Caveman (Wild Men 1)

“Not my fault he can’t take a joke,” Shane mutters, returning to his beer. Seth hovers beside him and whispers something in his ear.

“Whatever,” I hiss, shaking Ocean’s arm off and downing the rest of my beer. I lift the bottle for the bartender to get me another.

The bartender asks for my ID, and I shove my fake one in his face. He still doesn’t look too pleased. Not one of us is twenty-one, and I guess it shows. He scowls at me but finally pulls up another beer and slides it on the bar in front of me.

“Drink up,” Shane says, not looking at me. “Can’t wait to whip your ass at pool. Oh and by the way, loser buys the next round. That will be you.”

“Dream on, motherfucker. I’m gonna beat your stupid ass so hard you won’t know what hit you.”

Tension twangs on the air. I can see Ocean opening his mouth to say something, and for once I think it might be good if he does, when Shane snorts and raises his bottle.

“We’ll see about that,” he says and gulps down the rest of his beer. “Come on. Missed you at pool, man. The others suck.”

The release of tension in the air is so sudden I swear my damn ears pop. Jesse and Ocean wander to the pool tables, and I grab my beer and follow. Looks like the evening won’t be a total loss, after all. With the almost-fight, it’s the first time in days I stop thinking about the girl across the street for a while. Shane wins the first game of pool. I win the second, and the evening rolls without more incidents. I have a good time with the guys.

Problem is, I know tomorrow the respite will be over, and my obsession with the mysterious, sweet-smelling girl will return.

I’m lost inside a city that has to be Madison but isn’t. The shop facades are foreign, the alleys warp into different dimensions. I’m sick. I know I am, but there’s nothing I can do. My lungs are twisted and aching, unable to draw air. I roll in the dirt. The walls melt like toffee, leaving behind them white skeletons with grinning skulls, caught in giant black spider webs.

A hand slips into mine and squeezes. Eyes like warm honey look into mine. “I’m Ev,” she whispers. “Hang on in there.”

But the skeletons grab her and draw her away and she screams as she’s pulled into the spider web and left to die. I twist and force my heavy body to move, to go after her, help her. A shout catches in my throat, suffocating.

“Wake up. Micah, wake up!” Big hands clench on my shoulders and shake me roughly until my eyes blink open. I take in a small room with posters on the walls and a man’s face over me.

Seth. And this is my bedroom. Sweat is drying on my face and bare chest, and my breath rattles in my lungs.

“Man,” he says, shaking his head and standing up, “you have some nasty nightmares.”

I say nothing. What’s there to say? He also has his fair share of bad dreams. I hear him shout sometimes in the night. At least I know he understands.

“What was it this time?” he asks quietly as he steps away from the bed. Arms folded over his cotton-clad chest, he comes to a stop in front of the few sketches I have taped to the wall.

“Same as usual,” I reply shortly.

“The streets?”

I scrub my hand over my face. My eyes itch. “Yeah.”

Better than the other dreams of the group home that leave me feeling sick. At least this one had a good ending.

Seth cocks his head, his black hair hanging over one shoulder, studying my sketches. There are abstract designs and cartoon-like women, and a face I’ve seen in my memory a thousand times this past year. The face I’ve just seen in my dream.

“That her?” he asks.

I ignore the question, hoping he’ll drop it. The sky outside my window is growing light. I groan as I sit up, swinging my legs off the bed. The floor is fucking cold. The air is cold.

“What happened to the heater?” No wonder I’m dreaming of the streets. Although it’s April, it’s still damn cold.

“Broke down again. I’ll call Shane to have a look later.”

The time on my phone reads six in the morning. Fucking hell. We only got home a few hours ago. No wonder I feel like hell warmed over.

Which begs the question... “What are you doing up anyway?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He wanders away from my drawings and stops at the door of my bedroom. “So what will you do?”

“About what?”