Porter's POV
I'd been volunteering at the hospital for one year, three months and ten days. I'd accidentally spilled pee on myself three times. The first time you spill an entire tray of pee samples on yourself, you curse, mumble about how ridiculous the entire thing is, and hope that no one notices that you smell like a men's urinal at a gas station. The second time you spill pee on yourself, you start researching on the internet why you're like this, and why you can't seem to stop making a ridicule of yourself. Now the third time...the third time is the worst. You've done your research, you've blamed the first time on human error, so by the third, all hope that you're not a new kind of awkward, clumsy species are dashed.
I was mostly used to the stares and whispers that followed me everywhere. On most days those whispers were focused solely on the subject of my absentee, psychopath of a father. But this time, they left him completely out of their conversations, instead focusing on the weirdo walking down main street, drenched in about ten different stranger's urine. I was sure they could smell from a mile away.
I kept my head down as I made my way to my house, grumbling the entire way there. As much as I wanted to blame the entire thing on the nurse who had handed me the tray of pee, and demanded I, 'take it to the third floor, and don't look at me that way, Porter; it's your job', I couldn't. It was all my fault...and Brayden's. Stupid Brayden and his stupid smile. Stupid blue eyes. Stupid mouth. Stupid jawline and his stupid everything.
Before Brayden had convinced himself that it was a good idea to involve himself with me in any way, it was very easy to avoid him. It would have also been very easy to ignore the giant crush I'd been nursing for a week now.
I'd been going to the same school as the twins since we were in nursery, never really having an interest in them or their friends. Sure, I found their lives fascinating as it was so much different from mine. But I never cared enough to try to befriend them, like most kids had. As we got older, the Cavanaughs became a fleeting thought. They became the rich, clueless family with a tragic beginning, but with the happy ending that my family would never have. Everyone in town knew what both Casey and Ryder Cavanaugh had been through as teenagers. Once he got drafted into the NHL, and caught the attention of the world, it wasn't long before every skeleton in both his and his wife's closet were exposed.
I didn't hate the Cavanaughs, they were actually one of the few families who didn't go out of their way to make my family's life a miserable hell. They stayed on their side of town, and were nice the few times I'd bumped into them around town. But as much as I didn't hate them, I did my damn best to stay away from them. They were sacred. The family our backwards town did everything in their power to protect from both my mother and I. Which is why I knew how bad the blowout of Brayden's plan would be.
"Hey, love is that you?" I heard my mom yell from the kitchen as I swung the front door open. Pulling off my candy-striper uniform, I walked into the kitchen in nothing but my bra and panties. "Spill pee on yourself again?"
"So which of the two of you caused the curse of clumsy Porter, huh? The psychopath in jail or the psychopath in the kitchen?" I asked her with a whine, walking over to the washer set alongside the dryer in our small laundry room next to the kitchen.
"Actually, that one is on your grandmother, his mother of course, she was a mean old bitch who was always tripping and spilling shit. Real disaster." I poked my head from behind the wall separating the kitchen and the little laundry room, and gave her a look, "Oh not you, honey, she was. That woman was a lawsuit waiting to happen."
"Mom, I am a lawsuit waiting to happen," I told her, walking out the laundry room and heading to my room.
"Well, they'll just be screwing themselves, because we are broke," I heard her reply as I made my way into my room, and I couldn't help but laugh. My mom was the only person in the world who could manage to make me laugh while I was covered in the urine of twelve different strangers.
Peeling my damp bra and panties off, I tossed them into the dirty clothes hamper in my bathroom, and turned on the hot water in the shower. Running my fingers through my hair, I tried to untangle the knots, my fingers getting stuck. Growling, I pulled my fingers out of my hair and stared at myself in the small mirror. I looked like a wet dog whose hair still managed to remain a dry puff ball even after being soaked in pee. My green eyes looked dull, black circles under them caused by a lack of sleep making them seem almost hollow. After everything that my father had put us through, sleeping had become a luxury, my time taken over by work and school.
My mom had hated the idea of me working, begging me not to put in an application at the diner, she'd swore that she would be fine. But I'd known she wouldn't be. She wasn't fine, and we were sinking in a flood of bills that got higher every day.
Sighing at the image staring back at me in the mirror, I made a face, sighed, and got into the shower. Letting the warm water stream down on my head, and down my back, I closed my eyes, and felt my muscles start to relax as the stress began to dissipate, going down the drain with the water.
Once I'd washed my hair, and got rid of the foul smell of pee, I walked into my room, a towel wrapped around my body and another around my hair. Drying myself off, and rubbing some lotion on my dry skin, I slipped into my most comfortable pajamas.
"Hey, mom, I'm gonna head to bed; it's been a long day," I shouted out to my mom from my room. I heard her mumble a good night, and closed my door.
***
I wasn't sure what had awoken me. I didn't know if it was a nightmare, or a noise outside my house. But as I sat in the middle of my bed, slightly disoriented, staring into nothing but darkness, I wondered if it was actually anything at all. Most of the time I hardly ever slept and when I did manage to fall asleep, it was restless.
I was about to lay back down, and let the clutches of sleep deprivation drag me back into unconsciousness, when I heard a noise. The noise that most likely had woken me up in the first place. It was a light tapping against my bedroom window.
Looking over, I jumped out of my skin, my heart stopping in my chest, when the silhouette of a man moved. Scrambling around looking for my phone to call the police, I grabbed the knife from under my pillow. Holding the knife tightly, I started to move out of my bed to make my escape, and make sure my mom was alright.
"Porter, it's me." The whispered words stopped me dead in my tracks, and I swung around to the windows, a sigh of relief leaving my lips. Stalking over to the window, I unlatched it, and pulled it up.
"What the fuck, Cavanaugh? Are you looking to get killed?" I glared, flinging my arms around. I watched his eyes widen as he stared at the knife in my hand. Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I slowly reached to my left, and set the knife on my bedside table.
"Jesus, Porter, how many knives do you even have?" he asked, incredulous and I fought the urge to laugh; he just seemed so utterly concerned.
"What are you doing here at..." I turned to the alarm clock on my bedside table and sighed, "...midnight?"
"Get changed, I'm taking you somewhere," he replied, nonchalantly, and I fought the urge to reach out, and push him flat on his ass. Seeming to read my mind, he smirked. "It's going to be worth your time, I promise."
"It's midnight, Cavanaugh. I'm gonna go back to bed, and you're going home," I told him, and reached up to grab the edges of the window. He grabbed one of my wrists before I could pull it down.
"What's the matter, Porter? Are you scared that if you hang around me after midnight, you might beg me to ravage you?" he mocked, a smirk pulling at his pink lips.
Glaring, I let out a frustrated sigh, "That would work any other time, pretty boy, but midnight Porter is not really a klutz or a babbler, she's a bitch. So move your hand or I'll slam this window on your fingers."
"Dear god, Porter, are you actively trying to turn me on? First the knife, and now the threats," he replied with a grin, and I groaned. "I think I might be a bit of a masochist."
"Wouldn't be surprised," I answered with a roll of my eyes. "You aren't going to leave until I get dressed, are you?"
He shook his head no. "In your own words, Porter, I'm not known for my restraint when going after something I want." He let his eyes slow drag down my pajama-clad body, his lip caught between his teeth. I felt my body grow hot, and my legs start to give out. Grasping the window frame tighter for support, I tried to catch my breath. Staring at him with wide eyes when his blue eyes found mine in the darkened room, lit enough by the moonlight for me to be able to make out the way his pupils grew, and his eyes darkened, I fought the urge to groan with frustration.
Dragging in an unsteady breath, I gave him an awkward nod, and turned away. Heading into my closet, I wondered if this was my new normal. Is this what I had let my life get reduced to? All he had to do was stare at me with those eyes, and I was a puddled mess willing to do anything? Dear god, what had I done to myself?
Pulling off my pajamas, I pulled on a pair of skinny jeans, a pink sweater, and my battered white converse, trying, but failing, to not think about the stupidity of what I was doing. How could I ignore the fact that I was purposely putting myself into a situation that wouldn't end well for me?
But instead of listening to my gut instinct to tell Brayden to go home, and go to bed, I was walking right into the lion's den, because apparently that was my new normal. It didn't matter that I would be getting the shitty end of the stick in our deal, I was still grabbing it with both hands, and smiling gratefully.
Walking out of my closet, I tried not to sigh, and grabbed my keys of the bedside table, climbed out the window, before turning around to quietly shut it. Turning around to face him, I motioned for him to lead the way.
He turned around and headed to the front of my house, and I followed suit. "You're okay with riding my bike right?" he asked as he made his way over to the black bike parked near my house's entrance.
"Sure, let's add that to the list of stupid and irresponsible things that I'll apparently be doing tonight...what's the harm? It's not like we can crash, and I can die, with my limbs spread out all over the highway," I replied, hotly, and he gave me a horrified look.
"Holy shit, is midnight Porter also an out of her mind psychopath? What kind of movies have you been watching lately?" he answered, shaking his head. He threw a leg over his bike, and grabbed the black helmet from the handlebars. Holding out the helmet in my direction, he raised an eyebrow.
"Um, you do know how to handle that thing, right?" I asked him, staring at him with wide eyes.
"When it comes to riding, I can handle anything, Porter," he smirked, and I gave him an unimpressed look, the panic of getting on the damn thing overpowering the need to roll my eyes. "You'll be fine, I promise."
"You make a lot of promises."
"I only make promises I intend to keep," he said, and shoved the helmet out to me one more time, giving me what I assume he thought was a reassuring look. Little did he know that look made me want to run to the safety of my room, and stay in there for the rest of my life. "Tell you what, you can hold on to me as tightly as you want."
I gave him a look of disinterest and watched his lips quirk up for a second, his eyes shining with mischief. "Do you have a better way for us to get to where we're going?" he asked with an impatient sigh, placing the helmet on the bike, between his legs.
I looked around at my empty driveway. Neither my mother nor I owned a car, not only could we not afford a car, but there really wasn't a necessity for one. Both the hospital and the diner were walking distances from our home, and I caught the school bus to school.
"Um, we could walk?" I suggested, the idea sounding ridiculous even as it left my mouth. He seemed to agree if the look he gave me was any indication. Giving him a resigned look, I walked over.
Giving the darn thing one more look of comprehension, I grabbed onto his shoulder and climbed on. Once I was settled behind him, he turned his head towards me, and held the helmet out to me. Taking the helmet from him, I pulled it over my head, adjusting the strap to fit under my chin snugly.
"You ready?" he asked, and I nodded. Realizing that he wouldn't be able to see that nod, I tapped his shoulder as confirmation. "You're gonna have to hold onto me, Porter. I promise to take it slow, I know this is your first time."
I brought my hand down between his shoulder blades, softly, but hard enough for him to know to cut it out. Adjusting myself, I got closer to his back, and grabbed onto his black and white Henley t-shirt. I felt his hands on my curled fingers a few seconds later as he uncurled them, wrapped his fingers around my hands, and pulled them forward; my arms going around his torso. He let my hands go once he felt they were safely around him, and turned the bike on, the engine stuttering for a second before roaring to life, the sleek bike vibrating between my legs.
I squeezed my eyes shut as he pulled out of the driveway, my arms immediately tightening around him, my front pressed to his back. As he pulled into the street, I knew there was no point of return for me.
I was screwed in more ways than I could think of.