Page 61 of Torn

My head is telling me I’m sick and fucked in the brain. Not just for having feelings for a woman so young, but for being physically attracted to her, too. But my heart is telling me this is my girl, my other half—the one I’ve been waiting for. And let’s not even get started on my dick and what that part of my anatomy is thinking and wanting.

All of this just complicates the shit out of my life. This is entirely new territory for me, not being in control of my own feelings, and I’m not dealing with it well.

These feelings can’t be normal. I have adult women who want me. I can sleep with them, I can love them—I can do anything with a handful of women I know. All I have to do is put the effort in, and they’d be mine any way I want them, without any baggage or dark clouds of doom hanging over us.

The problem is the only girl I really want is an adorable, smart, loving, almost-eighteen-year-old who I’ve been taking care ofsince she was born. Of course, she’s the only girl I can’t have. Karma, you are one demented bitch.

How the hell did this happen?

A year ago, I didn’t feel like this. Sure, I loved and cared about her, and enjoyed her company. But that was it. We went from an uncle and niece relationship to a friendship, and that’s all it ever was. There were never any other feelings involved, not even in the slightest.

So what the hell changed? How come every time I’m near her now, all I want to do is kiss her? Why do I keep losing control around her? Why can’t I get her out of my head? Sure, she’s beautiful, but I’ve never been the type of guy who can’t control himself around good-looking women.

Even more screwed up is she seems to feel the same way. Kenzi isn’t the flighty type and she’s always been mature for her age. She’s not a silly, giggly teen like my sister was, jumping from guy to guy. Kenzi’s like Asher—she knows what she wants and she doesn’t deviate for anything. Knowing this scares the hell out of me even more because if she says she wants me, then she knows it one thousand percent, without a doubt. That’s what I’ve been wanting, needing, and looking for in a woman for so long. Someone who knows what they want and isn’t afraid to grab it.

But not like this. Not with her.

As I pack up my small pup tent and sleeping bag and secure them onto the back of my bike, I know I’m heading back home with absolutely zero resolution to my Kenzi dilemma. Thankfully she’s in Maine now and I won’t see her for at least two months. Quitting each other cold turkey should break whatever this new wacked-out connection is between us for good so things can go back to normal.

I hope.

After riding for about two hundred miles, I pull over to the side of the winding mountain road to drink some water and stretch my back out, which is starting to ache from all the hours on the bike and sleeping on the ground for two days. I can’t wait to get home, take a hot shower and a muscle relaxer, and sleep in my own bed.

I’m just about to get back on my bike when I see something moving out of the corner of my eye in the tall weeds on the side of the road. Removing my sunglasses, I walk over and see that it’s a taped-up cardboard box. And it’s moving.

Something’s inside it. Scratching. Trying to get out.

Oh fuck.

I glance up and down the road, but there’s absolutely nothing out here. No houses or stores. It’s just a road going up the mountain with nothing but woods on both sides for miles.

Kneeling, I pull my knife out of my belt clip and carefully slice along the tape, not sure what the hell I’m going to find in this box, bracing myself for the worst.

A tiny paw shoves through the small space I’ve cut open, and I quickly cut the rest of the tape as a small gray furry head pokes out. At first, I think it’s a squirrel, but it’s a kitten.

“Shit,” I swear under my breath, gently taking the tiny ball of fur out of the box and cradling it in my hand. It looks to be about six weeks old and is all blue gray with a tiny white spot on its chest. As I stare at it, it begins to mew in my face at the top of its little lungs.

“Shh… I got ya, little one,” I say softly, gently rubbing its head. It purrs loudly in response, rubbing its fuzzy head into my palm. I check its body over for any injuries, but it seems fine from what I can see. Other than being taped into a box and thrown onto theside of a desolate road like garbage to die a horrible death. I check the box again, but there’s nothing inside and no markings on the outside. Some asshole just taped a kitten into an empty box and left it to die.

Days like this, I hate the fucking world. I could easily choke the shit out of the person who did this, leave their ass on the side of the road and feel no remorse whatsoever. In fact, I’d probably enjoy it.

I snap a few pictures of the box and the surrounding area before I carry the kitten back to my bike and pour a tiny bit of water from my thermos into my palm, which the kitten laps up quickly.

“Dude, you have no idea how lucky you are,” I say to it, rubbing its itty-bitty ears, which are like tiny velvet triangles. “What are the odds someone like me would find you out here in the middle of friggin’ nowhere?”

My mom has said a hundred times, sometimes God puts the right people in the right place for a reason. I’m not a religious person, but right now, I’m thinking she’s right.

Unfortunately, my options for getting this kitten home safely are limited. My phone has no reception, so I can’t even call one of my brothers to come meet me in a car. I sure as hell can’t zip it up into one of my saddlebags because I’m pretty sure the roar of my pipes so close will give it a heart attack. I can’t stick it back in that box and try to hold it for another two hundred miles.

“Fuck it. You better be cool, kitten,” I say as I tuck it against my chest and zip my leather jacket up. “Don’t go all Freddy Krueger on me and get us killed, deal?”

I kiss the top of its head before I zip my jacket up a few more inches. This is probably not the best plan I’ve ever had, but I have no idea how else I can get this poor thing home. Hopefully it won’t scratch the shit out of me.

I start up the bike and get back on the road slowly, letting thefur ball cuddled up against my chest adjust to the noise and movement and hoping it doesn’t freak the hell out. After a few seconds, I can feel it purring up against me, vibrating against my heart. So far, so good.

We head for home, stopping once at a gas station so I can fill up my tank. I slowly unzip my jacket a few inches to check the kitten, and it pokes its head out and rubs against the stubble on my chin, still purring.

“You think you’re a biker cat now? Don’t get any ideas. This is a one-time ride, kitten.” I can’t believe it’s not scared out of its skull after enduring the rumble of my engine, but it seems pretty content just hanging out inside my jacket, which I guess is better than being taped up in a box. I tuck him back in and hop on my bike to get this last stretch of miles over with.