Page 30 of The Trailer Park Twink
I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Now that I know my boy has a thing for me, and that I’m pretty sure I have a thing for him, it’s made me realize a few things. I don’t know if I’ve ever actually loved my wife, or if I just took to Aussie, enjoying his company so much I just married his mom to get to spend time with him. And, after realizing that’s probably true, I’ve realized I’m a monster, because what the hell kind of man does that? Who drags a somewhat-innocent woman into a marriage, not realizing it’s her son he wants instead of her?
She ain’t all that innocent, though, considering she just goaded my boy by telling him I’d never fuck him. I know Ishouldn’t want to fuck him, but now the words are in my head and I can’t get them out. I can’t get the cruel tone in her voice out either. She was so vicious. So unnecessarily bitter that it caused the bitterness to spread into me, too, like too-ripe fruit sitting side by side in the fridge.
The more I think about those words, the more I want my Aussie. I don’t know how things will work sexually, but I think we have to try, if only just to see. I’ve got his namesake branded on my ass, but he’s always been branded on my heart, right from the first moment I met him. I remember the way he smiled sheepishly at me, looking like a lost lamb. Now, I’m finally realizing all those lost looks he’s been giving me are something more. Something so, so much more than I ever could have hoped for.
I’ve never looked at a man sexually, but my stepson oozes sex appeal. It drips out of him, just as thick and hearty as the pre-cum oozed out the other night, his little cock twitching, just begging to be touched. Demanding to be claimed.
And now he’s crying in his room, and I can’t do a goddamn thing to stop it, because Shelly’s three sheets to the wind, belting out the undeniable gay anthem, “Y.M.C.A.” by The Village People. I know I ain’t supposed to call it a gay anthem anymore because that little MAGA bootlicker threatened to sue people, but I like to make waves. I wish to fuck thatugly-ass son of a bitch would try to sue me. Die mad about it, douchebag.
“It’s fun to stay—”
“Nope,” I say, covering her mouth. “That’s about enough of that. Dammit, Shelly."
“Wanna fuck my husband,” she whispers into my ear, practically fucking my eardrum with her whiskey-scented breath. “You can’t be mad at me for that.”
I can, actually. I can be mad at her for a lot of things. The way she’s always so damn cruel to Austin. How she can’t stay sober to save her life. The way she wasted my paycheck on meth enough times that I finally had to cut up her debit card, giving her a daily allowance instead. It feels like I’m married to a child sometimes.
“I ain't in the mood.”
“It’s him, isn’t it?” she slurs, raising her voice as she turns her head in the direction Aussie’s bedroom, shouting, “This is about that fuckin’ queer thorn in my side.”
I stand up from the couch and walk her to Aussie’s bedroom door, not opening it, because the last thing my boy needs is to see me carrying his mom around the house in my arms. He’d probably get real jealous. He always gets real jealous when it comes to Shelly.
“Now you listen to me,” I whisper sternly into her ear. “That boy has done nothing to earn the hatred you hurl hisway every day. He’s a good fuckin’ boy, and I’m not going to let you keep hurting his feelings. You apologize to him. Do it now, or I swear to God I’m gone. I’ll leave, and I won’t ever come back. You’re going to do your fuckin’ best to be the mom he deserves, or I can leave your ass here to rot.”
Her eyes narrow, and she pinches my nipple as hard as she can, but I hold in a pained cry, because I don’t want to scare him. “Put me down, Dallas.”
I guess she’s made her choice.
As expected, she doesn’t apologize to her son, just rears back her arm and decks me in the face. It don’t hurt or anything because she ain’t got much upper-body strength, but it still takes me by surprise. I caress my jaw where her fist just connected, staring at her in disbelief. I know we ain’t always had the healthiest dynamic, what with her rampant drug use, and my newfound love for the boy I think of as my son, but we’ve never come to blows. She’s pissed in the milk to get back at me before. She dumped my daddy’s ashes down the toilet when I helped Aussie study for his test a few weeks ago instead of cuddling up next to her while she was tweaking balls. Shelly’s never hit me though, and it makes me see red.
I ain’t gonna touch her, obviously, because a man ain’t supposed to hit a woman, but the look I give strikes her harder than my fist ever could.
“Dallas . . .” she says, her eyes widening. “Baby, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I’m just so—”
I shake my head, warning her back. “I need you out of my sight. You need to get your ass out of this hallway right now, because I’m about five seconds away from saying something that I won’t be able to take back.”
“Dallas, please,” she pleads, gripping my hand, but I pull it away.
“I swear to God, you need to get the fuck away from me. Right now.” I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing so I don’t accidentally let the D-word slip out of my mouth. Right now, I’m ready to say it. Right now, I’m okay with throwing away the life we’ve built, taking her son with me, leaving her behind.
Her footsteps pitter-patter down the hall, and she don’t stop until she’s on the other side of the trailer, rushing into our room. Taking another deep breath, I try to steady my racing heart. With a gentle knock, I twist the doorknob. As it opens, I spot Aussie sitting on his bed, a single teardrop on his cheek. He’s staring at his phone, and as I approach, I look down to find both our smiling faces beaming up at us from his screen. He’s looking through old pictures of us, swiping and crying, crying and swiping. He’s got his earbuds in, probably trying to drown out our noise, and I’m pretty sure he don’t even know I’m beside him. I place my hand on his shoulder, andhe startles, looking up at me with fearful eyes. The fear fades a bit when realization settles in that it’s only me and not his momma. He pulls an earbud out and opens his mouth to speak, but I shake my head.
“Pack your bags,” I whisper. “Then meet me at the truck.”
“Dallas?” he whispers, looking confused.
I lean down, my entire body rocked with nerves, and I give my boy a gentle kiss on the lips. Our mouths don’t part, and there ain’t any tongues involved, but the chaste kiss fills me in a way I’ve never been filled before. I need more of that. More of him loving me more than I’ve ever been loved before. I cup his cheek, just letting my hand linger as long as I want it to.
“Daddy loves you, Aussie,” I whisper, my heart racing so fast I can hear it beat in my ears.
“I . . . I love you too, Daddy.”
For the next ten minutes, Austin packs a bag with everything he’ll need for our week away. As he does that, I head to my room, surprised to find Shelly passed out in our bed. I walk to the wall and unlock my safe, where I keep everything I can’t trust my wife with, and pull out a wad of cash, shoving it into my pocket so I can leave it for her with a note in the kitchen. Next, I grab the overnight bag I use during deer season, when me and the Core Four head out to our shared deer camp, just a few miles north of Carthage. I shove as many of my clothes asI can into the bag, then my essentials. Earbuds, pot, and a little cash to carry with me.
Staring down at my wife, something feels different. It’s like, with her punch, she’s knocked away any trace of love I may have still had for her. I don’t simply dislike her, I think I despise her. From the hateful way she talks to my boy, to the way she’s ruined so many plans I’ve tried to make to get us into a better life, I resent her more than I’ve ever resented her. I don’t know if I’ll be coming back when Aussie comes home, because I don’t think I can even look at her anymore.
I make a beeline for the safe again, shoving everything inside into my bag. Birth certificate, the title for pickup truck, and all the other bits of paper that tie me to this place. The last thing I grab is my cowboy hat. I ain't never been much of a cowboy, but my daddy gave it to me before he and Momma died, and wearing it makes me feel closer to him. I don't ever want to lose that connection, so I place it on my head and push it down until it's secure.
