“Ugh, don’t judge, Cass. We all have our thing.”
I take a breath, then say, “No, he doesn’t look like David fucking Duchovny, Abe. He looks like… an intense version of Michael Fassbender.”
“Jesus, Cass, I don’t know who the fuck that is.”
“Haven’t you ever seen X-men?”
“Is that the one with the tree man and the raccoon who says he’s not a raccoon?”
I glare at him. “How are we friends?”
“Well, that’s rude.”
I’m not sure I should tell Abe what it is that this man wants.Hetold me not to look it up online because of misinformation, and I’m sure Abe will give me the same thing. He pretends to know a lot about a lot of things, but he’s talking out of his ass. A lot of people in the trailer park do it to make themselves feel better…
“I don’t know about the other stuff, like what he wants,” I say, feeling bad for lying to Abe. He’s my friend—the only friend I have. I wouldn’t put us at “best friend” status, because we’re more like friends with benefits, I guess, but we’re both bottoms so sometimes we end up jerking each other off while looking at hot guys we wish would top us. Though, it’s been a while since we did that…
He moved into the trailer park a few years ago, and we ran into each other a few times while taking out the trash or going into the office to complain about something. Things kind of just… happened. We were both hoping for more of a consistent hook up to take our minds off our shitty lives, but it didn’t work out so smoothly and we ended up being friends, which is fine by me. Sex is overrated.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“He gave me his card and told me to call him tomorrow.”
“That’s it?” he screeches. “I nearly had a heart attack thinking someone kidnapped you, all to get abusinesscard?”
“Relax, drama queen. I’ll call him tomorrow and get more info.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You wouldn’t have come with me otherwise.”
“You’re right, because I didn’t even get the drink you promised me.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have spent so much time in the bathroom,” I argue.
“Hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go.”
“Then don’t blame me for your vindictive stomach.”
Abe puts the volume up on the radio, and we don’t speak for the rest of the ride. He drops me off in front of my trailer that is darker than it should be. I sigh as I get out.
“Off again?” he asks through the open window.
“Looks like it,” I mutter.
This entire park is shit. Everyone who lives here is struggling, but some are struggling worse than others.
Abe stays here because it’s the only place he and his dad can afford. His roof leaks too, and sometimes the AC doesn’t work, but at least his electricity works, there is food in the house, his dad contributes with the bills and isn’t a complete piece of shit. Oh, and he has a truck when most people here don't have any sort of motorized vehicle. So, he’s basically the golden boy of Oak Hills Trailer Park.
Abe waits long enough for me to get into the house after fighting with the door for five minutes. It gets stuck, but if you push too hard, it falls right off the hinges.
He doesn’t wait because he wants to make sure I get in, it’s because his headlights allow me to step over the holes in the porch, so I don’t fall through and get a splinter through my leg. Yes, it’s happened. No, I don’t ever want it to happen again, and I also don’t want to talk about it.
“Cass?” Cammy calls out from the bedroom.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
I step into the smallest living room known to man and carefully make my way to the left, where me and my two sisters share a bedroom. I don’t remember a time when it was only my room.