Junk Love.

five.

Carter is a flesh and blood enigma. Mel struggles to "fit in" but he's so easy to be with. Not that he isn't complicated, far from it, merely that she finds a kindred spirit in his unpredictable mood swings. He's an outcast like herself.

"Where are you from?" Mel asks.

"Jersey." He kicks a rock from under his shoe, sending it skittering down the sidewalk. "You?"

"Maryland."

The sad Eeyore lifts from Mel's mind. Evolving into a comical orange cartoon character that flew from the chasm of her thoughts with flappy oversized ears for wings. She's used to its weight and she's liberated by not having to tote it around for a little while.

"How did you get dumped in the Big Apple?" Carter asks.

There's a dry humor to his question he doesn't realize. Her smile is sardonic. "Got dumped. Literally."

"No shit?"

"Not by a boyfriend though." The tips of her fingers go numb and cold so Mel stuffs her hands in her oversized hoodie. "It was just my dad. He was a minister. He loved the church more so..."

Carter doesn't pry and she likes that about him. He says, "My mom threw me in the shit creek young too. I was basically raised in a bar."

"She was a bar-tender?"

"Stripper."

Mel can't help but cringe sympathetically. "That must have been rough."

The realization she has then makes her stomach sink. She'd rebelled against religion. He'd rebelled against the lack of one.

Car horns echo behind them as they dart across a busy street hand in hand. Change rattles from the guitar case slung over Mel's shoulder.

"What's your favorite animal?"

Her laugh is carbonated like soda. "Sea turtles."

"Really?"

"Ya know like Squirt out of Finding Nemo? He's my tramp stamp."

Carter trips over an upraised corner of the sidewalk. He manages to shrug it off by flipping up the collar of his jacket but she knows she's surprised him.

"Just kidding, he's on my inner thigh. Any tattoos for you?"

"Seven." He raises his fists at her. On his knuckles, one letter per pointer finger, spells the word HOPE-LESS. "Got that when I was fourteen. Not 'cause I am hopeless. Just to remind myself to hope and then less it, I guess."

"Pretty grim for a fourteen year old."

"I prefer introspective."

They walk and talk until the city turns neon. Shop-lights buzz like an electric bug zapper and lamps shine soft golden above them. The street-lights are the lanterns of New York. Before meeting Carter, Mel knew if she didn't stray too far from the lamps she'd always feel at home. Regardless if she ever got a real one or not.

Having Carter travel with her coaxes Mel away from the familiarity of downtown. Before long, they're wandering a residential neighborhood she's never visited before. The traffic noises are replaced by crickets chirping and dogs barking distantly in the background.

"What's your favorite song?"

Of all her questions, personal or not, she didn't expect him tense at that. "I don't listen to music."

"Like at all? Ever?"

"Not for a long time." Carter sighs.

A neon hue highlights their skin when Mel pulls Carter to a stop under a sign that reads Bloom Motel with a purple rose at the bottom to accent bold red font. Aside from a couple liquor shops or a dollar stores the neighborhood consists of one plush suburban home after another.

Blisters remain an issue. Mel can feel blood in her shoes sticky and dried. She knows her socks are likely glued to her feet by it. Walking all the way back to camp in this state could set her back two days of panhandling.

Without saying anything to Carter, she opens the front door, glancing behind her when he remains stagnate outside. "You staying?"

☯

Aside from the guitar case propped against the wall they're anomalies in this room. A watercolor painting of an aspen grove hangs over the bed and the comforter is embellished by rose-buds. It's all very... earthly.

After she showers, Mel is surprised to see Carter already sitting shirtless on the bed. He's leaning over a complimentary handheld mirror on the nightstand. Three thin lines are spread on the glass like frail snow.

Only a towel covers her still dripping body but Mel doesn't hesitate at the possibility of indecency before flopping onto the mattress by his side. She has toilet paper wrapped around her mangled feet but is too exhausted to care about that either.

While Carter gets his fix, vaporizing the lines into his sinuses, she lights a cigarette. There's a tattoo on his right bicep she focuses on. This one depicts three skulls erupted in electric blue flame -- one covering its mouth, the other the sides of its head, and the last with a blindfold over the eye sockets.

"What's that one mean?" Like static she can feel hairs raise on the back of her arms when she dares touching the art printed on his skin.

"See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. I was seventeen."

"Did you get all your tattoos when you were a teenager?"

"Last year, I was twenty-six, and got the one on my back."

Ever since his kiss gravitationally pulled her into his orbit, Mel's body reacts to his before her mind can catch up. She starts to rub his back while staring at the tattoo on his shoulder blade. A vivid orange of flames offsets the script written there. The language is foreign.

"Is it German?"

"You're the first girl to guess that." Carter winces when she massages her fingers deeper into his taut skin. "My Dad was German. I never met him but I like to think knowing my heritage gives me some sort of identity."

"What does it say?"

Carter is able to catch her off guard with ease. Opting out of answering, he uses his fingertips to caress her inner thigh until she's gasping for breath. Goosebumps follow his touch reducing her to a shivering mess despite not being cold at all.

Although Carter's fickle openness is sometimes frustrating she keeps invigorated. It's like the flames of his tattoos are absorbing from his skin into her skin setting her alight. When he draws circles around the cartoon turtle tatted on her thigh she sighs deeply, tipping her head back in ecstasy.

There's been other men before him, most were merely boys or hoodlums like herself, but not a single one has made Mel feel this way. Lack of air leaves her gasping and writhing underneath his touch when he untucks the towel from around her.

Mel has never let someone fuck her so soon. Carter navigates her body like a painter -- licking, caressing, and stroking all the right places until he's crafted an artful masterpiece. He's fast and rough. The intensity of his bucking hips is almost too much to handle. Whenever her delectable moans raise in pitch, he blesses her with a kiss that burns sharper than holy water dripping on her neck and breasts.

Sex with Carter is so damn gratifying it should be a sin. Perhaps it is exactly how it feels but she will willingly worship at hells-gates before she'll allow herself to forget these sensations tingling through her like an electric shock.

Mel dimly remembers him shifting his weight off her. He lays close with his legs tangled around hers like a spool of fishing line. Her thighs lock up and her eyes flutter shut soothingly while he combs his fingers through her hair. Somehow, Carter manages to be her most fatale sin and sweetest lullaby all in one.

☯