Page 22 of For Fillies and Monsters

“I need to run in and grab more vaccines. You only have a dosage left. You know, if you just step back a little, theywouldn’t kick you so much.” And with that, Nathan jumps off the fence and saunters toward the house, his dark jeans still perfectly creased.

How is he exactly what I expect, and yet every time he opens his mouth, I’m surprised by what comes out?

I turn toward Dale with another withering stare. It is because of her I’m in this mess, and I am seconds away from explaining that she will have to be the one to tell the cops why I killed Nathan.

She stares back at me, shrugging, and mouths, “Maybe it’s a really nice penis.”

“There isn’t a dick big enough in this world to make it worth it,” I yell over the bawling calves, hoping he hears me. Dale’s eyes widen and then she smiles—always a good sport.

I push the last couple of calves through the chute, collecting only two more bruises in the process. All things considered, they are the least of my worries. My pussy is beyond raw and aching from the sweat and sand rubbing in my jeans, and I have to keep myself from walking bow-legged toward the porch. All I want now is to take a cold shower, with an even colder beer, and climb into bed.

“Thanks for your help, Dale. I couldn’t have done it without you.” I wince, putting my foot on the bottom step of the stairs into the house. Dale is close behind me, wearing a similar shade of pain on her face. Nathan huffs, his clean and undamaged appearance becoming more frustrating by the second, but I bite down on my lip, trying to remain civil.

“And you, Nathan. Thanks for coming today.”Fuck this southern hospitality shit.

“You can thank me by giving me a cold beer and letting me use the shower first this time.” Dale’s shoving past me before I can argue.

“You know, most people buy their help lunch for helpingwithout pay,” Nathan states, a too-forced smile on his baby face. I stop, whirling around to glare at him, my braid whipping Dale in the process. She grabs my elbow with a squeeze.

“Uh, Nathan. My girl here didn’t have any underwear today. And although that doesn’t seem like too big of a deal, you can’t imagine the chaffing that’s happening right now. I’m going to insist she goes and takes a shower, or she might just bite our heads off.” Dale’s forced chuckle does nothing to calm the spiking rage in my veins.Fuck him.

I couldn’t care less that Dale just told him about my lack of underwear or the pain I’m in. We both know it’s a crock of shit, anyway; that’s not why I’m vibrating with the need to fly off the handle.

He’s a fucking prick. A lazy, worthless, pretty boy,prick.

His mouth drops open, his eyes blowing wide. My hand twitches with the need to shove the calf shit plastered to my leg into that worthless hole.

“Oh.” He shuffles his feet uncomfortably, a pink stain climbing his neck. “I understand. Another time maybe.” Not waiting around a second longer, he turns on his heel, climbs into his freshly washed truck, and pulls out of the driveway.

We watch him go, flies buzzing around our heads, but make no move to go in or swat them away. I’m dumbfounded, and Dale seems similarly stumped.

“Huh. Maybe he doesn’t have a penis. I thought for sure he would have offered to help clean your cracks from all the dirt.” Dale’s words finally break the silence.

“I wouldn’t let him touch me with a ten-foot pole.” I scrunch my face in disgust. “He might get dirty.”

I’m sprawled out on my bedroom floor, my filthy white button-up covering an embarrassingly small amount of my body; Dale helped me peel my jeans away from my raw flesh the second we got to the top of the stairs. Exhaustion, the awkwardness that is Nathan, and naked girl camaraderie caused us to fall into a heap of giggles on the soft brown carpet.

It was a simple moment, one I imagine girls have been sharing all their lives with their friends. But it did something weird to my heart—it was like a thousand little needles pricked the charred exterior of the organ, making it feel buzzed and achy. If Dale noticed my sudden silence or the hand rubbing my chest, she didn’t comment. Instead, she left the room with a shimmy of her hips and a snarky comment about “who needs boys when you have best friends, anyway”. Which only sent me into a greater spiral.

What had it meant?Am I really her best friend?

There’s no question that she is mine, but how can I possibly be hers? She’s so widely loved, and with good reason. How can I, the broken and damaged, be the person she considers her best friend?

I close my eyes, breathing deeply through my nose in an effort to calm my racing mind. I focus on the sounds of water splashing, and the unintelligible tune Dale is humming through the bathroom door. My phone buzzes, pulling me from my trance.

I don’t bother getting up—probably couldn’t if I tried—as I read over the message.

UNKNOWN: How many?

I stare at the text, not sure who it is or what the hell they are talking about.Am I delirious from exhaustion? Am I getting punked?

ME: I think you have the wrong number.

I set the phone down, closing my eyes again, expecting that to be the end of it. Almost instantly, it buzzes.

UNKNOWN: I said, how many?

ME: How many what?

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