle as he leans in and slowly starts to unbutton my shirt, “Smoking the soul-destroying reefer,” he drawls, pushing away the fabric to reveal my flesh before running his knuckles along my skin. “They find a moment’s pleasure,” he murmurs softly, before lowering to kiss the swell of my breasts.

Under his spell, I tangle my fingers in his hair just as he inches his fingers along my sides. “But at a terrible price!” The boom of his voice has me jumping before his fingers dig into me and I laugh hysterically, swatting him away as he shouts in his best preacher man imitation. “‘Debauchery! Violence! Murder! Suicide!’”

His fingers continue to tickle me as I twist to free myself. “Stop, Sean, I’m going to pee my pants.”

He stops and leans in close, his eyes tick-tocking back and forth erratically. “And the ultimate end of the marijuana addict…” he holds up a finger in a ‘wait for it’ gesture, “hopeless insanity.”

“You’re kidding, right? Violence, Murder, Suicide?”

“Don’t forget debauchery. And no, I’m not kidding, look it up,” he runs his fingers through my hair. “Nineteen thirty-eight. Complete and utter bullshit and the masses bought into it. All because the greedy fuckers couldn’t figure out how to tax it and control the distribution, they outlawed it. Now all these years later, they’re using it to relieve people of pain, stop seizures, to help treat incurable disorders with just the plant itself without the THC. And the mental effects for some can be just as healing as popping a more harmful pill. Can you imagine where we would be or how far we would have come since nineteen fucking thirty-eight if those assholes hadn’t ganged up on a plant? Instead, they taught us it was wrong, because some people decided it was and told us it was, and the law-abiding folk went along with it and preached to others it was wrong. And here we are after decades of it being outlawed and it’s suddenly safe for medical and medicinal purposes?” He shakes his head in disgust. “Did you ever hear that story about that guy who got stoned before he went and committed mass murder?”

“No.”

“Yeah, me neither. And I doubt anyone else has either because the odds are not fucking likely. We have to be careful about who we listen to.”

“You’re a one-man revolution. Is there anything about this country you do like?”

“The scenery,” he exhales, lifting my bra and running a warm hand over my breast. “Peaks and valleys,” he slides his palm over my stomach. “The oceans surrounding it.”

I get lost in the workings of his hands and frown when he pauses.

“I mean, the idea of America is great, the execution not so much. But we’re still a young country. There’s still hope for us.”

“I like the way you quack,” I say honestly. And I do. I love that he challenges me, makes me think.

“I like your quack too, baby,” he dips and kisses me soundly.

“You know,” I take the joint. “You would make an amazing politician. Too bad you’re addicted to the burning weed with the roots in hell.”

He tilts his head, his eyes lit by his lantern. “A politician?”

“You’ve got my vote.”

“Your vote,” he bounces his head back and forth, mulling it over. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to be a politician.”

“Why?”

“I’d rather be part of the solution.”

“That’s a shame. I was just thinking of all the dirty things I would do to you if you wore a suit.”

“Ah,” he hangs his head, “so she wants a suit guy.”

“No, I want you, guy.”

I can feel his smile against my chest. “That so?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Well,” he nestles between my legs and sucks my nipple into his mouth, speaking around the peaked flesh. “I’m going to have to make you work for it.”

My breath hitches as I speak. “Don’t you always?”

“Yes,” he pulls back and looks down on me, “but this is getting serious, you see because any minute we’re going to hit our ultimate end as marijuana addicts. We have to make it count.”

He hovers above me with the moonless night sky behind him.

“Then we’d better hurry,” I say, lifting to kiss him and he dodges it, pressing my wrists into the blanket.

“You’re such an ass.”

“And you’re…so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs softly. “So beautiful…” he places my hand on his chest. “Cecelia, you wound me. Why’d you have to be so pretty?” For a second, I see something I’ve never seen in his expression and an unmistakable flash of fear in his eyes.

“Sean, what’s wrong?”

His eyes clear as he gazes down at me. “Not a damn thing.”

“You sure?” I run my hands through his hair as he buries his head in my chest.

“Help me, baby. The madness finally got me.”