Cornered

1 Thud. Thud. Thud. The rhythmic pounding from Kyle’s bedroom sent a twitch to the muscle just beneath my left eye. Thud. I grabbed my pillow and attempted death by self-asphyxiation. Thud. I guessed, if being completely honest, I could’ve ignored the incessant beat that I had to listen to on a daily, nightly—sometimes even hourly—basis ... if not for the growls and the gasps and the screeches and— With a groan, I flopped over onto my stomach and dug my right ear into the mattress, while plugging my left by squishing my forearm against it. Thud, thud. It wouldn’t have been so bad had there been at least one corner of the house they couldn’t be heard from. Thud, thud, thud. It also wouldn’t have been so bad if my own d**k didn’t twitch in response—a result of too much pickiness and too little action of its own. Thud, thud, thud, thud. With a growl, I pretty much threw myself off the bed, knocking my pillow flying across the room and a picture frame slamming down face-first against my nightstand. On my stride to the door, my feet hit the carpet so hard, I might as well have been yelling 'Fee-Fi-Fi-Fum’, like the giant in Lia’s fairy tales Jem made me read to her. The bedroom door clattered off the wall as I swung it wide, and I stepped out onto the landing, where the snarls and wails built into a deafening crescendo, smothering my ears before I passed Kyle’s bedroom door. Sometimes, having enhanced hearing sucked. My descent to the hallway drummed the stairs, and, at the bottom, I snatched up my boots and began yanking them on, balancing on one leg at a time as I did so. Dad’s massive form appeared in the living room doorway to my right, as I straightened and reached for my leather jacket off the banister. “Pay-per-view’s quieter than those two,” I said to him, shrugging on the jacket. “'Least you can mute the b****y screen.” He sent me a nod, the simple gesture seeming to confess he knew exactly how I felt—though I doubted he did. “Going somewhere?” “Yeah.” I scooped up my helmet and keys off the hall stand. “Out.” As I took a step for the front door, he gripped hold of my arm. When I turned back to him, his green eyes regarded me from beneath his thick ginger waves. “You can talk to me if you need to, Dan.” “I just did,” I said, trying to shrug loose. A hint of hurt entered his eyes, as he frowned. “You’ve been out every night this week.” “Perceptive of you.” “You’re not the only one who’s had to adjust to Brook being here.” “I know that. But sitting here listening to the show day after day is your prerogative, Dad. Just as getting the hell out of here, so I don’t have to, is mine.” I jerked my chin toward his hand wrapped around my bicep. “My arm?” He released me, but only after he’d stared me down with his probing attention for a few beats, and I marched from the house and into the cool evening air. At some point, rain had kicked in for about the fifth time that day, dulling what should’ve been a pink dusk to a wishy-washy grey. I rounded the house to the carport, and in the dusty shadows, tucked between Dad’s pickup and the house, my new wheels called to me like the escape I’d bought it to be. Ethan and Shelley’d had my old Hi-Lux for Gabe, a couple months before, and the pack’d been shocked as hell when I’d taken their money, gone out alone, and returned with a matt black Triumph Speed Triple. One with a single seat. It’d taken some explaining for them to 'get’ that sometimes a guy just needed to be alone. Swinging a leg over the seat, I straightened the bike and slotted in the keys. A press of a button brought the engine grumbling to life, and I gave a little twist of the throttle for good measure. With it idling between my thighs and loving every single vibration it sent through me, I slid my helmet over my mess of hair and fastened it in place under my chin. Five seconds later, I’d rolled out into the faint mist of rain, down the driveway, and had hit one of the few roads that cut through the forest of Wild Woodington in Derbyshire. ***