Bastard (7 page)

“Wanna get something to eat while we’re here?” I ask as I load the last of the parts into the trunk.

“You want to eat something? With me?” she asks surprised. I guess I don’t blame her. I’ve been an arse. I’m not sure why I even asked. I guess I’m hungry.

“I’m hungry,” I say with a shrug. I don’t want her to think this is a date, because it isn’t.

“Okay.” We make our way towards the burger joint a few doors down. I’m already regretting asking her. What the hell am I gonna talk to her about? I don’t do shit like this. I don’t go out much. I’m definitely not what you’d call sociable.

We sit in silence as we both scan the menu. “The burgers are great,” she says. “My dad brings me here sometimes.” I make eye contact with her over the top of my menu. A burger sounds good.

“Are you guys ready to order?” the waitress asks when she approaches our table.

“Can I get a burger, fries and a chocolate shake?” I answer before looking in Indi’s direction.

“I’ll get the same,” she says closing her menu. I’m impressed. I thought girls like her ate lettuce or tofu, shit like that. I’ll be interested to see if she actually eats it.

When the waitress leaves, silence falls over us again. I watch her as she looks around the restaurant, anywhere but me. She looks nervous and a little uncomfortable. Makes two of us. I’m not a fan of small talk.

“So, tell me about your mum,” I ask out of the blue. Fuck me. Why can’t I keep my mouth shut? When her eyes meet mine I see sadness. It tugs at me for some reason. She doesn’t say anything at first. Now I feel like a dick.

“Oh, you heard Mr Gregory did you? Not much to tell,” she eventually says. Her hands are twisting nervously in front of her. I can only gather how hard this subject is for her to talk about. “She died when I was six. She had a brain tumour. I don’t remember much. My dad tried to shield me from it. She was in a lot of pain and spent most of her time in bed. My dad struggled with her death. Still does. It couldn’t have been easy for him. He had a full-time job, a sick wife and a small child to contend with.” I see sorrow cross her face. It’s fleeting, but I definitely saw it. I guess that’s understandable.

“I’m sorry,” is all I say. Lame response I know, but it’s the best I’ve got.

“What about you? Do you still see your father?” Her question instantly gets my back up. See this is why I hate small talk. Fuck, me and my big mouth. I should’ve kept quiet. Talking about my father, or lack thereof, is something I never do.

“I don’t have one,” I snap.

“Everyone has a father,” she responds.
Not everyone. I don’t.
Maybe she just assumes my parents are divorced.

“Well I don’t. Can we just drop it?” When I glare at her, she gets the message because she changes the subject.

“How long have you had your car?” she asks. Fuck she’s nosy.

“I bought it a few years ago. It needs a lot of work to get it to where I want it, but it’s all I could afford at the time.”

“Did you have a job before moving here?” she asks.

“Yeah. Kind of.”

“What do you mean kind of? You either did or you didn’t. Did you buy the car yourself?” I wish she’d stop with all the questions. I hate talking about my personal life.

“Yes I did,” I snap. “Not everyone has a privileged life like you, Princess.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks defensively. I ignore her. It means just that. My mum struggled to put food on the table most days. Any luxuries I wanted I had to buy myself. When I was twelve, I started to do odd jobs for the people who lived in our apartment building. It all progressed from there.

“How did you get money to buy the car then?” she probes further.

“I have ways,” I say, smirking when I see her processing my answer.

“What ways?”

I shake my head and scoff, “Fuck you’re nosy.” I stare her down hoping she’ll get the message to quit it. I’m not comfortable talking about this subject with her. With anyone for that matter.

“What kind of job? I can’t imagine how someone your age could afford a car like that.” Fuck. Obviously my intimidation didn’t work.

“Can we change the subject?” I plead, exhaling.

“No. What’s the big secret? What, were you a drug dealer or something?”

“Hell no,” I chuckle.

“Well what then?” I may as well tell her the truth. She’s not going to let up until I do. At the very least it will shut her up.

I lay my hands on the table between us and lean into her. She mirrors my stance before I whisper, “Sexual favours.” Her beautiful green eyes widen with shock.

She puts the distance between us as she leans back. “Bullshit.”

“It’s true,” I tell her. That’s exactly how I got the money.

I watch her eyes dart around to make sure no one is able to hear her. “Like a prostitute? Oh. My. God. You’re a prostitute? You make those girls that jump through your window, pay you?” she shrieks.

“Fuck no. That’s for pleasure,” I say frustrated as I look around the restaurant. “Look, it’s a long story. Just drop it okay.” All these questions are starting to give me a headache.

My eyes snap back to hers as she slaps her hand over mine and leans forward. “Like hell I’m going to drop it.”

I stare at the top of her hand while she squeezes mine. “It was one person. That’s it. When I lived in the apartment building with my mum, the landlady would pay me to scratch her itch you could say. It’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal. That’s disgusting.” Her judgemental tone is starting to piss me off and I pull my hand out from under hers. Who in the fuck does she think she is?

“Whatever,” I snap. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You’ve always had everything handed to you on a silver platter. So, until you’ve walked a day in my shoes, don’t fucking judge me, okay, Princess?”

Crossing her arms under her chest, she lets me know she’s not happy with my comment. “That goes two ways. Don’t judge me either. You have no idea what kind of life I’ve had,” she says with a hurt look on her face. I feel like a prick now.

“Okay. I was out of line.” Even though I’m pretty sure her life’s been a hell of a lot better than mine. This isn’t a competition about who’s had the shittier life. We all have struggles that we handle differently, I guess.

“Do you still do it? Like, get paid to have sex I mean?” she asks. I roll my eyes, because I thought this conversation was over. Obviously not.

“No. It stopped the day I moved here.” Why do the answers keep coming out of my mouth when I don’t want them to? I’ve always been a private person. It’s like my brain and mouth aren’t even a part of me today.
I wish I’d shut the fuck up.

“How old were you when it started?” Jesus, what’s with all these damn questions? I should’ve known she wouldn’t understand. “How old Carter?”

“Fifteen, I guess,” I answer, rubbing my hands over my face in frustration.

“Fifteen? How old was your landlady?”

I squeeze my eyes tight before taking a deep breath. “Fuck, I don’t know, in her early thirties.”

“What? You were just a kid. What a sick, twisted bitch,” she snaps. “That’s child abuse.”

“Keep it down! It wasn’t fucking child abuse. Jesus. It wasn’t like that,” I angrily whisper, glancing around as I run my hand through my hair silently willing her to drop it. I look around for the waitress. Where is our damn food?

“Like hell it isn’t. The legal age for consensual sex in this country is sixteen. You were a minor and she was an adult. She should’ve known better. Does your mother know?” Her probing has me exhaling an exasperated breath.

“Fuck no,” I answer. Now it’s my turn to speak a little too loudly. “She’d have a fit if she knew.”

“Of course she would, because what that woman did was wrong on so many levels. How dare she do that to you?” she says in a disgusted tone.

“It was more like me doing her,” I chuckle. I watch her shake her head.

“This isn’t a joke, Carter.”

My eyes lock with hers. I expect to see judgement, but I don’t. She looks upset. I sigh. I have no idea why I even told her. I’ve never confessed that to anyone. It’s not something I’m ashamed of, but I’m not proud of it either. I did what I had to do.

It started not long after my fifteenth birthday. I was mowing the lawns for the landlady. Prior to that day, I did things like the lawns, putting out the bins on trash night, changing light bulbs, weeding gardens, painting fences. Shit like that. It was hard work, but she paid me well.

That particular day was hot. When I was done cutting the grass, I removed my shirt and wiped the sweat from my brow. I’m well built, so even at fifteen I looked older than my actual age. That’s when I noticed the landlady, Simone, watching me through the window.

She was a lot older than me, but still a total babe. I was a teenage kid with raging hormones. Of course I’d noticed her. Who wouldn’t? She had long blonde hair, huge fake tits, and a killer body. She was always wearing skimpy, revealing clothes. A young boy’s wet dream you could say.

I later found out she was divorced. She married a sugar daddy for his money and used her payout from the property settlement to buy the block of units. Not cool, but I suppose she was set for life.

Usually she’d just hand me my envelope from the door, but that particular day she invited me in for a cold drink. It was hot, so I didn’t think much of it. That’s when she propositioned me. Of course I was shocked, but as I said earlier, I was a horny kid. The thought of getting my dick wet actually excited me.

I was hesitant with my answer, so she was quick to up the ante. I guess she was horny too. She not only offered to pay me double what she already was, she offered to cut my mum’s rent in half. How could I say no to that? I knew how much my mum was struggling.

My mum never found out what I was up to. I know she wouldn’t have liked it. When she’d give me the rent money each week, I’d take half out and gradually feed it back in her purse. I was smart. I’d do small amounts each day. That way she wouldn’t notice. Well if she did, she never said anything.

After I agreed, Simone asked me to take a shower with her. I was kind of freaking out, but I did it. She gave me my first blow job. Over the coming days and weeks, she taught me everything I needed to know about pleasing women. She knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to show me. She’d make me do things over and over until I got them right. I guess she made me into the ‘Sex God’ I am today. I can’t complain about that part. The women love me. Not many guys my age would have the experience I have.

Simone got really pissed off when she found out we were moving. I mean really pissed. She screamed, she cried and she smashed things. At first I couldn’t understand why. Looking back now I should’ve seen the signs. Over time things changed; the way she touched me, kissed me, looked at me. I was just a kid, so I didn’t think much of it.

A few nights before we were set to move, she offered me two thousand dollars to spend the night. Of course I said yes, even though I wasn’t too keen on the idea. That’s when it all came to a head. She was riding me, my eyes were glued to her huge fake-arse tits as they bounced around, when suddenly she started to cry. Like sob her fucking heart out.

“Please don’t go,” she begged as she collapsed on my chest. At first I thought it was the sex she was going to miss, I was a sex god after all. Then she confessed she had feelings for me. Hell fucking no. It was a business arrangement. That’s it. I never signed on for any of that other shit. That’s not how I roll. She was a means to an end, nothing more. Not once during our time together did I ever think of her in that way. Needless to say, I lifted her off me and got out of bed. I left the money on the nightstand and hightailed it out of there. It was the last time I saw her.

“You must’ve done a lot of
sexual favours
if you earned enough money to buy a car,” Indi says in a repulsed tone. Her attitude really gets my back up. Why I feel the need to justify my actions to her, I’ll never know, but for some reason it’s important to me that she understands why I did it.

“I started doing odd jobs for her when I was twelve. I gave half of everything I earned to my mum, the rest I saved. As I said, the sexual favours didn’t start until I was fifteen. Despite what you think, I worked hard for that money. There’s nothing wrong with working hard for what you want.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” she says, her hand reaching out to cover mine again. I don’t know why she’s making such a big deal out of this. My eyes travel down to her hand and back up to her face. She quickly draws it back. For some reason I wish she didn’t pull away.

“I’m not sorry,” I tell her honestly. “That money helped us out a lot. My mum really struggled over the years.”

“I don’t condone what happened, but I’m glad it helped, I guess. Promise me you won’t let her take advantage of you like that again.”

“That part of my life is over,” I tell her. I kind of like that she appears to care.

“What a grown woman saw in a fifteen year old …” she adds shaking her head. I hate all this deep and meaningful crap. It makes me feel uncomfortable.

“I guess I’m irresistible,” I say with a shrug. Her eyes narrow at my comment, making me smile.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“I bet you’d like to be full of me,” I say leaning into her space. The quips just roll off without my brain even engaging.

“You’re a pig,” she replies with disgust, shaking her head. And just like that all is right again. Things between us are back to the way they used to be. Just the way I like it.

Thankfully a few minutes later the waitress appears with our food. Now we can eat and stop all this damn talking.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Indiana

I’m still confused about the afternoon I spent with Carter. Once we arrived back home, I left him to work on his car while I took Lassie for a walk. The whole time analysing everything that was said between us at the restaurant.