Chapter 16
the sixteenth chapter
MARK
Clothes soaked. Hair sticking to my skin.
I almost slip on the stairs, leaving a trail of droplets in my wake.
But it’s the noise that frightens me most.
Especially in an old wooden building like this.
The howl of the wind shakes the rafters, windows rattling in their frames.
The walls curve inward, roof holding on by a thread.
That bus ride back to the city was awful.
I had to catch two of them because the whole train network has been suspended.
“Must be a nasty one brewing if they've shut down the tracks,” a passenger says.
“Heard about it on the news,” another person replied.
“Look at that monster. Definitely a super cell. It’s forming right above the city.”
I deeply regret turning around to see it.
Imagine the worst possible image for a storm phobic to have seared into their mind.
A towering, spinning citadel of atmospheric fury hovers above the downtown area.
Skyscrapers cower like feeble twigs beneath its gloom.
To me it looks like an evil crown of bruised purple and charcoal gray.
A villainous symphony of the elements.
More terrifying than any storm cloud I’ve ever witnessed.
And I live right underneath it.
But I have nowhere else to go.
And I can’t get off this bus in the middle of a traffic jam.
My stomach twists into knots.
No. Not here.
Please, not here.
My palms begin to sweat, dizziness taking over.
Wish I lived in the opposite direction.
Wish I’d never listened to the librarian who'd told me to go to Nudgee.
The worst fucking beach in the world.
Nothing but mud flats and mangroves.
Not a speck of white sand.
If I’d never listened to her, I wouldn't be stuck here.
Trapped inside this tin can of a bus, having a panic attack.
We’re still several miles from the edge of town.
But even if I beg the driver to let me off, where would I run to?
I’d have to go back eventually.
And if there’s a flood, I might not be able to get home.
Back to safety.
Back to Porter.
Better to have a roof over my head than to stay outside.
◆◆◆
I still have nightmares about being locked out during storms.
Now the memories surface again.
The way my dad laughed every time I pounded on the door.
“Let me inside, Daddy. Please.”
But he never did.
He started doing it when I was still small enough to wear nappies.
Ray found it entertaining.
Most of the time he did it to get a reaction from my mother.
Her screams were the worst part.
Whenever she'd tried to open the door, my dad would grab her by the throat.
“Fucking teach you both a lesson,” he'd growl.
“Ray, let him inside! He’s just a baby!”
“Gotta toughen him up, that bloody pansy son of yours.”
And then because I peed my pants, I’d get a beating.
It happened more times than I can count.
My body still remembers those stormy hours, even years later.
Every time shadows brew on the horizon.
Every time I hear thunder echo.
The nausea rises.
My thoughts spiral.
I don’t know how to make it stop.
It just takes over.
Being in an unfamiliar location makes it worse.
More vulnerable somehow.
◆◆◆
The other passengers seem fine about it, excited even.
That’s when the dread deepens.
Perhaps city storms are always like this.
I really wish Beth was here.
I reach for my phone to call her.
No signal. Not even one bar.
Has the grid gone down already?
The rain hits first, pummeling down until the gutters overflow.
My bus has to take a detour, letting us off one suburb from where I need to be.
I haven’t been to this part of town before.
Which way am I supposed to go?
No signal for GPS.
I follow the maze aimlessly until I find a familiar sushi store.
Everything is shut.
Sandbags line the entry ways.
The river walkway has been cordoned off.
Who’d be dumb enough to go down there on a day like this?
As I run up the hill, sirens wail from a distance.
One block to go.
My shirt and pants are drenched.
The front entrance is bolted shut.
Everything is dark when I peer through the windows.
So I head around the back, emerging through the kitchen door.
I reach the top of the stairs less than a minute before the hail begins.
Icy spheres the size of tennis balls.
At least that’s what one of the guys along the hallway yells.
No lights or hot water.
Power outage across the entire city.
The one time I dare to look out the window, all I see is darkness.
But night is hours away.
My heart rate doubles, stomach acidic and churning.
Is Porter even home?
I can barely breathe.
I’m too scared to tell the others.
They’ll probably make fun of me.
Would it be awkward to knock on his door?
You know… after our steamy interaction this morning?
I hold out as long as I can.
But I can’t bear the thought of being alone right now.
◆◆◆
My first knock goes unanswered.
The thunder and wind are deafening.
So I use my fist this time.
How embarrassing to let my crush see me cry like a wuss.
Thankfully Porter isn’t embarrassed.
Not even a little.
As soon as he opens the door, he takes me by the hand.
He can see the tears.
He doesn’t ask questions.
He simply wraps me in a blanket, closing the door for privacy.
Patting the bed with his hand, he invites me to sit.
“I can't,” I whimper. “I'm gonna be sick.”
He empties a small rubbish bin from under his desk.
“Just in case,” he says.
The sky has dimmed so much that I can barely distinguish the items on his shelf.
He crosses to the other side of the room, looking out at the street.
Then his silhouette walks toward me.
“Come here,” he soothes. “I've got you.”
Ducking beneath the blanket, he cradles me in his arms.
“I know you're scared. It's okay.”
I’m shaking, both from fear and from the cold.
“We need to get you out of these wet clothes,” he says softly.
“But I’m…”
“I promise I'll close my eyes.”
Peeling the soggy fabric from my body, I step onto the carpet.
Removing my underwear, I stand behind him.
His back is still turned.
A shirt and pair of shorts are offered to me.
Then the blanket cocoons me once again.
Together we huddle at the foot of the bed, trying to stay away from the window.
Every time a boom of thunder shakes the building, Porter shields me.
He’s humming a familiar tune.
It takes me a moment to recognise it.
Sam somebody.
Stay With Me.
This song was playing in the kitchen downstairs last night.
He must have noticed when I mouthed the chorus into a soapy half-washed whisk.
I like hearing him sing. It’s helping, I think.
My heart slows, just a little.
But I’m sure he can feel it pounding as he holds me.
◆◆◆
An hour passes, maybe two.
We sit on the floor now, still wrapped together like a pancake.
He never lets me go, not once.
When the worst of the storm finally subsides, we lay against the pillows.
He spoons me the entire night.
I must have drifted off to sleep at some point.
When I open my eyes, it’s still pitch black.
The noise has ceased at last.
Sticky humidity hangs low, beads of sweat forming on our skin.
The sheets are damp, the blanket too.
“You awake?” Porter whispers.
“Yeah.”
“Still no air con,” he grumbles.
“Follow me,” I reply, holding out my hand.
We tiptoe down to the kitchen.
An eerie silence replaces the usual hum of refrigerators and vent pipes.
Prying the door of the freezer open, we fill two large metal bowls with ice.
Carrying them back to the room, we’re careful not to wake anyone.
Laying side by side on the bed I remove my shirt.
Then I spread a handful of frosty cubes across my chest and stomach.
Porter does the same.
Now that I’m calm, his questions flow.
“Where did you disappear to yesterday, anyway?” he asks. “I missed ya.”
“Went to the worst beach in the world,” I laugh quietly.
“Nudgee, I'm guessing?”
“Uh huh. So much for my first time being special.”
“Your first time?”
“Never seen the ocean before,” I confess.
“For real?”
“Nah, we don't have one in the middle of the outback,” I tease.
“You don't say…”
He gives my thigh a playful squeeze.
“Should've stuck around. We could have made our own beach in the bathroom.”
He leans close to whisper in my ear.
“Swim suits optional.”
I add another handful of ice cubes to my belly.
Hopefully it might delay the inevitable heat between my legs.
Too late.
“Couldn't trust myself to stay here,” I say, turning to meet his gaze.
“No?”
“I’d just seen you naked.”
“I was hoping you’d follow me…”
“Porter. You know we shouldn’t. That's just asking for trouble.”
But I don’t mean a word of it.
“I like trouble,” he says, running a hand across my hip. “You're my kind of trouble.”
◆◆◆
Holding a half melted piece of ice between finger and thumb, I take a risk.
Tracing a curve around his nipple, I watch it harden.
My mouth warms the skin, cool beneath my tongue.
His breath shallows slightly.
Our eyes remain fixed on one another.
A hint of sun emerges along the windowsill.
The second ice cube travels further south.
I guide it around his belly button and along the waistband of his pants.
He skims a shard across my shoulder and along my arm.
Then as if to signal his intention, he draws an icy line across my lower lip.
“Can I?” he mouths silently.
I nod a yes, heart wild in my chest.
The hungry throb between my legs intensifies.
I run a hand through those curls as Porter leans down to kiss me.
Pure magic, the softness of his tongue against mine.
Legs entangled, hands and mouths exploring.
Our breath grows heavy.
I tug my shorts down, dropping them onto the carpet.
For a moment he kneels above me, drinking me in.
My naked body is there for the taking.
“You sure?” he whispers.
“Without a doubt.”
Skin to skin, fragments of ice melt between us.
Our kisses deepen as desire soars.
His hand rests on my belly, lips marking a gentle path from neck to navel.
Fingers lace between mine as his mouth ventures lower.
And then, sweet heaven.
Tender heat envelops me.
“Ohhh… oh fuck…”
Euphoric bliss.
The damp twist of his palm, the caress of his tongue.
“Porter,” I moan.
“Mmm?”
“Keep going... keep going…”