Daddy [mxm]

11

Thunder rumbles across the expanse of furious, gray sky, and an occasional flash of lightening splits the heavens. The lush, rain-washed grass in the paddocks is devoid of horses, ground damp and smelling freshly of earth.

Shaking the spray off my face, I sprint back to the brightly-lit shelter of Bella's barn. The rain drums against the window and slides down in rivulets. The electric lights are on, and only a few riders work quietly at grooming or feeding the horses. The atmosphere is safe and warm. As usual, horses can be seen in the cross-ties and looking over their stable doors, emitting the regular horsy sounds and smell of a stable. But the usual mobs of riders weaving in and out of the barns is missing due to the weather.

I tie Bella up in the aisle and set to work on her stall.

Fine sheets of needle-like rain fall steadily outside, and the relentless pitter-patter drums on the skylights above. The neighbouring horses snort and shift in their stalls, whickering quietly and munching at their hay nets. Thunder purrs outside the stable walls and the sky shimmers for a moment with an eerie, bluish glow.

Sweat breaks out on my brow as I haul forkful after forkful of clean straw and lay it down in Bella's stall. Another fork of lightening splits the evening sky, a heavy blanket of humidity hanging in the air.

My forehead is damp with perspiration, the loose wisps of hair around my face sticking to my temples. I jab the pitchfork at Bella's straw bed and lift a clump of it into the wheelbarrow. Bella whickers impatiently from where she's tied outside her stall door.

The stench of manure mingles with my sweat to elicit a prickling sensation in my nostrils as I scoop tufts of soiled hay into the wheelbarrow. Just when I think my spine is going to snap, I hoist the final forkful of grimy straw into the barrow, and wheel it down the yard towards the muck heap.

After laying out fresh straw, I stuff a hay-net and fill a pail of water, then return Bella to her stall.

Video games are going to be my reward.

Upstairs, I shower in the guest bathroom and then join Bret in his room. Bro-overs spent spooning with him are comfortable, because he's warm as a furnace and solid in a comforting way - but there's a catch. He's always the big spoon, which means you can't hide your phone screen from him. Makes it a bit difficult to sext his father.

My phone vibrates with a message from Rudy and I immediately swipe up to hide the notification.

"Is that your Grindr boyfriend checking in? Is he prettier than me? Can he lift as much as me?"

Oh, and he's annoying.

"Shut uuuuup."

I figure my Notes app is safe, so I open my drafts.

"Ooh, how's writing going?"

I twiddle my thumbs over the soft keyboard.

"I'm not really in the mood for writing," I admit reluctantly. I don't really feel like anyone would want to read a fucked-up perspective written by a fuck-up like me. Maybe if I were a better person within more heroic qualities, I'd have something better to write about.

"You're never in the mood for writing when you actually have time for it."

"Yep. It be that way." For busy people like me, inspiration and opportunity collide as rarely as stars. But when they do, productivity is astronomical. I'll write into the early hours of the morning and not feel tired.

"Let me inspire you," Bret offers, and launches into an unsolicited update on his sex life with Sammy. He flips onto his back and I try to take advantage of the lack of eyes over my shoulder to open Rudy's text.