Threefold Page 2

  “You were feeling sorry for me and wanting to know if I needed a ride somewhere more suitable for this fucking weather that’s coming, right?” she shrugged.

  Her dirty blonde hair hung from underneath her beanie and down to past her shoulders. Sitting on the edge of the bench, I gazed over my shoulder and began to admire the facial features of what appeared to be more than just a slightly attractive homeless woman. As she dug through the pockets of her pack, I continued to stare. She was nothing short of beautiful.

  Dirty, but beautiful.

  I swallowed, pushed myself into the back of the bench, and exhaled.

  “You like Mexican food?” I asked over my shoulder.

  “Si,” she responded without looking up.

  I brushed my hair over my ears and smiled, “You hungry?”

  “I’m always hungry. You got a name?” she asked as she pulled a floss pick from her bag.

  “Ethan,” I said as I extended my hand.

  She gazed down at my hand, hesitated, and eventually shifted her gaze upward.

  “Mine’s Rain.” she said, “Rain Bauer.”

  I cocked my head to the side slightly as I pulled my arm back and rested my hand in my lap.

  I narrowed my gaze, “Your name is Rain?”

  She nodded her head once in confirmation and glanced down at the pick. As she stared blankly into her lap, she spoke.

  “So have you got some tacos in that cool little jacket of yours, or you have something else in mind?”

  I pressed my palms along the thighs of my jeans and glanced over my shoulder, “Well, to kind of back up a little bit, I’ve seen you down here for about a month. When I came home tonight, with the weather and all, I just...I uhhm…I wondered if you wanted to come up for dinner and let the storm pass. My roommate made enchiladas.”

  She shifted her eyes up from the floss pick and gazed at me for a long moment.

  “Take your glasses off,” she demanded.

  I twisted my shoulders to the left and studied her. She sat quietly, still gazing into my eyes, and toying with the pick.

  I wrinkled my nose slightly and raised my eyebrows, “Excuse me?”

  “The glasses, take them off and I’ll give you an answer,” she said under her breath.

  I removed my sunglasses, rested my elbow on the back of the bench, and began to twirl the sunglasses between my thumb and forefinger. She slid the end of the floss pick past her lips, held it with her teeth, and lifted her chin slightly. Her blue eyes had an odd inviting depth I had never seen. As I attempted to study her and determine what was so different about them, she sighed and shook her head.

  “Green. I’ll be damned, would have figured you for blue. Yeah, sounds good, but I’ll warn ya. I can’t make many promises, but I can assure you of this,” she hesitated and raised one eyebrow.

  “What’s that?” I asked as I stood.

  “If you can’t already, once when we get inside, you’ll smell me,” she said as she pulled the floss pick from her mouth.

  “I don’t smell anything,” I shrugged.

  “You will,” she said as she reached for her canvas pack.

  RAIN

  Although I never had an opportunity to meet my biological father, I never had much of an opportunity to escape my stepfather. His repeated sexual abuse started at age eight, and never let up. When I was roughly twelve, I confided in my mother what he had been doing to me. Her shoulder shrug and explanation of his provisions to us as a family completely crushed what little faith I had in my mother’s capacity or even willingness to protect me from harm. At fifteen years of age I left and never looked back. Although I lived in the same city with the family of a high school friend, neither my mother nor the monster made an effort at all to ever contact me again.

  After I graduated high school, I felt obligated to move out of my friend’s house, and did so promptly. I quickly found out the difficulty associated with being an adult, providing for myself, and being responsible. After six months or so of an honest attempt at what seemed impossible, I finally threw my hands in the air and became a statistic. For the first two years, I stayed in playhouses and treehouses in the back yards of the east side’s upper crust, and did what I had to do for money and food. As time passed, and the desire to distance myself from my parents lingered, I began to migrate south. Eventually, I was sleeping mostly in random unlocked cars, and slowly migrating south as I did so.

  The south side proved to be far more than I was prepared for, and after a year of threatening to leave, I finally developed the courage to do so. As far as I was concerned, my move to downtown Wichita was a significant change, and I hoped it would act as a transition period in my life. It seemed everyone on the east and south side of town knew me as that cute little whore, but I felt downtown no one would have any idea who or what I was. I had hoped moving amongst many of the city’s homeless would provide comfort. When I arrived, however, the masses of homeless provided nothing more than a reassurance I was in fact homeless, and unless I made a change in what I was doing, I would remain so forever.

  Now in the heart of the city alongside every other homeless person, it was as if the reality of it all had hit me. After a month of living downtown, and attempting to stay as far away from the masses of homeless as possible, I was twenty-two years old and afraid of what my life had become. Being homeless was no longer a desire of mine, and seeing the city’s more elderly homeless pass by me every day provided a reminder of what I had to look forward to.

  Absolutely nothing.

  I stood in the corner of the elevator and attempted to take every inch of him into my view without staring. He wore jeans, what seemed to be a tailored black Harley-Davidson jacket, and laced biker boots. His rough appearance made him seem sinful. His smile told me otherwise, that he was caring. Well within my imagination, he was becoming a little of both.

  As I rode up the elevator with Ethan, I had yet another fear; my inability to say no to sex. If someone was considerate, paid attention to me, or provided so much as an ounce of care, it seemed I let them have their way with me sexually. I didn’t look at it as a requirement or payment of sort, but more of a way for them to express a greater degree of concern for my well-being. My appreciation of their kindness was spreading my legs, and their acceptance of my offer acted as confirmation of their deeper feelings for me.

  For me, sex provided a feeling of comfort. During and after sex, I felt as if my partner had become my guardian, and along with it came a tremendous rush of relief. I realized the feeling was false, but the comfort lasted far beyond the physical contact, often for weeks or even a month afterward. As a result, I couldn’t count the amount of people I had sex with – it would be impossible.

  I had never, however, known or felt love.

  On any level.

  “Here we are, number 7,” Ethan said as the bell rang and the elevator door began to open.

  I glanced toward the keypad and pushed the door close button. The door shuddered mid-way through opening and began to close.

  He shrugged his shoulders and scrunched his nose as he ran his fingers through his thick hair, “What are you doing?”

  “I like pushing the buttons and watching the door open and close, it’s fun,” I sighed, realizing I probably looked like an immature child in doing so.

  Ethan reached for the keypad and pushed 8, 9, 10, and 11. As the elevator began to rise, he pushed 7. The elevator raised one floor and the door began to open. He glanced in my direction and tilted his head toward the keypad.

  I reached for the door close button and pressed it.

  As the door immediately stopped opening and began to go closed, I turned toward him and grinned.

  So far, I like you.

  Ethan was an extremely attractive man. His thick brown hair was almost to his shoulders, and seemed to be very clean. Although his face was covered in stubble, it wasn’t enough to hide his strong jawline or the fact that he was also in good physical condition. Overall, his face was w
ell constructed and a far above average portrayal of the male species. As the elevator stopped at each floor, I wondered exactly what it was he wanted from me. No one had ever given me anything without expecting something in return. What, I wondered, would make him treat me any differently than anyone else?

  “So, if I was some 60 year old homeless man, would you have offered to feed me Mexican food and get me inside and out of the weather?” I asked at the same time the elevator reached the seventh floor.

  “Same circumstances?” he asked as he reached for the door.

  I stood firm in the rear corner of the elevator as if his response might make a difference. I knew better, but I needed to know the answer. I pulled my beanie down tight on my head and lowered my chin slightly as I glanced down at my dingy shoes.

  Tell me a lie if you have to.

  “Yeah, same circumstances,” I said under my breath as I continued to stare at the tips of my shoes.

  “I sure would have,” he responded.

  I exhaled a breath, glanced upward, and smiled.

  Thank you.

  I liked looking at Ethan much more with his sunglasses off. He seemed honest and caring. The tattoos on his knuckles made me wonder if he had a little story to tell as well. As the elevator began to buzz, the door started to close. He pulled against it and tilted his head playfully toward the opening. As the buzzing continued, I grinned, shifted the weight of my pack, and stepped into the hallway.

  “Follow me. 724, it’s at the end of the hallway on the right,” he said as he walked past me.

  “You got it, boss,” I said as attempted to match his stride.

  As he put the key into the lock and turned it, he tilted his head toward me, “Ready?”

  I shrugged my shoulders, “Suppose so.”

  He pushed the door open and motioned inside.

  The home was immaculate and in no way what I expected. I stood and stared. High ceilings with an open floor plan made the space seem much larger than it was, but it was very spacious regardless. Upon entering, a large kitchen was on my left, separated from the entry hallway by a long bar. In awe of the openness, I gazed around the loft and grinned. The entire north wall was covered in windows from the floor to the very high ceiling, and the area immediately adjacent to the windows was furnished as the living area. A table and chairs in the far corner was apparently the dining area, and beyond it, two open bedroom doors. Above the bedroom doors was an open second floor. I glanced around the living room. The furniture was obviously expensive and a combination of leather and various fabrics. Three couches, one large chair, and a loveseat filled the living area. A leather ottoman sat in front of the couch facing the wall with the television on it. Although the television was mounted high on the wall, there were no visible wires.

  Weird, maybe it’s just a decoration.

  The bathroom door opened and a younger man stepped into the room. As he walked past, he studied me. He smelled like sunshine and flowers, and looked like he belonged on the front cover of a magazine at the library. As I stood and stared at him, he smiled and held his hand outward.

  “Rain, this is Cade. Cade, this is Rain,” Ethan said.

  Cade was tall and thin, and his perfectly styled hair was cut in a modern business style. I tilted my head in his direction, “Nice to meet you. This is a really nice place.”

  “Thank you,” he said as he tossed his head toward the bathroom door. As he did, his hair followed close behind, “Not to sound pretentious or pompous at all, but if you’d like, you can shower before we eat. I just put a clean towel and washcloth on the sink. There’s everything you need in the shower, including a new razor. Dinner should be done in twenty minutes or so.”

  I glanced toward Ethan.

  He grinned and nodded his head.

  I was used to it. Almost always, men wanted me to bathe before they had sex with me. If they only wanted a blowjob, they didn’t seem to care if I was clean. If they wanted sex, they always wanted me to get cleaned up first. As I gazed through the bathroom door, a small part of me hoped they’d both fuck me. A larger part of me hoped they were simply being courteous.

  It would be nice for things to be different for just one night.

  “You sure?” I asked as I shifted the weight of my pack.

  “Quite,” Cade responded.

  “It’s fine,” Ethan added, “And when you’re done you’re more than welcome to use the washing machine to clean any of your clothes. Water’s free here, so don’t worry. I’m sure this storm is going to last a while.”

  I turned toward Ethan and raised one eyebrow, “Free water?”

  “It’s included in the lease. So yeah, free water,” he nodded as he removed his jacket.

  Oh dear God.

  You shouldn’t have done that.

  A white tee shirt hung from his well pronounced chest. Both muscular arms were covered in multiple tattoos, and it appeared he had no gut whatsoever. His waist was significantly smaller than his chest, making it seem, at least from what I was able to see, that he had a very well defined V shape to his torso.

  “I’ll take you up on that,” I stammered as I turned toward the bathroom.

  “Take your time, it’ll be about twenty minutes,” Cade said as he glanced at his watch.

  I grinned as I walked into the bathroom, eager to take a shower. The thought of feeling, smelling, and appearing clean was exciting. The bathroom, as was the rest of the house, was spotless. I glanced at the sink, toilet, and into the shower wondering if they possibly had a maid.

  I scrubbed myself in the hot shower, inhaling softly; allowing the citrus scent of the soap to fill my nostrils. I opened my eyes and watched as the water washed the soap away from my stomach and down my thighs. As the suds swirled down the drain, I gazed at the swirling water and wondered if this could possibly be a turning point in my life; washing away my past and stepping into a new stage of being, thinking, and living. I leaned away from the shower stream and realized as I squeezed the water from my hair that contemplating the possibility of change was nothing more than dreaming.

  And as much as I desired change, dreams aren’t real.

  They’re nothing more than far-fetched fantasy.

  ETHAN

  As Rain took a shower, I hung up my jacket, took off my boots, and washed my hands in the kitchen sink. The thought of talking to her openly, and finding out just what happened in her life to cause her to be homeless intrigued me. I wondered about her past, what her plans were for her future, and even where she came from. Anxious to learn as much as she was comfortable revealing, I picked up the remote and turned on one of my evening music playlists.

  “Did you smell her?” Cade whispered as I walked into the kitchen.

  Although she didn’t stink, while we were in the elevator, I noticed she smelled dusty. Similar to what I remember the attic space in my grandmother’s house smelling like, it wasn’t anything I found repulsive, but it wasn’t necessarily a desirable odor either.

  “Didn’t smell a thing,” I lied, “I thought dinner was ready when I called you from the garage?”

  “It was, but I wanted her to shower first. It’s in the oven staying warm. I hope the cheese doesn’t get dry,” he said as he opened the oven door and peeked inside.

  I nodded my head and turned toward the counter.

  “Well, she smelled funky,” he sighed.

  I shrugged my shoulders and glanced at the food he had on display. A bowl full of a corn and cheese mixture he often cooked, a large bowl covered with aluminum foil, and smaller dishes filled with shredded cabbage and chopped tomatoes sat on the island separating the kitchen from the entry. To the side, a tortilla warmer full of tortillas reminded me more of dining in a Mexican restaurant than eating at home.

  Cade was different, that was certain.

  “She’ll smell like Axe body wash here in a minute,” I chuckled over my shoulder.

  “I wonder what happened,” he said as he closed the door of the oven, “She’s really
cute.”

  “Dude, poverty is blind,” I said as I reached in the refrigerator and got a beer.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Just what I said,” I responded as I twisted the lid from the bottle, “It doesn’t matter if you’re cute or ugly, being poor isn’t a choice people make. Do you think she sat in school as a kid and said damn, I can’t wait to graduate, I want to be a homeless girl? I seriously doubt it.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, “I guess not. But she’s really cute.”

  He shifted his gaze toward the bathroom, “Did you hear that? She turned off the water. Move so I can grab the enchiladas before the cheese gets hard.”

  He waved his arms, attempting to get me to move away from the oven. As I stepped aside, I heard the bathroom door open.

  “I really hate to ask, but I’m going to,” she hesitated and pressed her face against the four inch wide gap between the door and the frame, “Do you have a pair of sweats or shorts, maybe a really long tee shirt or something I can wear while my clothes are washing?”

  “Sure,” I responded.

  “Give her one of your wife beaters,” Cade whispered as he reached into the oven.

  I glanced over my shoulders and rolled my eyes as I walked past him. As I passed the bathroom, she grinned and closed the door. After a quick survey of my clean clothes, I found a pair of new sweats I had no idea were even mine. I looked in the waistband.

  Medium. I don’t own anything that’s medium.

  Considering the fact they were possibly my ex-wife’s clothes, I grabbed a clean tee shirt, grinned, and started walking toward the bathroom. As I reached the door, I hesitated, walked to the trash, opened the lid, and pushed the sweats down deep into the trash can.