Sunnie was electric, standing on the front porch of a boring house in a boring cul-de-sac. The only one here alive. A chill grew in the air. The hot, spring sky darkened with the impending storm but didn't ease the cold sweat making her black, "Misfits" tee shirt stick to her back, pits and the bottoms of her breasts, where they oozed out from her poorly-fitted bra. All those nights of internet sleuthing in Juvenile Hall had come to this moment. Her raison d'etre. What would life be like tomorrow? Who cared?
Today was payback.
Her nervous hand shook the bottle of pills like a rattle and she squeezed tight enough to start to crush it. Someone inside the house moved and she hadn't rang the doorbell yet. Shit.
Fingers rubbed the rough label with the name of the man she'd stolen it from on the Greyhound bus to Memphis and she tipped it back to let all four, little blue diamonds tumble into her dry throat, sticking on the way down. She pocked it then took a drink of water from the fancy aluminum hydroflask she'd shoplifted back in Dallas. Some spilled with her shaking but it did the job and she managed not to choke.
She put it away and untucked the clipboard from her sweaty armpit. Her ID was clipped on her jacket, looking exactly like a real one. Those Photoshop lessons turned out to have more value than for digitally inking her own dirty comics.
With her dree hand, she pulled her black, handkerchief-patterned, face mask back up over her mouth and nose before she pressed the doorbell.
DING-DONG.
There was still time to run. To where? Down the street? Out of the subdivision? To the bus stop, two miles away? Public transit was worse here than Texas but this wasn't the kind of community welcoming easy access anyway.
The endangered species of White Patriarchy and their Stepford Wives had shiny, European Crossovers for when they needed to escape the zoetrope of color-coded, model homes and HOAs. Nobody else belonged here who wasn't driving for DoorDash or Ubering soccer moms and fat, UFC dads to drunken nights out at chain restaurants or trashy, strip-mall bars where they could try to cheat on their spouses.
Sunnie was used to things not being easy. The hardest part about walking was trying to look respectable enough to not be stopped by the private, neighborhood security officers. Being 19, hot and looking very much a girl, made it a lot easier.
Footsteps approached and Sunnie moved closer to peek over the bottom edge of the semi-circle window in the white, front door. Would she recognize her? Of course she would. She had stared at the pictures she printed for the whole bus ride from Dallas to Memphis and she'd been jerking off to them for months before, as if she needed to train herself to be able to fuck this cow. Even if she didn't, that freak body was unmistakable. How could a woman be married to a surgeon for all these years and never have a breast reduction? She must be so proud of them. The slut.
Her cock throbbed down the pant leg of her tight jeans and her heart beat faster still. Footsteps were getting louder. The husband would be at work, wouldn't he? There were no cars in the driveway but there weren't at most of the houses. Who knew if there were one or two inside? Why wouldn't he would be working? Today was a Tuesday, an hour before lunch. Doctors on TV worked all the time.
Through the window, a woman rounded a corner into view and stopped as she saw the eyes peeking over. Kimberly Weber wore heather grey sweats as she half-hobbled from her obvious encumbrance, her top many sizes bigger than her otherwise matching pants and her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, bunched up enough, they'd consume her hands if they weren't. The baggy, ill-fit left her looking quite heavy in general but having seen pictures, Sunnie saw the meat from air. There wasn't much she could wear which would hide a rack like a pair of over-inflated basketballs, even with her obvious lack of bra.
In the elaborate, revenge porn comic version of her plan she'd written, drawn and carried in her backpack, Kimberly answered the door in a sexy negligee. She invited her in after an eyeful of the giant bulge in her pants but that part likely wouldn't go so easily either.
Despite her outfit and exhausted appearance, Kim had potential be stunning, a natural, dishwater blonde like Sunnie and a similar complexion, telling of too much time indoors. Blue-grey eyes were sharp and curious over angular cheekbones and a perfect little nose. She'd have been popular with the boys even with a dozen less cup sizes and also looked like a respectable human being but it was better for her body to advertise she was definitely not worthy of respect.
Her hair was cut past her shoulders but unevenly, some months since her last, cheap haircut and the remnants of bangs were down to her jaw, racing to catch up to the rest. Her lips hung parted, showing off how full they were while making her look trout-mouthed and dumb. Built like a bimbo, the only evidence she wasn't was Sunnie was smart, but she might have got it from whoever her Dad was.
Despite her attention-grabbing appearance, it was impossible to not notice the mess behind her. Stacks of empty, Amazon boxes piled in the entryway and in the adjacent, dining room. With her view partially obstructed, she saw several dirty glasses, plates and empty, Blue Bell ice cream cartons. Sunnie knew Kimberly was a size queen slut but didn't expect such a slob.
Her throat was dry again and she tried to swallow a mouthful of dust. Sweaty hands trembled, her breath shook and her palms sweat in all the signs of weakness she'd managed to quell in the jungle rules, bitch-eat-bitch hierarchy of the Justice System. No one was going to try to take advantage of her on the front porch of this subdivision, master-planned gingerbread house but she only had one shot to convince Mrs. Kimberly Weber to let her in her house so she could seduce her.
'Breathe, Sunnie.'
She steadied herself, forgiving the momentary lapse of composure, given the circumstances. It wasn't every day you first meet your own, biological mother.
Kim grabbed a mask from somewhere beside the door and put it on, a blue and white polka dot pattern that looked homemade. The door swung open, the way trusting people opened them. Sunnie's eyes fell to Kim's lips then the giant tits she was trying to keep hidden, awkwardly leaning out.
"Yes dear?"
In her head, Kimberly's voice was a sexy seductress, with a cigarette rasp, seducing with every word. In reality, Kim sounded like a kindly school teacher, with a hint of familiar, Texas twang. She must have tried to lose it so she wouldn't sound dumb to her husband's fancy friends.
Sunnie liked her own accent. The city girls in Juve said it made her sound dumb too and if they'd been more accepting of her, she may have wound up talking the way they did. They hadn't and she was all on her lonesome. An outsider. It was fitting she would talk like some old west outlaw. Aside from her looks, brains and drawing skills, the way she talked was one of the few things she was proud of.
She caught Kim noticing her body with subtle, self-aware darts of her eyes. Whether revulsion, lust or plain curiosity, she was used to being noticed. If her mom was bi, this was going to be a lot easier. That seemed like an appropriately slutty thing for her to be.
"I'm so glad someone's actually home. No cars in these driveways."
"The HOA requires everyone to park in their own garages."
Sunnie nodded, the head movement making her realize she was staring. Her eyes tore away and down to her clipboard, mashed to her chest at an angle where Kim couldn't peek at the wrinkled printout attached: a PDF from the World Wildlife Fund, she'd spent 5 minutes editing before printing. "Uhh yeah. I'm looking for Mrs. Kimberley Weber? 728 Mossy Oak Trail." She glanced up in time to see Kim's expression spoil in real-time.
"Miss. Carlyle. I'm divorced."
Sunnie paused. The background reports hadn't mentioned that.
"Divorced?"
"Divorced. It happens sometimes." Kim didn't seem very satisfied with the answer herself.
