Page 6 of Clean Hack
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Isn't That Just Sad
Lucy
Some days were more exciting than others. But with that said, I never had a lack of entertainment, that was for sure. Who needed TV when I had thirty or so outlaw groups to watch? Like really.
I’d learned many things over the years. Like how these people were on a day-to-day basis. And how they would hold tension in their shoulders when there was something going down. The little changes helped me to know when something major was happening. And since I didn’t have sound for most things, I learned how to read lips pretty quickly.
Sometimes, I’d even speak the conversation out loud.
And many times, I’d add my own thoughts in there as well.
Maybe I was a bit lonely. Starved for attention but also too busy to go out and find some kind of companionship out there in the real world. Okay, and I was a bit too comfortable in my own space. I liked it here. I had somehow convinced myself that what I had was enough. And for the most part, it was, because I was on a mission. I had an end goal to get to. After all, that was why I’d dug myself into this hole anyway.
There were days when I felt so lost, so helpless. There were days when I felt guilty that I stopped a few minutes longer than necessary to watch something going on that didn’t have anything to do with my mission. There were times when I wanted to keep pushing but had no choice but to give into sleep. There were moments when I thought I was getting close to something only to find that I’d been heading down a dead end.
Even with all of that, I never gave up. Never wanted to. I couldn’t stop, and some might have said that it had become an addiction, one that was going to suck my entire life away, but I didn’t let that get to me. Until I had the answers I was looking for, then I would never rest.
The world had turned its back on Allison.
She had been long forgotten.
But I would never stop. Because she was my best friend and I always swore I’d never let her down.
My stomach growled quite loudly. I struggled to remember the last time I’d eaten anything.
I wasn’t big on cooking. I knew how to do it and there were a handful of times every year that I’d put my skills to use. But most of the time, I’d just reach for a frozen meal or make a sandwich. It was also easier that way, fewer dishes and mess to clean up. It was on holidays when I got a little too lonely and nostalgic that I would be reminded of the fact I hated the cleanup part, but only after I’d made the big mess.
Days like Thanksgiving where I’d order a huge turkey and the ingredients to make an insane number of amazing side dishes. I went overboard whipping up green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, cornbread stuffing, and sweet potato casserole. And that was just dinner. I may have also overdone it and made ridiculous amounts of pie that I would nearly cry into as I tried to finish them a week later. Like the ever so popular pumpkin pie. And I couldn’t resist making apple and pecan as well.
Then there was Christmas, which consisted of making a ham with a cool design of maraschino cherries surrounded by pineapple rings, and sometimes I added whole cloves making it look like the strangest kind of pincushion. I chose sides that reminded me of home, the one I was sure I could go back to if only I could give up my life’s work. My parents still loved me, that I was sure of. But it hadn’t been easy. So to remind me of their warmth, I’d surround—and drown—myself in things like homemade macaroni and cheese, butternut squash covered in cinnamon and butter, and Swedish meatballs. I never said it all went together. And dessert consisted of rice pudding, double chocolate brownies, and a million different kinds of cookies. Those I think I missed the most. My mom always made the best cookies. The Oatmeal Surprise had always been my favorite. I think it was because every time my mom made them she would add in different things. It was, well, a surprise. But there definitely was always cranberries and chocolate chips in them. My favorite parts.
I reserved things like black-eyed peas and roast beef for New Year’s Eve. Choosing a spinach salad over collard greens because I had never been a fan of their bitter taste.
That was about it. Oh, and my birthday, which I celebrated alone every year. I even made my own cake, which I was really fine with. Yes, just fine. I had no room to complain because I knew I’d brought this all on myself.
“So, let’s see what is going on with those Steel Paragon boys,” I mumbled to myself as I shifted my focus. Sometimes it was like watching a movie, or a really bad reality TV show. And sometimes like— “Oh, look at that!”—right now, it was like watching awkwardly shot porn.
These guys weren’t afraid to pull out their junk and fuck the closest thing within reach. Like for real, there was so much sex going on. And everywhere. Whatever kinks they might have had were never hidden. Most of the time right out there in the open in the common room while some of the other men were playing a game of pool. I’d seen so much dick over the last few years. Did I sound like I was complaining? Well, honestly, I think at this point I was kind of desensitized to the dick views. Also, the overwhelming pussy shots and not to mention the giant fake boobs that seemed to be everywhere amongst these clubs. Sometimes it was fascinating to watch how they bounced up and down like it just didn’t look real at all.
Yes, I knew I had some strange problems. I was alone. No one would know. So at some point, I stopped caring and let the curiosity take over. I stopped shielding my eyes a long time ago and pretty much nothing I saw at this point even made me blush.
They also didn’t do much for me. At first, I watched with a strange sort of fascination. All the jerking, hair grabbing, and ass smacking hadn’t been things that had been done to me. Because, sex at sixteen and seventeen hadn’t been so much about those things. It was awkward and more about trying to figure the whole thing out. But now, I watched for sheer amusement. Plus, believe it or not, sex really helped when trying to figure people out.
While I wasn’t shy when it came to sex, it had been a long time since I’d had it.
Everything died that night she was taken.
I had always been the troublemaker out of the two of us. The one that would rather run wild at night whereas, Allison loved to stay in and study. I collected boyfriends each week, while she collected extra credit. Two different people but yet we were the best of friends. She pulled me back when I was about to go off the wild cliff and I liked to think that I put a little fun in her Friday nights. Sometimes anyway. I’d only pester her to join the outside world when I hadn’t seen her outside of school for days at a time. And of course, I would never let her get too crazy. She looked out for me and I looked out for her.
I flicked through the feeds. Some of the clubs had good security, making the images so crisp and clean on my screen that I could count the number of lines in their crow’s feet. Others were cheap, and it showed through the cameras they chose to use. Grainy, blurry images that at times made it hard to tell which member I was looking at. Those were the worst because I couldn’t get a good read on what they were saying.
I had notebooks full of pages on each club. I mostly watched motorcycle clubs because I had a good feeling that would lead me to the man I’d been searching for, being his kind and all. I did keep an eye out on a few small-time mobs and whatnot. Just in case he tried to reach out or partner with or possibly even kill off. That last one was the one I most expected.
Oh, the things I’d learned about bikers over the years. They were all mostly badass guys that were super grumpy. They liked to have sex, with lots of random people, sometimes at the same time. They were protective of each other and their club. Most of them wouldn’t hesitate to give their lives for it. And I’d seen that more times that I could count. I’d also see the aftermath, how the clubs would mourn, pull closer together, and carry on with their fallen men tucked in their hearts. Gone but never forgotten. Then always came the revenge. That was usually pretty brutal and bloody. And resulted in me giving a call to a certain someone for a heads up.
I was maybe intrigued by how it all worked. Most of them seemed like lost souls or broken in some way. I would look into them not only because I could, but because I was overly curious. And maybe at times didn’t have much else to do. So I knew the stories of most of the men I watched. I figured out what linked them together. And maybe I even understood that need to find that place where you felt like you belonged.
