by Mj Hendrix
Harley looks up at me with a smirk. So polite, she mouths.
I smile back.
“Well, do you have a minute to spare in your schedule today?” he asks. His voice gives nothing away, but I still grip the plastic tighter.
“Sure, yeah. I can be there around noon?”
“All right. Bring some coleslaw.” He coughs into the phone again before the line cuts off.
We’ve reached the spot where we split our ways.
Harley turns to me with a question in her eyes. “Who was that?” She’s still lightly holding on to my fingers.
“Campus police. He wants me to come by around lunch.” My fingers graze over her shoulder. I’m drawn to her like a fly to honey.
She looks down at her worn black tennis shoes, chewing on her lip.
“Guess I’ll see you later then,” she murmurs.
I tried to bring it up with her, but she doesn’t seem to want to deal with the officials, concerning what happened at the dorms.
I tilt her chin up with my finger while pulling her toward me with my other hand.
“Save me a seat. I’m sure it won’t take long. He probably just wants to show me some blurry security footage from that night,” I try to reassure her.
I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her, but I’ll be smart about it.
She nods her head, plump pink lips pressing into my mouth. I breathe her in, needing her essence in my lungs. I pull her closer by her shoulders, and she leans into me with her hands on my chest.
She pulls back, attempting a weak smile as she walks away.
33
Harley
My head is swirling.
Adam loves me.
I took Adam’s virginity.
Adam’s family thinks I’m a harlot.
Adam is going to watch the security tapes from when Sev came to see me.
Adam loves me.
I’m a zombie as I mechanically walk to my next class. I sit near the back, not hearing a word of the lecture.
I’m a whore. I defiled the nicest boy I’ve ever met. He doesn’t know I already agreed to let Sev finish the Medusa and go through with the photo shoot. My stomach is churning as my mind flashes with all the memories of my modeling career.
Cold leather, cold hands, needles pricking my skin.
Hours of pain, passing out, waking up, repeat.
The black eyes of Seven always searing into me.
Posing nearly naked in front of a room of people. My body contorting to whatever new seductive pose Victoria or the photographer could dream up. There was never enough skin showing. The scraps of lace and silk and leather would barely conceal my teenage body.
Seven’s eyes still on me. His eyes were always on me, but his hands waited for us to be alone.
I shiver in my seat, deciding impulsively that I have to go now and get it over with.
Adam is good, the best thing to ever happen to me. I feel like a kid at the fair, winning the grand prize, but nobody knows I snuck in without buying a ticket. I’m not giving up my prize.
He can’t see the things that have been done to me. He’d absolutely try to step in because he’s always tried to protect me, but who knows what could happen? Seven is dangerous.
What’s worse is that Adam wouldn’t look at me the same way ever again. He knows I’m not innocent, but if he were to witness even a tiny glimpse of my ugly past, how could he want to touch me again? Would that visual plague his mind, like it does mine?
If I let Seven finish the Medusa and do the photos, I can put it in my past. Maybe my foster sister will meet me there. We were never close, but Jess and I always had a mutual understanding that our lives just sucked. She had her own struggles, but I tried to tell her being ignored by Victoria was a much better fate. I wonder how she’s been doing in the two years since I saw her. After she turned eighteen, she moved out.
My books are stuffed into my torn backpack, and I’m rushing out the door. A few heads pop up to watch me walk by, but I focus my eyes ahead. I can do this, and I’ll be able to put it all behind me for good. Running away was a temporary fix, but it helped me realize how badly I want a different life for myself. A life with Adam, if he forgives me for this.
I pull out my phone to text Sev.
Harley: can you get me red-eye flight to Carbona? let’s do this tonight.
His response dings in as I reach my dorm to see a maintenance man replacing the door.
Seven: 12:30 p.m., confirmation in your email. See you soon, angel
I don’t respond, but I text Kenna to let her know she can come back to our room finally. I snap a picture of the new door as the workers start to pack up their tools.
Harley: guess what?! (image)
I go in and empty my books onto the bed, so I can pack in my school bag. My duffle is still in Adam’s room. I only need one or two changes of clothes. I left some essentials at Victoria’s that I can swing by and get.
I don’t let myself think about it. I just do what has to be done to get to the airport. My leafy green babies each get a drink of water with a sprinkle of plant food.
“I’ll miss you,” I tell them as I crack open the shades to give them more light.
They look so vibrant. My neon ivy has grown since I was here a few days ago. So much has changed in the last seventy-two hours, and hopefully, in the next, it will be back on track.
I have a future. I’ll finish my degree, and I’ll find a job, working with living things every day.
As I walk back out the door, I nearly collide with someone.
“Shit, sorry,” I say, looking up.
“Hey! We have a home again!” Kenna says at the same time. She’s smiling and admiring our new, generic brown door.
“Uh, yeah, good as new. No more sharing a toilet with four guys,” I say absently, typing on my phone. I’m letting Sal know I have caught a nasty bug I would hate to give to her and Marley if I saw her at the bar for my shift.
“Well, not for me. Are you and Adam going to stay there or here tonight?” she asks, pulling out her phone.
Sal responds with condolences, offering to bring crackers and Sprite over. I tell her not to bother because I have an awesome roommate taking care of me.
“Uh, what? No, I’m going home for the night. I’m flying out in a few hours, so I gotta catch the bus.”
I pocket my phone, my gaze meeting wide green eyes. Kenna is looking at me like I grew another limb.
“What?” I ask.
She hesitates, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Umm, why are you going home all of a sudden?”
I put on my thick black sunglasses, my foster sister’s hoodie in my arms for the flight.
“You went home last week. What’s it matter? I’m going to see my foster mom and sister,” I say, a fake smile spread on my lips. “If Adam asks, just tell him I’m sick.”
She reaches out to grab my elbow as I start to turn away. “Harley! You’re not going to tell him where you are? Why not?” Her mouth is open, face a little pale.
“Look, he’s…I think he’d be worried. I told him some stuff from my past that was…questionable. He wouldn’t understand that I just want to put it all behind me. I left some things open-ended with my foster family that I need to sort out. I just need to do this on my own, then I’ll come back and explain it all to him. He wouldn’t get it.” I smile again, glad she can’t see my eyes through the dark lenses. “Please just cover for me? Tell him I’m…vomiting and I can’t lift my head out of the toilet.”
I give her a quick hug.
“I…I really think you should just talk to him. He’s so sweet, and I bet he’d be more understanding than you think.” Her voice has risen an octave, her Southern twang more pronounced next to my ear.
I pull back, laughing. “I would, but I don’t have time before my flight. I’ll text him and say I just want to stay here tonight because I’m feeling a little icky. Save the vomit story for if he comes by with a medical kit and some nursing student t
o the rescue.”
I smile, patting her shoulder, even as my stomach muscles contract. I’m such a liar, and I hate myself for it.
She slowly nods, her face still pinched. I turn to walk away quickly, this time toward the danger and farther from safety.
I turn my phone on as the plane lands at four p.m. I text Sev to let him know I’m here, but I’m assuming he’s already waiting. The reality of where I am isn’t sinking in yet. I feel like I’m watching someone do something stupid from outside myself. A girl with black hair and inked skin is walking back into a pit of snakes, but I can’t tell her not to go. She has to go through it; it’s the only way to reach the luscious green meadow on the other side.
My steps are robotic as we shuffle out of the narrow aisle and stale air. I don’t breathe any easier as I step into the airport of my home city. My skin is clammy, palms sweaty. The headache that started after takeoff is still pounding inside my skull, an intense ache I can’t escape. My stomach is full of bile, and I’m praying it doesn’t erupt while I’m on the escalator toward the exit.
A few hours in his chair is nothing, I tell myself over and over.
My phone has been vibrating continuously since I powered it on, but I don’t want to look at it until I’m ready to call Sev.
I know who it is, and if I hear his voice, I won’t be able to follow through with this. He’ll either understand and forgive me or he won’t. It’ll be better for him if he doesn’t, but selfishly, I want him to.
My steps halt briefly as a familiar black-and-chrome Harley-Davidson comes into view. A tall, inked form is leaning over the bars, parked in a loading-only zone. His sunglasses are perched on his forehead as he stares at me. He doesn’t speak as I approach, and I climb onto the seat without a word. He waits for me to wrap my arms around his waist before pulling out into the traffic.
The familiar ritual is second nature to my body, but my mind is screaming. I don’t want this, and I’m realizing, back then, I didn’t either. He used to pick me up at school like this for our sessions. The longer I’m away from him, the more the reality of how distorted everything was bleeds into my mind.
I’m only here for a couple of nights. We’ll finish the tattoo, take the photos the day after tomorrow, and be done. The muffler is roaring with loud pops as he pulls the bike into Hades’s Playground. I already know the owner of the shop and the other artists are gone for the day. Mondays were their early quitting days and the nights I always got inked by Sev.
I climb off the seat, legs stiff from the long ride. He leads me into the dimly lit studio, the crimson walls and black decor reminding me that this place really is hell. My body seizes up when I see his chair. The red leather is shiny, ready to stick to my skin as I pass in and out of consciousness.
All the panic attacks I’ve had over the last few months since I ran away seem to hit me like a ton of bricks, and I start to vomit, barely making it to the trash can. He watches me silently. I’m dry-heaving because I knew if I ate, it would take longer to pass out.
Why am I here? All the reasons that seemed completely logical before are so cloudy I can hardly remember them.
My body is shaking, the fear of the ritual getting to my nervous system.
He reaches out toward my arm, and I shrink away, crawling backward on the cold cement.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? I thought you wanted this.” His eyes are black, holding me in place.
He’s terrifying, a nightmare come to life. I’ve had horrifying dreams almost every night since I ran away, re-creating this exact scenario. I pinch myself, trying to wake up.
It’s not real.
It’s not happening again. It can’t.
I can’t go through it again.
I chant it over and over in my mind.
The phantom pain is already vibrating through my skin, and I start to sweat. What’s he going to do to me when I pass out this time?
His body moves toward mine, reaching out to grab my arm. He jerks me up, pulling me closer. He presses his face against the side of mine, inhaling a lungful of me. My muscles are rigid, skin clammy. He’s shaking against me, and I know he’s been desperate for me to come back. I’m going to get sick again.
Then, the doorbell starts to ring. It rings and rings, over and over. Usually, it’s just a single bell ding, so someone must be repeatedly pressing it down. Sev slowly backs away from me, letting go of my arm.
He lifts a finger to carefully trace the shape of my lips, leaning forward to whisper, “Don’t go anywhere, angel.” I shiver at the familiar nickname. “You’ll never go anywhere again.”
The blood in my veins freezes at the threat, and I know he means it. Running away the first time was a temporary fix, but he’ll never really let me go. I’ll be his plaything as long as he wants.
I have to fight this now. I’ve never fought back to those who have used and abused me, but it’s time.
He exits the room to presumably bark at the disgruntled customer. I creep toward the door, peeking my head out to see if I can make a run for the back door. If I go that way, he’ll mostly likely be able to follow me down the alley on his bike. I know the streets well, but after I disappeared last time, he’ll be more likely to chase.
I decide to look for a weapon instead, searching through his studio for anything I can defend myself with. A memory from deep inside my mind surfaces as I stare at the red leather, and I move toward the seat, sliding my fingers under the edge. The hidden switch bubbles under my skin, and I push it over. The seat clicks up.
I lift it to see what I think I remember from a brief moment of consciousness. Shiny metal gleams in the fluorescents. I’ve never shot a gun, but the thought of aiming one at Sev gives me a tiny rush of excitement.
As I reach for the smallest one, a commotion sounds at the front of the shop. Someone is slammed into something, followed by a loud crash. I grab the gun, praying it’s loaded. I back all the way into the corner, my vibrating arms doing the best they can to hold it aimed toward the door.
I’ll kill him. I have to. I’d rather go to prison than ever let him touch me again. I grit my teeth, preparing for the inevitable.
Footsteps approach, and I nearly drop the gun as a shorter man with gray hair in a red-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt appears. I don’t recognize him, so I keep the gun up. He doesn’t look like one of the guys Sev always had hanging around, but I still don’t know him.
His eyes are wide, flitting from my face to the gun. He lifts his hands up defensively.
“Are you Harley?” he asks, his voice surprisingly kind.
I lower the weapon slightly.
“Who are you?” I ask, my voice raspy and high-pitched. I clear my throat. “Where’s Seven?” I ask in a stronger voice, lifting the gun again, waiting for him to appear behind the man.
“I’m Detective Riggs, Harley. I’m a friend of Russ’s from Greencity. Seven is in the back of a squad car in handcuffs. You’re safe now, okay?”
He looks back at the gun, and I lower it down to point at the ground. He’s arresting Seven?
“I don’t know anyone named Russ.” The adrenaline flow is beginning to slow.
Seven can’t touch me. He’s locked up.
“Russ is an older guy, white hair? He works as a campus police officer at Ole Tex. Don’t you go there with Adam?”
I nod, the pieces slowly beginning to mold together. They got something on Seven from the video feed. What could he have done in the parking lot of the dorms?
“Yes…but why are you here?” My arms begin to shake again, and I slowly lower the gun to lay it on the floor, backing away.
Detective Riggs approaches the opened chair with the firearms laid out inside of it. He looks from it to me, a smile forming on his face.
“I came to perform a random check on a probationer. That check has revealed some interesting things.”
He doesn’t touch any of the guns but leans down to look at one in the case. Standing back up, he walks around the chair towar
d me.
My body is visibly quaking with the rush of panic, adrenaline, and shock crashing through my bloodstream. I see him jump toward me as I crumble, the world fading to black.
34
Adam
Harley is in danger.
Harley went back to Carbona to see her family, supposedly.
Kenna told me in tears as soon as I went to their room after I met with Russ. She said she was worried, but Harley asked her to tell me I was sick. That part made me question everything, but even if she’s changed her mind about us, I still have to make sure she’s safe.
Russ had gotten the license plate from Seven’s motorcycle, and did a search in the database. He’s a forty-two-year-old ex-convict, on probation for another six years. He was in prison for attempted murder, drug dealing, and selling illegal firearms. He was also suspected of gang activity.
The flight to Carbona lasted an eternity, my knee bouncing, head spinning. The woman next to me kept trying to talk to me, and I couldn’t even register her face or words enough for more than a few grunts of agreement.
When my plane landed, I got a heart-stopping voice mail from Detective Riggs, telling me that Harley was rushed in an ambulance to the Carbona Lakeshore Hospital. He said she was “okay,” but that’s a relative term.
The first taxi ride of my life is agonizingly long.
My hand grips the door handle harder. “How much farther to the hospital?” I ask the driver.
“Ten minutes,” he replies, his tone tinged with annoyance at my continual request.
Russ has a multitude of contacts after having been on the police force in different cities for over forty years. He called an old friend in Carbona to inquire about the bald tattoo artist, whose real name is Tyler Donniver. Turns out, Mr. Donniver is suspected of continuing his arms dealing. His place of work is also under surveillance. Lots of felons like to get “tatted up” at Hades’s Playground, according to Detective Riggs. He agreed to pay the probationer a random visit as a favor to Russ.
