Page 17 of Preying Heart
I must have blushed fiercely, but luckily, he wasn’t looking at my face. He kicked off and accelerated so fast if I hadn’t had my arms around him, I would have fallen.
After a few spins around the neighborhood, he dropped me off at the Hamiltons’ house.
I didn’t know what I did to deserve his attentions, but I was ecstatic that a ninth grader would pick me to ride with him.
Slade got wind of it and warned me again.
“He didn’t take me near any storage sheds,” I argued. “He gives me a ride home from school. What’s the big deal?”
“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him,” Slade threatened, but I knew in my heart Darrell would never hurt me. Not only did he give me rides, but he also carried my books and picked flowers for me. His friends teased him nonstop because he was supposed to be a tough guy and they didn’t understand why he’d be so nice to me.
I was also mystified, especially since my friends said he took older girls to the storage shed. What was so fun about looking through people’s junk? Whenever I asked, they would giggle and roll their eyes, saying our strict foster parents would kick me out if I went.
This situation got me more and more curious. I asked Slade about the storage shed, and he said they probably looked at jars of dead babies.
“Liar. No one has that stuff in a storage shed.” But inside I shuddered because I remembered helping my science teacher with his bottles and jars of preserved animals and there was a dead baby in one of them.
I didn’t dare ask Darrell, even though we talked about everything. He told me his mother hated him and beat him all the time with a wooden spoon, and I told him mine didn’t want us. He asked me why Slade hung out with the jocks, and I said I didn’t know. Maybe he wanted to be popular, but I didn’t care.
Darrell didn’t care either, and he didn’t care what people said about him.
I was already getting hot and bothered on our rides, with my arms around him and my hands on his abs, but I didn’t understand why he never kissed me. Was it because I had zits? Or I wasn’t as developed? I’d begged Mrs. Hamilton to buy me a bra, but she put me off, saying I should not get one until I had the monthly thing.
And I wondered what Darrell did with the girls at the storage shed. Was he kissing them because they were developed?
One day, while we were out riding, I moved my hands over Darrell’s abdominals. I wanted to feel as close to him as I could, and I pressed my chest against his back with my face at the nape of his neck. I felt him swallow and take deeper breaths.
Instead of taking me home, he drove to the edge of the town. I saw the self-storage complex in the distance, and my heart beat faster and faster. I wondered if he would finally kiss me and tell me he loved me.
I was finally developed enough for him to notice me. I wondered if I could ask Mrs. Hamilton for a real bra, and when Darrell stopped the motorized bike in front of a roll up door, my heart was pounding so fast I could barely hear myself breathe.
Usually, he didn’t have to help me get off his bike, but my knees buckled and I practically fell against him. And then, even before he opened his storage shed to show me his junk, he kissed me. His lips were all over my mouth, and his tongue plunged into my throat. After the initial shock, I discovered I liked it and I moved my lips and tongue.
I was dimly aware of him fumbling for his keys with one hand as his other hand grabbed my budding breasts. I sighed as a sweet warmth flooded my chest, and I backed up enough to look him in the eye.
“Do you love me?” I asked, wondering if I was more special than the older girls he took.
“Yeah, I do. And I can’t wait to show you.” He bent down to grab the handle to lift the corrugated door.
Bam. Pow.
Instead of opening the door, Darrell’s body was slammed into the roll up door. A baseball bat swung and missed me, and then the next blow landed on Darrell’s head.
Blood exploded from his scalp, and he sagged down onto the pavement next to his bike.
My brother raised the bat to finish him off.
“No, Slade, no! Stop.” I cowered in front of him, blocking him from hitting Darrell.
The bat thudded against the corrugated door.
“I told you he’s a creep.” Slade yanked me by the hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
“You killed him,” I screamed. “You killed my boyfriend.”
Slade kicked Darrell who wasn’t moving, and I kept screaming. “Someone, call 9-1-1. Call 9-1-1.”
“Shut up.” Slade clamped his hand over my mouth and dragged me as far as the end of the row. He was still holding the bat.
