Freaks of the Rails

1. Tess

TESS

I spun the ring around my finger, head bobbing passively to the country music blaring from Luke Thompson’s rusted out truck. How much longer are they going to go for?

I’d been to a million of these stupid parties, and I didn’t have to look up to know exactly what was playing out in front of me: a bunch of dumbass guys drunk out of their minds, a trailer off to the edge of the lot where heroin flowed like into veins like sour honey.

They’d spend the night jockeying around the bonfire, peacocking their idiocy to impress girls in blue denim and crop tops — and the girls would know that they were too good for these guys, but they would settle all the same.

I’m no exception. What other options are there?

I rolled my eyes, dropping my hands to my sides. I didn’t hang around places like this by choice exactly. But years of couchsurfing and begging my way through the night had shown me that the trailer park was an oddly reliable hunting ground for a place to sleep.

Find a guy drunk or high enough that he wouldn’t notice how disgusting I found him, wait long enough to go home with him, and he’d be passed out on the couch before he could get a hard-on.

And the times he didn’t? Well, I might earn myself a week’s stay.

A roar from the bonfire made me jump: some idiot had tossed in a whiskey-doused branch, sending the flames rocketing to thunderous cheers.

I’ve gotta get out of here before these idiots burn the place down.

Pushing off from my emotional support tree, I tugged down the hem of my denim shorts and strode into the eye of the storm. I’d hoped that the short shorts might help me in my mission, but from the way eyes were trailing me, I feared perhaps they were working a little too well.

There was no changing it now, though. The rest of my stuff was with Lola from the club. And it’s not like most of my work outfits were more conservative.

I sidled up to the cooler, fetching a root beer and popping it open against a nearby stump. When no one was looking, I peeled off the label and stuffed it in my pocket. It was best if everyone here thought I was as drunk as they were.

The warm, heavy scent of smoke mixed with the sweetness of my first sip, but I still wrinkled my nose as I scanned for a target.

Someone stupid, overconfident, just a little more intoxicated than he realized.

My attention flicked to a group of guys off to my left, passing a blunt between themselves as their laughter thundered through the clearing.

“It’s not funny,” a man in a blue tee shook his head, taking a long drag before passing the skunk weed across the circle. “They just don’t get how hard it is to be a real man, nowadays. Take our protection for granted.”

“Eh, that’s now new.” A loser in a white tee muttered. “Women have never really known what’s good for them.”

“Your mom sure knew what felt good for her last night.” A dude in a cutoff flannel laughed, earning a nasty punch in the shoulder.

“Grow up!” The white shirt growled. But the bickering was quickly cut off by a man in a denim button down shaking his head.

“I mean, just look at them,” he nodded to the party, drawing the eyes of all of his lackeys forward.

“It’s a buffet of sluts. Women used to act with some sense of fucking dignity, but now, it’s all out there for the taking.

Hell, they’re desperate enough they’ll start humping each other!

And they have the nerve to act surprised when a man’s natural urges take the wheel? ”

“It’s no wonder there’s so many broken homes nowadays.” The last asshole — a loser in a stained, dingy wife beater — shook his head. “What’s the point in paying to keep a woman who’s willing to give it up for free?”

“Don’t worry,” I scoffed. “Women aren’t holding their breath over your lint-filled wallet.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew it was a mistake. Dangerous to challenge them on their own turf. But I’d already stepped out of line. No point in backing down now.

He was slow to register me, but when he did, his nose wrinkled. “Says the whore. Aren’t you late for your shift at Velvet Paradise?”

The hair stood up on my spine at the club’s name. Of all the people to recognize me, of course it would be these assholes. Just my luck.

Most of the patrons at Velvet Paradise were chill. They knew the rules: no touching, no fucking, and no following us home. But there were always a handful of scumbags who’d get kicked out by the bouncers.

I’d bet a night’s tips on which kind these guys are.

The one in the flannel chuckled sloppily. “She’d better get on. They’re going to have an eruption of blue balls on the dancefloor if someone doesn’t ride some cock soon.”

I narrowed my eyes at the childish joke. “So which is it?”

“What?” He swayed, trying to focus his gaze on me.

“You want women to close their legs, or you want to get your dick wet? Can’t have it both ways.”

“Well since you’re offering…”

“You fucking wish,” I snorted, cool root beer easing my tightening throat. “You can’t afford me. Plus, two inches and five minutes isn’t worth the cost of the abortion.”

That word chilled the conversation like a bucket of ice water. I hadn’t just bruised their egos — I’d laughed in the face of their flimsy morals. I’d reminded them that I existed outside of their bubble of respectability and shown them exactly how little control they really had over me.

And now, the look in their eyes wasn't the flippant indifference reserved for educating some silly lady. It was the chilly rage of men with something to prove.

The one in the wife beater took a long drag of the blunt, blowing the smoke in my direction as his eyes raked over my bare legs. “Where are you staying tonight?”

“With a friend,” I lied, tossing my empty bottle toward the edge of the clearing before turning away from them. “Hope you and your hand have a good night.”

As I walked away, a roar of jeers and laughter swept over their group, buying me enough time to walk away from the interaction. But I wasn’t stupid enough to think my insolence would be easily forgotten.

I’ve gotta tread carefully. And I’ve gotta find a better plan than couchsurfing.