Chapter Four - Westin

CHAPTER FOUR

WESTIN

I should stop myself, but I don't think I can.

My body is restless. I have a hunger that I know only one thing can satisfy, and it's that sweet face, dusted with freckles, framed by golden waves. I didn't think I had a type, but I know I do now.

And it's Diane Carter.

Every part of her.

It's like someone lit a fire in my chest, and it just keeps growing, stoked by every second I turn our brief conversation over in my mind. I swear, I remember everything. The way her lips moved when she spoke. Her soft voice, edged with a little vocal fry.

I've felt desire before, but not like this.

This is a fucking fever. I'd do desperate things to satiate myself.

The night of her birthday—the day I promised to visit her but didn't—I pace the gatehouse floors.

Back and forth.

I take a shot of whiskey, then another.

The moon is full, so I go outside in the hopes of walking until I'm tired enough to sleep. It's almost eight, so everyone is settling down. As I move through the employee housing, I see Jensen sitting on the porch of one of the vacant houses. Sometimes, when he's helping with a job in the morning, he'll stay overnight.

He takes a drag of his cigarette. "What're you doing out so late, gunslinger?"

I wince. He doesn't mean it badly, but the name unsettles me.

"Walking," I say.

He stretches out his legs, blowing smoke at the sky. "Want to go shoot shit?" he drawls.

He's not from here. He showed up from Kentucky when he was in his early twenties, tight lipped about his past but willing to work. Sovereign was one of the first to give him a job. Even after over a decade out here, he still drawls like he's in deep Appalachia.

I consider his proposal.

"Yeah, alright," I say.

We go down to the shooting range, a strip of rocky land with a hill that comes up to catch strays. Jensen takes his empty beer bottle and puts it on the rail, taking his time getting back to me. He fits his hat on and hangs his cigarette in his lip.

I know what he wants.

"How much?" I ask.

"Five bucks," he says. "Spin and close your eyes."

Jensen has a lot of dumb ideas, but I usually go along with them, so I'm not any better. I cock my pistol and spin once until my foot is exactly where it started. Then, I point, take a beat, and shoot blind. Glass splinters.

I open my eyes.

"Goddamn it," says Jensen.

"Give me five dollars, motherfucker," I say, holding out my hand.

"Best I can do is a cigarette."

"That works too."

We fuck around for a while, shooting loose cans. Then, it gets too late, and I don't want to keep anyone up, so we head back up the hill. I'm agitated, and nothing can get my mind off how much I need to see her again. It's eating me up inside, burning me, making me desperate to get my mouth on her in the hopes she can quench my thirst.

It's her birthday, and I said I'd go see her, but I didn't.

What's holding me back? My guilt over how young and unsuspecting she is?

Jensen and I sit on the porch, and we have another beer.

"I'm not sure what's going on with you, gunslinger, but you seem agitated," Jensen says.

I consider lying, but instead, I tell him what happened in the kitchen. He listens, quiet until I get to the end.

"Well why the fuck didn't you go?" he says.

I shrug. "Twenty-one is pretty young."

He nods. "But she's a grown woman, and if it isn't you, it'll be somebody else. Judging by the ages of some of us out here, he'll be a good bit older than she is."

He has a point. Maybe that's all I need. Just one excuse, and all my flimsy resistance comes tumbling down. I stare up at the moon, a pale silver disk overhead. She's down the hill and a ways down the road, laying in her bed. Maybe she's thinking about me.

Maybe her hand slips under the blankets.

I clear my throat. "I'll go see her in the morning."

Jensen shrugs. "Ain't no harm in it."

Those words turn over in my head as Jensen leaves and I go upstairs. If I'm being honest, I take a shower and jerk off to the memory of her in my dream. My body doesn't want to rest, even after I finish, so I just lay against the headboard and count every second until I get to see her again.