by T. L Smith
“I know, Mother,” I say in a sarcastic tone, as I reach for the water and one container of food, taking it to my couch.
“Don’t you ‘Mother’ me. How was your night last night?”
I’m about to answer her when she reaches for something on my coffee table. “Lord Rochelle, you need a cleaner. Why do you not have a cleaner?” She shakes her head and walks to the kitchen.
“She doesn’t need a cleaner for the same reason I don’t need a cleaner, and our night last night was great.” Kat smiles at me, and it’s then I remember Blaze.
Oh Lord, does she remember seeing him? I wonder. The things she said. My eyes go wide at her, and she just blushes.
“Good, good, you’re a mother now, so I don’t expect you to have crazy nights.”
“I’m a mother, yes. But I am not dead,” Kat says, sitting next to me and placing Annabelle between us, then taking my food.
“True, okay.” Mother walks to the door, her bag in hand, and she looks back to us. “Love you, bye.” We wave as she walks out, and I immediately turn to Kat, but she’s faster because her finger is in my face. “Don’t you dare mention it.”
“You asked to see his cock.” I giggle. “A biker. You asked a biker to show you his cock.” I giggle even louder, covering my mouth as I double over.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Roch, I was drunk.”
Annabelle starts clapping between us, and I laugh even harder. Kat throws a cushion at my head when my laughter doesn’t stop.
The week comes and goes quickly. The time for me to visit Tanika is finally here. And when I see her, my hands are shaky. My bruises are completely gone from where she whacked me one, and my hands stay clasped in front of me. She’s sitting in a recliner when I walk into her rec room. Shy eyes look up at me, and a soft smile plays on her lips.
“Hey,” I say, sitting opposite her.
“Hey,” she says back.
I look around to see a few others playing board games and interacting with each other. There’s no television. The facility is a fair way out from where I live, but the drive is worth it. She is worth it.
“This place seems nice.” She lifts her hands and starts to bite her nails.
“It’s a private rehab, it costs a pretty penny,” she says between bites.
“That’s nice of Blaze,” I say back to her.
“Yeah, it is.”
“How are you?” I ask, reaching forward, my hand touching her leg briefly. She looks down at it, unsure, and then back up to me.
“I’m sorry about your car.” Tanika looks back down. “And your eye.”
I shrug. “It’s okay. These things happen.”
Her head begins to shake. “They don’t. And I don’t know if I will be able to go back to who I was. I don’t know who that person is anymore.”
“You had something terrible happen to you, Tan. It’s okay to not be yourself,” I say to her, as she bites her lip.
Sad eyes look up at me. “It’s just so hard. So fucking hard. If I could right now, I would get high. It takes away the pain, it makes it better. It helps me forget, even if just for a little while.” She starts scratching at her arm.
I change the subject.
“I told Marcus he’s being too needy of my time,” I say, smiling.
She stops scratching and looks to me. “You did?”
“Yep. He says he doesn’t want me. Just my body. But I see him as much as I would someone who I would be in a relationship with.”
“Blaze says he’s all kinds of fucked-up,” Tan says.
“Yep, he is,” I agree.
“But you want him all the same.”
I nod at her words. “I do.”
“Do you think you want more?”
“I do, but he doesn’t. So, I haven’t asked.”
“You should. Because you’re going to get hurt. Call it off, Rochelle. Especially if he doesn’t want you.”
“He does,” I say in my defense.
“He wants your body. There is a big difference.”
I smile at her. “When did you get so smart?”
“I just know what hurt does to you. You lock yourself away.”
She’s not wrong. I’m good at hiding when I need to. The last time I did it, after my grandparents died, I was trying to hide with Marcus.
“I have to go,” I say, standing, then I lean down to cuddle her. “Can I come back next week?” I say into her shoulder.
Tanika tenses but relaxes at my touch. “Yes, I’d like that.”
I smile down at her. “It’s good you’re getting help, Tan. It takes a strong woman to do that.”
Sad eyes look back up at me. “You wouldn’t call me strong if you knew what I had planned to do.” A tear leaks free from her eye and slowly rolls down her cheek.
“But here you are.”
“Here I am,” she repeats my words, trying to smile for me.
I give her a small wave and off I go.
Looking at my cell for any missed calls from Marcus, I see none. It’s been a week now, and I know I said I would be the one to call, but I was silently hoping he would.
Chapter Seventeen
Marcus
“Do it,” Blaze yells next to me.
“Will you shut the fuck up,” I argue with him.
“If you had done it already, we wouldn’t be arguing,” he yells back.
“Well, if you shut the fuck up already, it would be done.”
“Fine, call me when it’s done.”
“Nope.”
“Arghh… just fucking ask her.”
“Nope.”
I can hear him grunting into the phone. “Ask her.”
“No,” I argue back. He won’t win, and he knows it. But that doesn’t stop him from trying.
“Just ask, you owe me this.”
“Nope. Now, I have to get back to work. So, fuck off.” I hang up on Blaze, pulling my mask back down and working on the body in front of me.
My brother once asked me when I was eighteen and he was seventeen, did I know what I wanted to do with my life.
At that time, I didn’t.
It wasn’t until our drugged-up mother had an overdose, and we had to go view her body at the crematorium, that I knew exactly what I wanted to do.
There was a viewing room and a man who showed you the bodies. I stayed well after everyone was gone. I sat in the dark corridors and watched him work. I was fascinated. I could see myself doing what he did, and when he placed my mother into the fire, it was then I knew it was my calling.
I loved my mother once, so fiercely despite all the bad. I loved her. It was the last time I swore to be blinded by a woman’s love.
My mother never once cared for us. We were irrelevant to her. Just a check which I ended up taking to feed Blaze and myself.
Blaze fell into a gang.
I fell into the dead.
Ironic.
It was poetic justice, really.
A loud bang comes on the door, and I know who it is straight away. Pulling my mask off, I walk outside to see Blaze. He’s leaning on the side of the building with a cigarette to his lips.
“Is she single?”
“Aren’t you with the other one… in rehab?” I argue back at him. He wants to know about pretty girl’s sister. I haven’t spoken to pretty girl for at least a month now. She hasn’t called, and I haven’t bothered.
My need for her is fucking strong, though, and it takes everything in me to stay away. So, I’ve taken on extra work. And extra workload from Blaze too.
“Yes, I just want to fuck her. Nothing more.”
“You sound like me,” I say, shaking my head and walking back inside. He hates this place. Hates it with a vengeance, so much so he hardly ever walks inside, always stands at the door.
“It’s because you showed me how to be this way,” he yells, as I get further in. “Just call her. You know you want to. You haven’t been with anyone else, maybe she will be good for you.”
“L
ove and relationships are never good for anyone,” I yell back at Blaze.
I look up and see him step through the door, just a fraction, so he can see me better. He wipes at his forehead and thins his lips—I know just coming in here this far is killing him.
“I’ll go see her, tell her how much of an ass you’ve been.”
“You’ll do no such thing, and if you do…” I close the door to the fire, “… I’ll put your ass in here and watch you fucking burn.”
Blaze waves off my threat and walks out. Pulling off my gloves and mask, I go straight out after him, but he’s already on the back of his bike with helmet in hand.
“At least fuck someone else. You’re a moody cunt.” He pulls the helmet on over his head.
“Who says I haven’t.”
Blaze starts the bike and revs it loud. It’s pitch black, close to midnight, and no one is around.
“You haven’t. I know you haven’t.” Then he pulls away.
I hate that he knows me so well. That he’s the only person on this earth who knows my fucked-up ways and still stays around.
They say love is something that suffocates you. That love is a permanent weight that will never lift you up, and forever hold you down, in that one spot you don’t wish to stay in. People are blinded by love and lose themselves in it. Some will take a fist to the face, a knife to the throat, and call it love.
My mother had a love like that. She was stuck in a state where she couldn’t escape, and I watched her time and time again trying to escape from such a love.
But love is like a tornado. No matter how many times you try to get away, it will spin you back right where you started.
I watch from my truck as Rochelle walks out of her work, her skirt is extra short today. Shorter than yesterday’s skirt, anyway. She smiles at a man as he walks up to her car, but I can tell it’s forced. Rochelle is someone who’s sweet, and far too pretty. She’s too good for the ugly that lurks just around the corner.
The only form of death she has known is the most recent one of her grandparents.
Someone like Rochelle doesn’t know what death is really like, only the outside of it.
She doesn’t know what pain is like—only the emotional kind.
A part of me despises Rochelle. I want to not want her. Actually, I want to hate her. But as I sit here watching her back away slowly from a man, I see I also want to protect her, and hold her, and most of all, fuck her.
She’s becoming my second addiction.
And I’m not sure how I feel about that.
How I feel about wanting her so much when she’s so good.
Pretty girl isn’t right for me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I want her.
And I usually get what I want.
Chapter Eighteen
Rochelle
I met Marcus over four months ago, slept with him twice, and haven’t seen him for two months. But as he stands out the front of my house leaning on his truck, I wonder why I stayed away. My hands start sweating, and my stomach lifts, full of butterflies. This man is attractive, and I hate the fact that something inside of me calls for him with a need I can’t fully comprehend. Taking the steps one at a time, I walk to him, keeping distance between us. It’s safer that way.
“Marcus.” His name falls from my lips. His stupid sunglasses cover his eyes, as usual, and as he stands there, he has his hands in pockets. His posture is relaxed as he watches me. “What can I do for you?” I rub my hands up and down my arms.
“How was your Christmas?” he asks, as casually as asking someone for a coffee.
Honestly?
What the fuck?
“How was my Christmas? Is that really what you came here to ask?” I look back over my shoulder and then back to him.
“Is someone in there?” he asks, nodding to the door of my house.
“None of your business.” I wave my hand around at him. “Now, I ask again, what do you want?”
“You.”
“You’ve had that. Now try again.”
He pushes himself off the truck and stands to his full height, his hands clasp behind his back. “I want you.”
“I am not something you can have when you please.”
“But you want me too,” he says with some authority in his voice.
He’s right, he knows I want him.
There is no denying that.
I don’t need to air it to him, though.
“You can’t even argue with me that you don’t.”
“Arguing with you is pointless. Or better yet…” my hand goes to my hip, “… maybe I should. Maybe that will make you run away from me again for longer this time.”
“I didn’t run.”
“Really? Because not seeing or hearing from you for two months sounds a lot like running to me.”
“You told me to wait for your call.”
Damn him for bringing that up.
He’s right, I did.
But I expected him to call.
After all, I was proving a point, and I was right.
“Again, what do you want?”
“Again, I told you. You.”
“And I told you… you can’t have me.”
“Why is that?” Marcus makes a move to step closer to me, but I step back.
A car comes into my line of sight, and I groan when I see who it is.
My mother’s eyes pin me with a stare as she gets out, and then they flick to Marcus, who’s standing awfully close to me.
“Hello. Who is this, Rochelle?” she asks, offering her hand to him.
He takes it, shakes it, and steps away.
Mother’s eyes go from me to him. “Is this your boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Yes,” he says at the same time.
My mother’s eyes bounce from me to him. “Why don’t you come out with us? To celebrate Rochelle’s birthday. Is that why you’re here?”
Marcus turns to me at my mother’s words. “It’s your birthday?”
“Tomorrow. So, there’s still time to buy her a present. She likes Gucci.” My mother waves off and heads toward the house where I know my sister is inside, and more than likely watching all this while laughing her head off.
“I don’t like Gucci.”
“You don’t?” he asks.
“Well, I do. But it’s expensive, and I have better things to spend my money on,” I say honestly. “Oh, and you’re not invited. I rescind the invitation. Please leave.” I turn to walk back up to the house, but I hear his footsteps behind following me.
“Your mother invited me. It would be awfully rude not to accept her invitation.”
“It wouldn’t. Because you aren’t my boyfriend. Now… leave,” I say, turning back around just as I see my sister standing at the door.
“Marcus, was it?”
I groan. He must nod, because she continues, “Good, we were just getting ready to leave. Rochelle can go with you, if that works?”
“I’m going with you,” I say to her.
“Oh no, don’t have the room. Sorry.”
I reach the door, grab my heels, and wonder if I can stab her in the eye with my stiletto.
“Looks like you will be with me, pretty girl.”
My mother and sister walk out, handing me my bag and shutting my front door. They smile as they walk past and get into their cars, driving off and leaving me with him standing behind me. I haven’t been able to look back at him yet.
“I’ll walk.”
“No, you won’t. Now, get in my truck and tell me where to go.”
I sit on my step like a petulant child and look up at him. Marcus steps forward and reaches out to me. I go to pull away, but he’s much bigger and faster than me, and he picks me up as if I am light as a feather. He turns, walking to his truck which is out the front, clicks a lock, and goes to the passenger door.
“Happy birthday, pretty girl.”
“It’s not my birthday,” I say. My eyes are glued to his lips as he p
uts me in the truck.
“But it will be.” Then he shuts the door, walks around to his side, and slides in.
I tell him where to go, and the whole drive my leg bounces in the seat. Nervousness is racking through my body.
“This is weird. Whatever deal we had is over. So, why are you here?”
“I’m willing to try a new deal with you.”
“No, it won’t be a deal. People who enter into new friendships or relationships don’t count it as a deal, Reap,” I say, using his name that everyone else seems to call him.
He removes his sunglasses and looks to me.
“I’m not Reap to you.”
“Why? Is that side of you scary and too much for me?”
“Yes. Way too much for you. We’ve already established that.”
“I’m not some innocent girl,” I say.
“Yes, you are. And I like that about you.” He says the first nice thing to me, ever. He likes me. This man, who never gives me much, tells me he likes me.
I shouldn’t be happy about that, I should be upset and telling him to go away. Yet, here I sit, staring at him as we pull up to the restaurant to have dinner with my family.
“You can still run,” I say to him.
“Tried that already, look where it got me.” Marcus gets out and walks around to my side.
My family is already inside. I can see them through the window as they wait for me to come in. Marcus clasps my hand in his as we walk in, and I try to pull it away but he doesn’t let me go. My father’s eyes zoom in, but my mother leans in, whispering something to him, then smiles up at us.
“Sir,” Marcus says to my father.
“Please, call me Tom,” my father offers Marcus.
“So, Kat tells me, Marcus, that you’ve been seeing Rochelle off and on for a while?” my mother says.
My face turns red at her words.
“Mother,” I chastise her, and hope she shuts up sometime soon.
I try to pull my hand free, but Marcus doesn’t let go until we sit, and then his hand goes to my thigh. This whole thing makes me angry that Marcus thinks we can go back to where we once were.
