Infuriating

Chapter Two

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! This chapter is longer and slightly more interesting, but the next one will be where some stuff goes down. Enjoy!
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   "Would you mind hanging in the car for a second?" Emily asks, peering at me from the corner of her dark eyes as the car's engine purrs.
   "Sure."
   "Okay, I'll be back out in a sec. Sam should be inside. I know he'll want to meet you!" She hops out, leaving the car radio and heat on.
   Minutes later, just when I'm contemplating pulling out my phone to text Aidric, the door to the house opens. A man dressed in dark-wash jeans and a flannel steps out with Emily on his arm. When he sees me through the windshield, he turns to Emily with a concerned look.
   I glare at the pair of them, tugging my crop top down under my hoodie. Although Emily seems nice enough, this guy seems pretty stern. His tall posture and muscular build give off an air of authority that I don't like much.
   "Adrienne," Emily calls, waving me out of the car.
   Running my fingers through my hair and securing the baseball cap, I open the door.
   "I'm Sam," a gruff voice greets immediately.
   Without making eye contact, I nod and say, "Adrienne."
   "It's nice to meet you, Adrienne. I can get your bags if you'd like," he tells me.
   With a curt shake of my head, I slip the duffel bag over my shoulder and swipe a layer of chapstick on my lips. "It's nice to meet you, sir." My eyes are glued to the ground in front of me as I walk.
   Emily meets me at the foot of the stairs and takes my hand. I flinch, start to tug it away, but she leans close and whispers, "Hey, my husband is a good man. I promise."
   I glare at her sharply, knowing that she just wants to help but feeling my skin burn every with second her hand remains there. "I wasn't insinuating that he's not," I hiss in a whisper.
   She drops my hand and I pull both arms close. "I'm sorry if I overstepped," she murmurs.
    "So, uh, Adrienne..." Sam starts once we've reached the door. "How old are you?"
   "Sixteen," I say and finally meet his eyes. He's not as intimidating up close; with fingers laced with Emily's, a smile, and the beginnings of wrinkles on his forehead, he appears more relaxed. Realizing I'm being awkward yet again, I smile and look back to my shoes.
   "Good," he replies. "You'll have a lot of kids your age on the reservation."
   I don't respond, already plotting ways to get Aidric here. He'll love the small-town vibe and open roads. The fact that the reservation doesn't seem to have its own police station may also add to the allure.
   Emily leads us into the house, flipping on lamps and opening curtains as we step into an open kitchen and living room area. There's a breakfast bar under a window that overlooks a garden spotted with greens, oranges, reds, and a few lilac flowers beside the vegetables.
   "So your bedroom is down this hallway, if you'll just follow me," she says cheerfully. Halfway down the hall, she slows to pull the third door closed. But before she does, I get a glimpse of the room beyond.
   The walls are a pale lavender, spotted with shadows in the faint outlines of a twin and, possibly, a rocking chair. A bulky changing table, looking soft with a layer of dust, sits under the window. It seems to be the first room with curtains are drawn tight. From the flicker of pain when Emily turns around with furrowed eyebrows and a frown, I figure they don't go in the room much. It's probably sealed off for a reason. The empty child's room, accompanied with the quiet of a house obviously not occupied by a child, makes me hug my arms closer to me. Sweat drips between my shoulder blades from the humidity, inescapable even in the house since the screens are the only thing keeping the mosquitoes from flocking to those of us indoors.
   I have a sudden itch to hop in the shower, to let the hot water and steam wash away the feeling near-constant feeling that I'm not supposed to be here, wherever I happen to be. If only it were a physical mark, that feeling, a navy ink-stain. That way I could scrub it away with the yellow soap, always smelling like lemon or cucumber or citrus, that's only found in rarely-used guest bathrooms or hotels.
   Sam clearing his throat behind me shakes me from my haze, and I blink as we step through the door at the end of the hall. The atmosphere in here matches the rest of the house with its beige walls, accessorized here and there with framed artwork and three separate dream-catchers.
   "In case you have nightmares," Sam says bashfully– an emotion I quickly decide doesn't suit a burly man like him.
   The feathers dangling from the wood are soft to the touch. Each bead is intricately painted, dotted with maroons and magentas and aqua. "They're really pretty," I say, feeling the couple's eyes on my back.
   "What do you think of the room?"
   It has a homey feel to it, not like the coldness that emanated from the closed-off room. Maybe because there's no dust on the bedside table or because the burgundy comforter is ruffled or because there's a sloppily hung WELCOME sign above the bed.
   "The boys did the sign. Sorry if it isn't...well, the best quality," Sam mutters, eyeing the sign suspiciously.
   Emily grins at her husband, resting her head on his chest. "They did fine. Leave em' be."
   "It's very nice," I tell the pair honestly. My throat is surprisingly dry, despite the heavy air and beginning sounds of raindrops on the plants on the windowsill. The earthy tones of the room and the moisture collecting along my collarbone stirs my desire to do something, anything besides standing in this foreign room–that won't be mine for long–with two people trying so hard to meet my expectations.
   I doubt they know mine are incredibly low; clean sheets and a room with walls spaced more than seven feet apart would've sufficed. Not these perfectly arranged flowers on a scratched desk, or the sign, or the newly waxed floors. It smells like too-much chlorine in a public pool and the orange-peel stench that lingers on your fingers and trails behind you in every room.
   I'm caught momentarily in a memory, a quick flash of two summers ago when I first met Aidric, and Mac brought us both to a college party in the basement pool of the motel downtown. Someone had handed me a lukewarm beer as I walked through the door, ordering I take a gulp before going any further. Nobody cared I had only just turned fifteen. The bitter drink burned throat and left a sour taste on the back of my tongue, but two glasses later, I was dancing in my neon racerback tank and jeans cut-offs so short, you could see my bikini strings underneath. I'd kissed Aidric, who was sulking at the edge of the makeshift dance floor- really just a square outlined in lime spray paint. Mac had been lurking nearby, and when Aidric refused another beer, he pushed him into the pool, then threw me over his shoulder and jumped in himself. I ended up swallowing the bath-temperature water, rubbing eyeliner off my eyelids, and throwing up in the single bathroom in Mac's house for the rest of the night.
   All of that was before. Before I had to go to the hospital, where the police found me the first time. Before Mac started sneaking to see me in every foster home I got place in and Aidric stopped looking me in the eye.
   A door opens and closes, shaking the walls.
   "Sam, is she here?" another male voice calls.
   "We're back here," Sam replies. "That's just Billy; he's a friend."
   I move to set my bag down beside the bed. When I straighten, a man in a wheelchair is looking at me with a surprised expression and long, straight hair tucked under a cowboy hat.
   His eyes flick to the right side of my face, my swollen black eye, and then he smiles. "Well, what's your name, pretty lady?"
   I don't miss the squint of confusion that he aims toward Sam behind me or the curt shake of a head in response. A soft, annoyed hum leaves my lips before I realize I'm glaring at the pair. "I'm Adrienne."
   "Billy Black," he says with a grunt, wheeling closer to shake my hand.
   Shying away is my first impulse, but I extend my hand with a locked jaw.
   He chuckles, a throaty heartfelt noise that makes my turn to look at Emily with a rather alarmed look on my face.
   Emily hides her smile with her hand. "Don't worry about him," she murmurs as he slaps his knee.
   "Well, you don't have..." Billy gasps out, sobering from his bout of laughter. He sits straighter and adjusts his hat, crooked from the bizarre exchange. Then he grins and continues, "You don't have to shake my hand, you know."
   "I wasn't...what made you think I didn't want to?" I ask slowly, crossing my arms over my black crop top.
   "Honey, the look on your face made it clear you'd rather do anything but shake my hand."
   Sam steps around me to his friend, poking his shoulder. "I think that's enough teasing for one day, don't you?"
   Billy looks mildly confused, one greying eyebrow arched. He smells like car oil and, unsurprisingly, the woods. "Well, sure. But I was just teasing."
   All the earthy smells are making me desperately wonder is anyone around here actually smokes weed, or if the similar smell just hangs over the nature-loving town. I know I'd be getting high if I lived around this my whole life. Even now, my fingers are itching to pull a cigarette out of my pocket, even just plain the nicotine ones (no weed mixed in the chestnut-charcoal-colored mixture).
   The campfire smell that curls around every strand of my hair is making me tired, or dizzy because all I can think about is every other bonfire I've been too. Every drunk kiss, each jacket and scarf and glove removed the longer I sat by the raging heat until I was wearing nothing but a floral bikini and light short-shorts. I loved to go swimming before Cassie.
   "Adrienne, would you like to help me make dinner? Some of the boys always stumble in toward dinner time, so there's a lot of cooking to do," Emily tells me with a fake exasperated sigh.
   I can tell from the fond smile on her crooked mouth that she doesn't mind the teens coming and going as they please. "I'm not a great cook."
   Sam smiles. "I'm sure the boys would eat anything."
   "But you can stay in here or go explore a little outside if you'd like," Emily says quickly. "You don't have to help."
   "Thanks," I say lamely. "I'll probably just put my things away or something."
   They nod in agreement before disappearing down the hall. Billy winks at me, and I smile uncomfortably until he rolls out of the doorway. Emily's soft voice and Sam's booming laugh tells me that they don't mind me being here, at least not much, despite whatever underlying tension there is between us. When I hear the clanging of pots and pans, it's safe.
   Perched on the edge of the bed, curling my toes into the small rug, I pull my phone out of my bag. My fingers fly soundlessly over the softly-glowing screen, but my heart is pounding as I type out a text to Aidric.
 
   To: (803) 397-7753
   Hey, idk if u have ur phone, but I figured I'd try. I'm settled in the new f home. They seem ok. I'll send u the address later, but let me know how you are. Love you.
  
   Emily didn't mention the rules for my technology use, but I don't want her to catch me with the device nonetheless. Until I can find a decent hiding space, I plan to keep it tucked in the pocket I haphazardly sowed on the inside of my hoodie when I was in a crafty phase.