“Fuck,” he breathed. “You taste so fuckin’ good.”

Phil

My Baby Girl tasted different, sweeter and hotter. Beneath the difference, I could still taste her though. Maybe it had just been so long that I had forgotten that part of her flavor. When she came, I pushed a finger inside, shaken by the liquid warmth. She felt heavier somehow, the pulsing of her orgasm thicker, weighed down.

I didn’t put too much thought into it though because, for ten minutes, I felt good, almost normal again. Inside this steaming tiny shower with my Baby Girl, there was no outside world.

Kenna scrubbed me up and hosed me down. She was looking like Sheri used to, all skinny, like she was hungering something fierce, but she was still beautiful and keeping a brave face, a smile just for me.

The real world hit me all over again when we made our way to the new bed in the living room. I wanted my own fuckin’ bed, damn it! I wanted to fuckin’ throw my woman over my shoulder, march our asses up the stairs, toss her on our fuckin’ bed, and bury myself so deep inside her that I might never be able to leave.

Instead, I hobbled my broken ass like an old-timer over to this fuckin’ imposter bed and slowly dropped down onto the mattress. “Baby Girl, would you get me a beer?”

The look on her face told me she didn’t like that, but she kept her mouth shut and headed for the fridge. I was due for some more pills, and I found them on the table next to the bed. Kenna wasn’t happy about me mixing my meds with alcohol, but it made everything bearable.

X is dead.

Each time I thought about it, the world would close in and compress on my chest. I’d give anything to wake up from this nightmare and have X back.

When Kenna sat on her side of the bed, I thought, Almost anythin’.

“Want to watch TV?” she asked, picking up the remote.

“Yeah, sure,” I replied, not really giving a shit. Between the killer blow job, the beer, and the Vicodin, I was starting to mellow hard core.

“Do we have any weed?” I asked.

“Um…I don’t know. If there is, it’d be dried to a crisp.”

“Hmm…forgot that we moved. I guess we can call Jimi tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

Why does this feel weird?

Because the whole fuckin’ universe was fucked up, man! Everything was out of fuckin’ whack!

The only thing that hadn’t changed was how I felt about my Baby Girl. She had stuck by my ass through all of this, had taken care of me, while the others had trickled home once they were well enough—except for Connor. He might have stayed more for his sister than me, but I appreciated that he had all the same.

X is fuckin’ dead.

X had been my oldest friend. He’d been the reason I’d gotten into music. He’d been the one who had come up with the name NOLA’s Junk.

It had been back in the day, and we had just snagged Flipper from Glory Hole. We’d been downtown. Jason had been the only one with a license, and he’d had his dad’s piece-of-shit truck.

“Seriously, we really just want to check out the bands. We aren’t interested in drinkin’ or anything,” Flipper tells the bouncer.

It’s a balmy warm evening. The sky has that inky quality to it, just after the sun has sunk low and the moon hasn’t risen. Downtown always smells of fried food, spices, gasoline, and sex to me—not that I know what sex smells like. I’ve made out with chicks though, and I recall the scent of mingled body odors.

X and me are sitting in the bed of Jason’s truck watching Flipper try to convince the bouncers to let the four of us in to watch the bands playing tonight.

“Dude, Crissy Lasserman let me touch her titties,” X tells me.

“Bullshit.” I snort, sounding like a rusted hinge. I really fuckin’ wish my voice would stop doing that shit.

“Seriously! I snuck in a nipple tweak at her locker between fourth and fifth period today. They’re fuckin’ amazin’.”

“Isn’t she a cheerleader?” Jason asks from behind the wheel, through the back window.

“Fuck yeah, she is. Amazin’ fuckin’ tits,” says X.

“Really shouldn’t be doing this…” one of the bouncers was saying.

“Talk to the manager? It’s for educational purposes,” wheedles Flipper.

One of the bouncers heads inside.

How Flipper is able to charm the shit outta people is anyone’s guess. He’s a twerp of a dude.

“You think Danica would let me touch her tits if I asked?” I muse.

Jason just laughs, but X shrugs and looks thoughtful.

“I think she likes you, but she’s afraid of what people will think, you know?” says X.

“What d’you mean?”

“She’s afraid people will think she’s a pedophile if she goes out with your twelve-year-old–lookin’ ass,” says Jason. “But, yeah, ask her when no one else is around. I bet she’d let you touch ’em.”

Danica is the fuckin’ hottest chick in school, and I’ve had a hard-core crush on her for as long as I can remember. With long blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a nice fuckin’ rack, I’d give anything just to be able to fool around with her.

And I don’t look fuckin’ twelve, damn it.

“Well, if it ain’t the Bum Chums and Public Enemy Number One,” came that awful sneering voice that front-manned the worst band on the face of the earth.

“Aw, man!” whined X. “Trash day was yesterday! No one dragged your nasty ass to the curb?”

“Piss off, Vic,” snaps Flipper from the door of the club.

“Fuck you, traitor! We should beat your pathetic ass for ditchin’ your brothers the way you did!”

“Maybe he was sick of wastin’ his talent on the shit pile that comes outta Glory Hole.” Jason laughed.

I keep my fuckin’ mouth shut. My rusty pipes will only bring humiliation down on us.

“Fuck you, Jones!”

“Jesus, I think my IQ is droppin’, listenin’ to your witty rejoinders.” Jason steps out of the truck.

Jason is one of the coolest motherfuckers around. Girls at school fuckin’ worship him, and all the guys wanna be him. It’s fuckin’ badass that he only hangs with us. He’s older by a year, smart-mouthed, and wise-assed, and no one fucks with him and gets away with it. And when people fuck with the rest of us, they fuck with him, too.

Plus, he’s not a virgin. That fuckin’ counts for something.

“You assholes are the ones without any fuckin’ talent!” snarls Vic, his cronies chuckling like numskulls. “Hangin’ in a fuckin’ garage, you ain’t ever gonna go anywhere. You call us trash? The four of you ain’t nothin’ but a junk heap!”

X leaps to his feet in the truck bed and grabs his crotch. “Finest fuckin’ junk in all of NOLA right here, motherfucker. Just you wait, one day, you’re gonna beg to suck it off!”

I bust up laughing at that, honking in my awful voice, which makes the rest of us laugh our asses off. Jason doubles up, pointing at me, while X howls, jangling his crotch inches from my face.

“That’s right, fuckers!” X cries. “We’re the finest of NOLA’s junk, and we’re gonna rock Glory Hole into the fuckin’ ground! You’ll be braggin’ to everyone that you gave us our fuckin’ name! This band of white trash is gonna wipe Glory Hole’s face in its own fuckin’ pile!”

Flipper wipes the tears from his eyes as he’s walking up to us. In a sneak attack, the little fuckin’ Mexican punches Vic in the nuts.

“Oh shit!” I honk. Really hope that stops soon.

Glory Hole’s bass player jumps Flip, and then it’s a fuckin’ free-for-all.