Free Blazed by Jason Myers

again.
    That fucking slut.

24.
    MY FATHER’S HOUSE IN ASHBURY heights is the nicest house I’ve ever seen this close up. These two older Hispanic ladies emerge from the front door as the town car stops in the driveway.
    My father and I get out of the car.
    The ladies rush toward the trunk as the driver grabs my suitcase from it. I take it from him, and my father hands his bag to one of the ladies.
    The other lady tries to take mine.
    â€œStop it,” I say. “I can carry my own bag.”
    The lady looks at my father, and my father shrugs. Está bien. Gracias aunque.
    My father hands the driver a fifty-dollar bill.
    â€œSo this is it,” he says. “What do you think?”
    â€œIt’s nice.”
    â€œI like to think so.”
    â€œI bet you do,” I say.
    He shakes his head and tells me to follow him.

25.
    HERE’S THE WAY THIS HOUSE goes: First of all, it’s on Ashbury and Clifford. It’s two stories, and light gray on the outside with a white border.
    Natural sunlight fills the first floor of the house. It’s so pretty and calm.
    Straight ahead is the living room. A white couch sits in front of a huge bay window. A blue-and-white rug covers the hardwood floor, and a nice wood-and-glass coffee table sits on the rug. The wall across from the couch is white, and a huge, sixty-inch flat-screen TV is on it. There’s a white leather reclining chair in the corner of the room and a white leather love seat against the far wall. Paintings hang everywhere. So do plants.
    To the right of the front door is the dining room. A chandelier hovers over a huge oak table.
    The dining room spills into the kitchen. It’s a big room.
    And it spills into a stairwell that leads to the basement, which my father’s stepdaughter, my stepsister, Kristen, occupies.
    Right next to the stairwell is a door that takes you to the backyard. There’s a hot tub on the deck out there.
    On the other side of it is a set of stairs that takes you upstairs.
    I’m impressed with all of this.
    I’m also disgusted.
    It’s not like me and my mother have been living in a dump or anything like that.
    Cos we don’t.
    Our house is pretty okay.
    But we certainly have never lived like this.
    We’ve never come close to even thinking about living how my father has been all these years.

26.
    LESLIE WALKS INTO THE ROOM. She is very pretty, which I expected.
    She’s like two, three inches shorter than me, and very tan. Her hair is short and blond and she’s got a toned, curvy body, which normally I ain’t into, but she’s making it work really well.
    She’s wearing a blue sundress and she’s barefoot.
    Her eyes are big and blue.
    My father introduces us, and she gives me a hug.
    She smells really good. Like she’s just bathed in a tub full of juices squeezed from fresh fruit.
    She kisses my cheek.
    I feel a small rise in the crotch of my pants.
    â€œWow,” she says. “You look so much like your father did when he was your age from the pictures I’ve seen of him.”
    â€œOh yeah?” I snort.
    She nods.
    â€œI wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen a picture of him before.”
    Her and my father glance at each other.
    I say, “If you guys don’t mind, I’d like to take a shower and get my things put away.”
    â€œNot at all,” my father says, then asks one of the maids to show me to my room.
    â€œYou can just tell me where it’s at,” I snap.
    â€œShe’ll show you,” he says.
    â€œI’ll show him,” Leslie says. “I’m going upstairs anyway.”
    So I follow Leslie up the stairs and down a long hallway, where more art hangs from the walls.
    She leads me to the last door on the right and goes, “Here it is.”
    Obviously, the room’s big. Way more than I need. Way more than anyone needs.
    A king-size bed is directly to the left of the doorway, with four massive pillows