Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Eight?” Siana asked, lips falling open.
“Eight kids. Five dads. A mom who was too busy chasing men to work enough to feed or clothe us.”
I didn’t think about my childhood much. There was just so much lack, so much uncertainty.
And I hadn’t even been one of the older kids, one of the ones who the weight of childrearing fell on. Like my sister Saskia, who worked two jobs to take her paychecks to Goodwill or the dollar stores to buy us clothes and food. I couldn’t imagine what they’d gone through, being forced into parentification.
But I did know that all of us struggled.
Relying on school to feed us. Then soup kitchens in the summer when the school couldn’t provide anymore. Never having new toys, new clothes, not going to movies or bowling.
With my first week of income from stripping, I’d bought myself a steak dinner, went to a movie, and bought an entire new wardrobe. That no one else had ever worn before me.
“I can’t imagine how crazy that must have been. I’m an only child,” Siana admitted. “Are you close with your siblings?”
“Some of ‘em,” I said, nodding. “The oldest two were outta the house before I really knew them well. And I’ve never really connected with them. Saskia, my sister, she and I are tight. She married one of my club brothers. The other two older than me are still around, and we catch up sometimes. One’s a doctor. The other, a social worker. The youngest two moved away and never came back.”
I figured maybe if we had a better parental figure in our lives, our relationships with one another might have been different. But everything growing up had been about survival. About rushing through meals because if you weren’t fast enough, no one left any food for you. About hiding anything you prized because someone else would take it. Maybe even pawn it.
As it is, it seemed like everyone kind of went on to build their lives the way they envisioned them, wanting to separate from the past. And therefore one another.
“Did having so many siblings make you not want kids?” she asked. “I only say that because… being an only child… I would never want to have one kid.”
“Ah, you know, I haven’t given it a lot of thought, honestly. Never been in so serious a relationship that kids were even on my mind. Figure maybe an… average number of kids would be cool. Love my sister’s kids.”
“Is your sister a biker too?”
“My sister was a street racer,” I clarified. “And she married a former street racer turned biker. Right now, though, she owns a car parts type store. Which specializes in parts for racing cars. What?” I asked at the bemused look on her face.
“Your lives sound like the books I read,” she admitted. “And here I was thinking they were all over-the-top and practically fantastical.”
And she didn’t know the half of it.
The organized crime. The enemies. The shootouts.
“It’s not all action all the time,” I told her. And that was true enough. When it came to the crazy shit, it probably only made up something like thirty percent of the time. And that was even being generous. “Most of the time, it’s a lot of parties. Every night the past week, for example.”
“Every night?” Siana asked, sounding horrified. “Doesn’t that… get old?” she asked.
“I think, eventually, yeah, it does for everyone. There’s a reason all the older members of the club are married and having kids, not partying these days. But it’s usually fun for a good, long while.”
“Do you party that much?”
“Not much anymore. I stayed for an hour or so tonight before cutting out and heading home. Not my scene these days.”
“I’ve… never been to a party,” she admitted, seeming to confess this to the teacup she had up near her lips.
“Never?” I asked. “Not even as a kid? In high school?”
“Never,” she said, gaze lifting to mine. “I was never good at… social things. Also, I was never invited,” she said, shrugging as she said it, but I had a feeling there had to be some hurt there. No kid liked not being included.
“You wanna go to a party sometime?” I asked, watching as she looked back, eyes round.
“With your biker friends?” she asked.
“That makes them sound a lot more unfriendly than they are,” I said, giving her a smile. “You gotta strike ‘Going to a party’ off your bucket list.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe,” she added. “But thanks for offering.”
“It wasn’t a pity offer,” I was quick to clarify. “I wouldn’t mind your company at a party,” I told her, watching as she went all pink again. “And I obviously don’t mean tomorrow or anything like that. But once you’re feeling up to it,” I said, watching as she walked over toward her couch, then dropped down like her legs didn’t have enough strength left to hold her up.