Page 36 of Trailer Trash

“Hey, man,” I greet Brax.

This is his place after his mom went to prison, and he sure throws the best parties here.

He lifts his chin and hands me a beer.

“Damn, bro, they fucked you up,” he says.

His perfectly styled curly blonde hair shifts as he tilts his head, gawking at my face. He must be drunk to be so blunt about it. On second thought, these people don’t give a shit about faking shit or manners. It’s kind of what I like about them.

Anyway, my new scars must be noticeable. Dad took out the stitches today. I was hoping that would help. Guess not.

I grunt, disappointed.

“Yeah, they sliced me up good.” I lift the beer to my lips, just now realizing I’ve already cracked the can open. The hoppy aroma floats to my nose, familiar and inviting.

Of course, Harlow’s annoying professional voice resurfaces, telling me to resist temptation. I stored some clean urine before this party, though. I’m sure she’ll test me on Monday.

I sip the beer. Then another. I tell jokes. I socialize.

And by midnight, I’m feeling good despite the fifty times I’ve been asked about my face. The drunker people get, the more they blurt dumb shit like “Hey, you’re the joker now,” or “Wow, look at two-face.”

I don’t like it. I preferred women smiling coyly when we first met or asking about my tattoos, not gawking at me like I’m actually Freddy Krueger. They eventually flirt, but I wonder if they’re attracted for novelty’s sake.

After opening another beer, I slip into the pool and sit on the ledge, keeping my face above water. Dad said no swimming until the cut closes completely, but Dad says a lot of shit.

The scent of chlorine burns my nose, but the water is cool and refreshing against the humid night air. A pretty blonde approaches with a joint between her lips. We chat a little. My eyes fix on the embers’ glow as she inhales. She passes it to me—

“No, no, no,” a woman says, her voice familiar. For a second, I think I am hallucinating.

I glance across the pool, and my eyes go wide.

There, Harlow stands tits-deep in the shallow end of the pool, laughing and talking to some guys. Keysha and Brax are beside her.

Keysha. Brax’s girl. Of course. That’s how Harlow got here.

And she’s in a tiny black bikini.

One of the guys laughs. “Nobody goes two years.”

“Oh my gosh!” she says, her voice way louder than normal. She pushes on his shoulder. Her body movements are sloppy and exaggerated. “I told you. I haven’t had sex for two years!”

Holy shit.

My toy is drunk.

Very drunk.

And that was some statement.

Two years. Zero sex.

No.

The blonde is still holding the joint out to me.

I found something better.

9