I slide on loose shorts and one of Anders’s many black shirts. He smiles at the sight of me. I take his hand in both of mine and walk with him to the kitchen. He dumps food, beer, and marijuana on a tray. He never releases my hand while he prepares goodies for outside.
I watch him rather than what he’s doing. Anders is like a wild animal. When he’s calm, I imagine him as a tenderhearted pet. When he’s angry, I’m aware I might die from his ferocious strength. The reality is he’s both terribly kind and kinda terrible. I choose to focus on the first part.
The dark yard lights up when he hits a button. I walk outside to find a mild evening. He rests food on the table before taking the marijuana with him to the spot where I sit in the grass.
“Do you ever sit out here at night?” I ask.
“I’m usually at the clubhouse until it closes at two. I don’t like sitting in the house alone.”
Nodding, I watch him light the marijuana. His gaze holds mine, still trying to intimidate me. If I didn’t know he could be different, I would think Anders was a bad man. Big and scary, he uses his size to scare me so he can get his way.
But I do know he doesn’t always act so hostile. The question is who controls Anders the most—the softer man who opens his heart to me or the angry man who thinks I’m his enemy?
“You should eat more,” Anders says as I sit between his legs and rest my back against his chest. “You’re so thin.”
Feeling self-conscious, I rub my stomach. “Do you think I’m ugly?”
“Of course not. You’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”
Smiling back at him, I caress his jaw. “Your beard is all sticky from my vagina.”
“Call it a pussy.”
“Call what a pussy?”
“Your pussy,” he says, reaching between my legs and cupping my vagina. “And call my penis a cock. When you say the other words, I feel as if I’m talking to a doctor.”
“You have a lot of rules.”
“You’re the one in a cult.”
Ignoring his tone, I explain, “There weren’t so many rules at the Dandelion Collective. People were happier. When they got angry, they fought in ways that didn’t hurt the other person. Then everyone danced and hugged.”
Anders doesn’t say anything, so I turn to look at him. He’s watching me with his pale blue eyes. They aren’t sad right now. Instead, they’re harsh like when he wanted us to leave his house.
“Why didn’t your parents love you?” I ask, trying to understand how Anders became the man he is now.
“My father was the devil.”
Anders wraps an arm around me and forces me back against his body. I don’t fight his need to have me close. In my head, though, I want to push him away and explain how he can’t use his size to browbeat me.
One day, I will tell him those words, but not yet. My family needs peace, and Anders is overwhelmed. When everyone is healthier, I’ll stand up to him. Even if he sends us away, we’ll be strong enough to go.
I think of what he said about his father. “How can that be? The devil isn’t real, but you are.”
“He was a biker with a devil tattoo on his chest and the first leader of the Killing Joes.”
“Why are they called that?”
“The area they took control of was run by a bunch of guys named Joe. So, they had to kill Joes to be in charge. Get it?”
“And your father was the leader?”
“Yeah, he was the president before Lonnie killed him. They called him The Devil.”
“Did you know him before he died?”
“No. My parents weren’t a couple. He saw her walking home from church one day. That was the story my grandparents told me, anyway. Well, first they claimed my parents died in a car accident when I was little. My grandparents never admitted they lied. They just changed their stories and pretended nothing was different. I was never sure what to believe. That’s why I’m not sure about my mother. Like, was she wild or a victim? Even now, I don’t know.”
“Then tell me what they told you, and I’ll understand how it might be lies.”
“In their version, my saintly mother was walking home from church. I always wondered why she couldn’t get a ride. My grandparents weren’t poor. We had friends. But I never asked.”