His Nasty Little Pussy

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NEW STORY

I had just turned eighteen when my father married Susan Wells. She was nice enough, but she had a son named Chris who would go on to change my life irrevocably.

Chris was nineteen years old. He had long hair, wore a leather jacket everywhere, even in the summer, and rode a motorcycle. I’d never met anyone like him. Our sleepy little town was full of good ole boys and geeks, but no one like him. He and his mother moved in after the wedding, and my life was never the same.

At first, Chris was distant. He spent most of his time in his room, the skunk-like scent of marijuana wafting underneath the door. He was belligerent to my father, and he mostly ignored me.

One evening, our parents had gone out to dinner. I heard a terrible racket in Chris’s room, so I knocked softly on the door.

“Chris?” I called gently.Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

I heard the rustling and crunching of objects under his boots as he crossed the floor, he flung the door open. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and he looked down as though the carpet was the most interesting thing on Earth.

“What do you want?” he snarled.

“Are you okay?” I asked him. “I heard…”

I peered past him and into his room. The lamp on his nightstand was overturned, and the bulb shattered into shards of glass that scattered across tab the top and the floor. Clothing, papers, books, and other items littered the floor, the band ed, basically every surface in the room. It looked pretty much like his room normally looked, except there was usually some order amongst the chaos.

“What happened?” I breathed, my eyes wide with curiosity.

“None of your God damned business,” he snapped, attempting to slam the door in my face.

I stuck my hand out and grabbed the edge of the door just as he was pushing it shut. I thought I could manage to keep him from shutting me out, but I only succeeded in getting my hand smashed savagely in the door. I yelped in pain.

Immediately, the door flew open wide. I recoiled, cradling my throbbing hand against me. A look of shock and concern softened Chris’s face perhaps even contrition.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, reaching for my hand. “Are you okay?”

My eyes were stinging, tears threatening to squeeze out from behind my eyelids. I bit my lip and looked away, determined not to let him see me cry.

“I’m fine,” I lied, though my quavering voice certainly gave away the attempted deceit.

I shivered as his warm hands took mine. He examined it carefully, noting the redness and swelling. He poked at it gingerly, and I winced, gasping in pain.

“This doesn’t look fine,” he said.

“Well, it is,” I said, withdrawing my hand.

“Come on, I’m taking you to the hospital,” he demanded.

“No, it’s fine!” I snapped.

“Don’t argue with me,” he growled. “Go get some clothes on or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you!”

Not that I would have minded being thrown over his shoulder, but I figured it might be best not to argue with him. I went to my room and changed out of my pajamas and into a shirt and jeans. That was difficult, but pulling on my socks proved to be impossible. I was still sitting on my bed struggling with them when Chris walked in.

“You ready?” he asked.

Then he spotted me struggling.

“Here, let me,” Chris said, sitting down on my bed and taking one of my socks.

Chris lifted my foot and slid the sock gently over it. Then he did the same with the other. His eyes scanned the room and located my shoes, which he brought over, slipped on my feet, and tied neatly.

“Thank you,” I said meekly.

I wasn’t used to being treated so delicately. My father lacked such grace under pressure, and my mother hadn’t been around in years. Chris’s mother was friendly, but she never paid much attention to me.

“Let’s go, kid,” he said.

I winced at his back when he called me ‘kid.’ I didn’t like to think that’s all I would ever be to him his kid sister. I was only a year younger than him. Not even that, just a few moally.

“Are we taking your bike?” I asked hopefully.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “How are you going to hang on to me with that bad hand? We’ll take my mom’s car.”

Chris snatched Susan’s keys off the hook in the foyer.

“Don’t she be mad if you take her car without asking?” I asked him.

“Nah, this is an emergency,” he said confidently. “Besides, I’ll call her from the hospital.”

He opened my door for me, and I slid into the front seat. He rolled smoothly over the hood like he was a stuntman in a movie and plopped casually into the driver’s seat.

When we arrived at the hospital, he pulled up to the sliding doors. I insisted I could walk from the parking lot, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He opened my door and escorted me into the waiting room, and then he left to park the car. I waited patiently for him as he’d requested. When he got back, he ushered me up to the reception desk.

“May I help you?” asked a smiling nurse.

“My stepsister hurt her hand,” he explained. “I think it might be broken.”

“Alright, fill out these forms, please,” the nurse said pleasantly, handing him a clipboard with a pen attached to a chain.

He took the clipboard and we took a seat in the waiting room. He asked me questions while he filled it out fo me, because I couldn’t write in my current condition.

He handed the form back to her, and she typed for a couple of moments. Then she smiled at him again.

“Take a seat. They’ll call her when they’re ready for her,” she told him.

He strolled over and slid into the seat beside me.

“You holding up okay?” he asked me, and I nodded. “You want anything? Coke? Snack?”

“No, I’m fine,” I said.

He sighed heavily and slouched in his seat. He lifted one foot up and onto his knee. He fiddled with the buckle on his boot for a while, and then slouched backward and started bouncing his foot nervously.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay,” he said suddenly.

“It’s alright,” I assured him.

“No, seriously, what I did wasn’t cool,” he said, picking lint off his shirt.

“It was an accident, Chris,” I told him.

“Maybe so, but I should have been more careful. It was reckless and stupid, and I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Chris,” I said, putting my good hand on his knee and trying to catch his eye. When he finally looked at me I said, “It’s fine. Really.”

He gazed into my eyes for a moment, and I noticed how deep and gentle his eyes were. They were a soft gray-blue with flecks of brown, and I could see a kindness behind them I’d never noticed before.

He finally nodded, apparently accepting the fact that the whole incident was an accident. Still, he looked troubled. He kept glancing at my hand and gnawing on his thumbnail occasionally.