Page 3 of Love is Trash in Hallow's Cove

“Thanks for nothing,” I mutter, throwing them on top of the pile. Their vibrant pink stands out atop the pile of black trash bags, a sad metaphor for my love life. I maylook pretty, but that hasn’t kept me from being discarded like trash.

Chapter two

Jake

IloveHallow’sCovelate at night. The bustle of Main Street during the day fades into something much more calm. It’s the perfect time to do a little dumpster diving.

It never ceases to amaze me how many perfectly good things people in this town throw away. “Broken” electronics that can easily be fixed. Brand new clothes with the tiniest mark on them that comes right out when you use the right stain removal techniques. Hell, one time there was an entire birthday cake still sealed in its plastic clamshell. Sure, the horn on the unicorn decoration looked like a dick, but it was delicious.

I should probably be angry about how wasteful the citizens and visitors to Hallow’s Cove are, but I’m reaping the benefits, so it’d be a little hypocritical to care.

I’m getting started late on my dumpster rounds tonight since Gabe’s game ran a little longer than usual. I’ve tried asking the stubborn gargoyle to change our D&D nightto anything other than the night before trash pickup day, but I’m “not coming consistently enough to warrant changing the meeting time.”

The whole reason I skip game night a lot is because of said meeting time, but I can’t tell the group that. I don’t tell anyone about my nocturnal secret because dumpster diving is illegal, and I don’t know if I can trust even my closest friends to not narc on me.

As I leave the warm glow of the gaming store, I slink into the shadows when I’m sure the coast is clear. Ducking behind the dumpster next to the shop, I shrug off my backpack and strip out of my clothes. Gabe would be pissed if he knew I was getting naked outside his shop, but it feels silly to walk back to my place just to drop off my stuff. I’ll circle back here when I’m done with my reconnaissance.

The wind tonight is bracing, but I only feel it for a moment before I shift into my raccoon form. Like a lot of other shifters, my raccoon side—who I’ve named Beans—is almost a separate entity living in my head alongside my regular thoughts. But unlike some other shifters I’ve talked to, our thoughts are often exactly the same.

We agree on pretty much everything. We both love digging through trash, we both love to eat, and we both are tenacious when motivated. Sure, Beans tries to eat some things that aren’t advisable for my constitution, but whatever. Aside from some occasional digestive issues, I can rely on that side of myself without worrying he’ll mess things up.

Or at least, I thought I could.

Things tonight start out fine. I make my circuit of each shop’s dumpster and trash cans. Beans accidentally topples over the bin outside the cafe, and we have to flee before eating any of the muffins we found in there.

Come back for them.

Beans’s thoughts are rarely strong enough to be an internal voice separate from my own, but he cares so much about these muffins that he needs to make his wishes known. I soothe his frustration by mentally agreeing that I’ll get them later. They did smell delicious.

We get to the dumpster between my shop and the bodega next door, and that’s when things go sideways. Usually, I don’t bother checking that one out in raccoon form since it’s so close to home, but Beans makes a beeline for the dumpster.

Smells good. So good. Need. Need it.

I can’t help agreeing with my raccoon. Something out here smells incredible. Like nothing I’ve ever scented.

I climb up the side of the dumpster, letting Beans’s nose lead the way. Before I can even scan what’s inside, Beans leans in and grabs something pink, holding it between his paws in triumph. When he brings it up to his face, it’s like I’m struck by lightning.

Yes. Perfect. Mine.

The all-encompassing thought startles me back into my hybrid form, and I tumble off the edge of the dumpster onto the hard pavement below, a flash of pain accompanying the shock of what’s flooding my mind.

The pink fabric drapes over my face as I lie there prone, and my cock surges to life. I inhale greedily for a long moment, the fabric impossibly soft against my skin and the heavenly scent and sense of rightness overwhelming any sense of self-preservation.

A light in the apartment above the bodega flicks on, and finally my brain comes on board enough for me to scramble out of sight behind my shop.

Dumpster diving is bad enough, but being caught outside my neighbor’s window completely naked with a hard cock is grounds for arrest.

In my hurry, I trip over the stack of crates I have by the back door, making an ungodly racket as I do, but I punch in the code and get inside, slamming the heavy door shut behind me.

Shit. What the hell was that?

I look down at my hand, only to realize with a distressing jolt that I left whatever caused the frenzy back in the alley.

Beans claws at my mind, desperate to go back for it despite the commotion we caused. For the first time in my life, he’s so insistent that he forces the shift. I’m barely present in myself as I turn back to my raccoon form and he takes over.

Need it. Mine.

I dart back into the alley on all fours, weaving past the jumbled mess of crates and heading toward the pink beacon next to the dumpster. The side door to the bodega opens up and light spills out into the alley, but Beans doesn’t care.

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