Page 29 of Broken

“We talk daily. So, yeah, we’re pretty tight. I know his biggest fear and I do my best to steer him away from that.”

“What’s his biggest fear?” she asks in between a giggle.

“Hairy bushes.”

“Pardon?” she squeaks.

“Pussies that are covered in so much hair that it looks like there are two hairy squirrels fighting in there. Then she pulls her panties back, and it’s like Cher’s afro from 2012 jumping out at you.”

“Oh my God,” she cries, looking torn between laughter and shock.

“It’s worse if she’s a redhead. My dick is big, but even he can’t take Carrot Top jumping out at him, ready to suck him into hell.”

At that, she loses it. Gabby laughs so hard she bends over, holding her stomach as it rolls through her. Somehow, the sound warms me clean through. I have to pay attention to the road, but I smile over at her now and then, just to get a glance and drink her joy in.

“Have you seen many um … of those?” she asks.

“Hairy bushes?” I ask, looking over just long enough to see the heat color her cheeks.

“Um … either that or fighting chinchillas.”

“I said squirrels, but I think I like your analogy better,” I reply, making her roll her eyes. I pull my attention back to the road with a smile—actually it’s a smile that’s stayed on my face since Gabby came running out her door.

“Well, have you?” she insists.

“A few. Although, most of those were in bad seventies porn movies where the pizza delivery guy shows up.”

“You don’t seem like a guy who has to resort to watching porn to get off, King.”

“I was a horny kid. What can I say?”

She laughs. “My brothers were like that. Diego used to use his damn sock to hide the evidence. My mother would bitch like crazy every time she did his laundry. Dad finally told him to throw the damn socks away if he was going to use them. Mom went off on him, then. Said the family would go broke if he kept throwing his socks away whenever he took care of himself.”

“What’d your dad say then?” I ask, liking that she’s talking about her family with a smile on her face. Things aren’t good there, but maybe good memories will help see her through.

“Oh, I still remember that. I can see him standing there, hands on his hips and his lips twitching.” She lowers her voice to imitate her father’s and adds in an accent, which gets my attention. “Mi Cielo, which would you rather do? Clean your hijo’s jizz or buy socks?”

“What was her reply?”

“She voted an absolute neither. So, Dad looked at Diego, told him to go out to the clubhouse and find one of the girls to see to his issue. Diego thought he won the lottery. Mom lost her mind. Started throwing shit and said her son was not going to go get laid because he was too damn young and for my dad to even suggest that meanthewasn’t going to get laid anytime soon either.”

“Damn. How old was your brother?”

“Twelve.”

“Hm …”

“How old were you when, well, you know …”

“Had sex? Or fooled around and got off?”

“There’s a difference?” she asks, sounding surprised.

Suddenly, I’m confronted with the fact that Gabby may have had sex in the past, but no one took the time to truly initiate her into how good that could be, or the forms it can take. Somehow, that makes the evil of her rape even worse.

“Yeah, Sunshine. There’s a big difference. To answer your question, though, I was ten.”

“Oh my God.”

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