Musketeer

A month earlier, a household received a phone call.

"Tulip?" Andy looked to his wife. "Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay. No problem, Hol. See you."

"Who was that?" An inquisitive look crossed Francine's brow.

"Holly," Andy dropped back into the couch, grabbing the remote. "She was wondering if we could take Tulip in for a couple weeks."

"Oh," Francine raised a brow, "she'll be staying with us?"

"That okay?"

"Fine by me," Francine waved, "long as you warn her about your weekend funnel cake."

Andy laughed and the two spent the night flicking through sports channels.

Soon as the door was shut, the girl pulled out her pink suitcase. In a couple minutes Tulip's hair smoothly crowned her head and shoulders and her frame was decked in her trademark skinnies and sneakers along with a puffy green parka on top. Perfect, she smiled deliberately at the mirror, turning this way then that. A stray rumble caught her ear outside, and she brought her arms against each other. For this weather, anyway!

She returned to the bedroom and snatched her cellphone, her miniature snow globe (which she latched onto the phone), and a bag of fruit snacks. She was slightly disappointed to find it was more than halfway done.

Coming out she hurdled downstairs, and looked around. Eventually, she found Mrs. Crust in the kitchen, leafing through a little packet.

"Hey Auntie Crust, where's Shawn?"

"Oh, he's dropping by the store." The fair-faced woman offered a rueful smile. "We ran out of some vital hair products."

"Did he just leave?" Tulip pulled back the curtains over one of the windows, quite briskly.

"Yeah, just a minute ago." Francine Crust paused her perusal and bade her a second look. "Should be warming up the engine, why?"

"Oh ok, thanks!" Tulip answered. Letting go of the curtains, the girl buzzed away and pulled open the door. Francine leaned slightly out of her stool, her bathrobe slipping down to expose just an inch of cleavage. Over the years, her ripe, well-endowed body had taken some wrinkles, but she was still a looker. "Bye, Fran!"

"Wait a minute, Tulip," she called out, but by then she was already gone and closed the door behind her. Francine shook her head lightly, murmured something about motherly genes, and returned to her casual armchair browsing.

Shawn was shivering, behind the wheel of the car outside, listening to progressive rock. He had just turned the heater on, so it should be getting cozier in time. He pivoted his head to the sounds of the parading raindrops. It seemed less heavy than it was about half an hour ago, but it still showed no sign of stopping. He curled a lip.

Why did he have to do this, anyway?

Pulling his fists into his torso, he slumped forward. Going out, hitting the town, seeing other faces -- it wasn't a problem before. But these days, he was feeling more and more insecure. Slaps in the face could only do so much. The young driver exhaled and closed his eyes. He had to get over himself. He had to get over himself soon...

Swallowing, his hand hovered over the wheel. Maybe it was best he left now, too. After all, he...

He hadn't really been alone with a girl, particularly to just 'hang', since he was a kid. Sure, school had activities and partner-ups. But that was different. That was necessitated. This was something he always turned into wet fantasies in his head. And now he was going to be alone -- with his cousin for pete's sake!

Shawn sat back, hitting the seat with his spine. I can't do this, he determined. I need to keep her out. Of, these...

He struggled to find the word. These, these, these, thoughts! You know what I mean! He sighed again. As if she was the problem. The truth was that it was his head that needed keeping out. But he resigned that idea a while ago. Heads were hard to unscrew.

The conflicted young man had settled down once the door opened and in came a hooded young woman, onto the seat of the car. She turned to look at him and smiled through a wisp of hair. "Alright," she slapped her knees, "let's go shopping!"

Shawn wanted to grab her, spank her, make her smile and laugh after it, then shove her breasts into his face while hooking one hand around her thigh and having her insist that she had no problem, no problem at all, with it or the feel of his hand or his rash harassment. Then they would return contentedly to the house and he'd tell to his mother's face how he just ravaged his own cousin and didn't give a damn about her shampoo, and she would laugh and say that that was great, just great. And then he would go to her room and jerk off on one of her dresses, and sniff all of them, one by one, without shame, and they would let him. How about that instead, huh?

Breaking out of his daydream with a faint jerk, Shawn coughed. "Right," he echoed, looking into the eyes of the relaxed young woman before him. "Shopping!" He turned the wheel and the car onto the road.

Meanwhile, internally he knew, as did his brain, his meat, and his conscience: he was a bit of a hypocrite.

And to make it worse, his deepest fantasy, the wish he had buried under all the others, under all the checks and balances, was to be allowed to be -- as thoroughly and consummately as he liked.

To indulge, through the cowardice, the foolishness, and the perversions, in all his ways, without ever being accounted for by the means of this world.

"Impunity?" The stately teacher nodded before his glasses.

"Do you know what it means, Mr. Crust?"

"It means..." The boy awkwardly looked around, until he noticed a girl at the front row mouthing his way. Somehow, with some luck, he was able to both read it and remember the vocabulary definition they had jotted the day earlier. "...it means, to be exempt from all consequences. Is that right?"

"That's right. Thank you, Shawn. You may be seated."

Shawn swallowed as the memory drifted away. Not just consequences -- it was the idea of them, too. The idea of being proper, of being in lockstep with everybody else in the world, and working, and committing. Shawn was tired; after a whole life of mostly silver-platter privilege, ironically he felt like he had been in a battle of attrition for most of it, without a single rested laurel. Now he felt alienated not just by people like his parents, but people like himself, too. Everybody was still trying to live in this world, through this world's rules... but Shawn was at the precipice of abdication. He admired it, truly; the people out there giving their all. The folks who invested time and effort each day on others, and greater causes. The nymphos and the Bible-beaters. At least they were passionate about something, versed in it.

Shawn, on the other hand, was feeling more and more like a stick in the mud, with not enough experience in worldly affairs to understand them, not enough character to live up to his parents' or church's expectations, and not enough will or skill to help himself.

Some days he felt like just ending it all.

"So, Shawn," Tulip began. "Do you think this rain's gonna be over by afternoon?" Pulled away from his familiar reverie, Shawn heard a wrinkling noise, and glanced to see his passenger eating out of a little bag of fruit snacks.

"Maybe," he breathed, finally. "You know how moody the weather out here is."

"Moody?"

"Yeah, you know. It's like it has a mind of its own."

Tulip made a 'hmmmm' sound. It felt like a minute or two had passed when she took another fruit snack and then stretched her arm towards him, bag in hand. "Want one?"

"I'm good, thanks." Shawn held a hand. Tulip took it as an invitation, because she began pouring a snack onto it. He pulled back, "Oh -- no. I meant, I mean, I don't want any." He awkwardly looked away. "Thanks though."

"Oh," she drew her hand back. "Well, there's only like 3 left, so." Another silence descended as she looked into the bag, as if analyzing a dig.

"The three musketeers," Shawn lamely joked, out of the blue. Instantly he mentally punched himself. To what lowly standard would that even be considered funny? To his surprise, Tulip laughed anyway.

"Yep, I guess so, huh?" She looked at him for a second and then back at the bag. "Guess I'll leave 'em be. Fruit snacks need to go on adventures too, right?"

Shawn emitted a slight grunt. "Getting women's shampoo's an adventure alright." And Tulip replied with another laugh, a brief one, but finally, Shawn relaxed a little, and laughed some too. With a gentle pep, his shoulders loosened. What was I saying, he mentally muttered, shucking his previous thoughts, things aren't the best. But of course, they could be worse. I'm just overthinking things. I always do. He glanced at Tulip. Maybe, maybe things won't be so bad after all.

"...Tulip. Tulip Payden, but all my friends, they call me Pinch."

"...woof! Woof, woof!"

Shawn shook his head as he returned his attention to the magazine he was holding. It was funny, meeting her that day. The surprise was seeing she'd brought a dog. Mr. and Mrs. Crust weren't too ecstatic about that, but ironically they grew somewhat attached to the thing themselves, even if they weren't about to admit it.

"This isn't your first time meeting each other, you know," his dad had told him. "We all went to the mountains together years back. Don't you remember?"

No, he didn't. The truth was, he barely remembered what he did last weekend. Neither his working or slacking memory seemed to give him a break.

Shawn sighed and put down the magazine. Stepping back, he looked to the right of him. Then, the left. It was an empty aisle, but he could hear the voices, the murmur throughout the store. He pulled out his phone to look at the time. Only 8:30, he noted, putting it away.

His dad had told him, right before he left -- they had nearly left at the same time, while Tulip was getting herself ready -- about the possible afternoon visit to the vet. Supposedly she would be better, by then. Shawn scratched his chin. What was her name, again? He would have to ask Tulip, when she got back. Stuff like that was impossible with him, but her...

Shawn felt his breath stop in his throat, and held it down. That was right. Here he was, alone, with a girl... an 18-year-old high school senior, at that. A pretty, leggy young woman. Shawn had to admit he liked the skinny jeans she always wore, tightly wrapped around her legs and thighs, though the parka unfortunately covered a crucial ingredient: her gluteus. Still, with a bend here and a bend there, it was obvious she had a fine form. Folding his arms, Shawn thought of how much he wanted to just find it out for himself. How much he wanted to seize that body. Adequate at best, sure, but with bottom supports he could not ignore.

"Excuse me." Predictably, Shawn was interrupted once more, by another feminine voice. He turned to see an older, roguish middle-aged woman looking at him. "Do you think you could pass me that..?" She was pointing to one of the magazines in front of him, out of her reach. Well, out of any comfortable range, anyway. Shawn looked at it, seeing Kylie Jenner looking back at him, along with a splash of tabloid text boxes.

"Thank you," she replied as he lent it her way, and she moved down the aisle and turned the corner, her cart of empty shelves and miscellaneous cases leading the path. Her black hair disappeared behind the ledge of the according aisle and Shawn walked on in the other direction, to the electronics section.

While surfing through a pile of computer games, his cellphone rang. "Hello? Tulip?"

"Hey cuz, I got it," came the peppy reply.

Shawn tingled a bit, though he didn't give it away. He hadn't ever been called 'cuz' before. At least not by an attractive young high schooler that actually was his cousin and not a chicana or armed street trapper. Clearing his throat, he remarked dryly, "Well, that didn't take long."

"Sorry," Tulip retorted, "I just thought maybe your mom wanted some, you know, cosmetic stuff too, so I ended up sorting through a bunch of other products..."

"Well, if you're ready, I'll meet you at the front?"

"Sure!"

"Alright, see ya there." Shawn had been ready to browse for the shampoo himself when he realized he didn't actually know what his mom used, or wanted, or what kinds and types of shampoo existed to what degree. Right before he called her, Tulip had offered her assistance, and insisted that she did know, including what she used, wanted, and the kinds and types and you get the idea.

They then split up, where Shawn preferred to go browsing around for whatever interested him while she helped pick out the best things for Mom. There was supposedly another bathroom accessory or two she could use, which surely Tulip knew the whereabouts of.

Part of the idea behind splitting up was because he would have been dosed with insulin if he just tailed her for the whole duration; the other, of course, was that he would have been tailing her for the whole duration. He chose to set his mind on other things, or at least far away from its currently eminent subject, if that was the case.

As Shawn headed for the front of the store, he suddenly realized all this bathroom rumination had gotten him queasy himself. Brushing past a leisurely paced patron, he turned for the facilities for a quick leak.