by T. L Smith
Clean-up crew?
What the hell is a fucking clean-up crew?
After sliding on the dress, I walk out but quickly run back in to grab my cell from my discarded jeans pocket before I make my way down the stairs. When I reach the bottom, Lucas is speaking with Sergio and Joey. A few others are there, dressed in an all-white get-up with gloves on as they clean the house.
“You brought her here?” Joey says, gaze locked on me. All eyes fix on me at that statement, and I feel Joey’s rake me over before they go back to an angry Lucas.
“Did you have to eye fuck her?” Lucas asks.
Joey just smirks. “Did you have to kill Angela?” Joey bites back.
“Yes, but did you have to eye fuck Chanel?” Lucas asks again.
“Chanel.” Joey turns to face me. “She is beautiful to look at.” I watch in slow motion as Lucas pulls a gun from his pants and raises it at Joey. Joey ignores him and keeps his eyes on me.
“It’s probably best you leave. You shouldn’t have even been here.”
I nod.
A part of me wants to walk out of the house and leave Lucas there, but the other…
I walk up to Lucas slowly and place my hand on his arm, the same one that is holding the gun. “Lucas, take me home.” His long eyelashes blink a few times before he lowers his weapon and turns, catching my arm and storming out of the room.
Lucas didn’t talk the whole way back to my place. He sat in the back with me again while Sergio drove. When we pulled up, I got out, but he made sure to pass me my cell as I did, then he shut the door and drove away.
“Holy shit! That dress is everything. Let me borrow it,” Merci says as I unlock the door to my house.
“Where is Brody?” I ask.
“He said he had to go to work.” She follows me in, and I tear the dress over my head and pass it to her. “You can have it.”
“Oh my God, really?” She immediately starts ripping her own clothes off before she slides the dress on. Then she does a spin, showing it off.
“Where is your underwear?” she asks, stopping mid-spin. I shrug and walk into my bedroom, sliding on panties and quickly getting dressed again.
“So, the boss has been asking if you’re coming back.” She taps her foot on the floor. “Says your clients have been annoying him.”
“I work for Sailor now. I hope to never have to go back to that life,” I tell her. “I make more and have to do less, and it’s good, not just good money but good everything.”
“Think you can get me a job?” She chuckles, then sits on my bed. “Where have you been, I saw Lucas’ car pull away.”
“Someone stole it, and he had to go collect it.”
“Stole it?” Her eyes go wide. “Who would be that stupid?”
“I know, right?” I don’t tell her that he killed the woman who did. Or that the reason I had that dress on was because I’d been covered in half the woman’s blood, or even that she’s wearing that dead woman’s dress.
Maybe I’m becoming too accustomed to him and his lifestyle. I didn’t come from a clean one to begin with, and I know of all the bad things that happen in this life. I’ve seen it and sometimes have even done some of them.
“Rumors are flying.”
I sit on my bed next to her.
“What do you mean?”
She looks away and touches the bottom of the dress.
“About you both.”
“Lucas and me?”
“Yeah.”
“What are they saying?”
“Well, you know the streets talk, they always do. It could be false, what they say.”
“What are they saying, Merci?”
“That there is a reason he’s so invested in you and hasn’t killed you yet.”
“Did they say what the reason is?”
She shakes her head. “No, but it started to sound more and more true when Brody told me he didn’t actually find the job, but that the job found him. Knowing how protective you are of your brother you would go there. And…” She pauses.
“And…” I say, indicating for her to continue.
“That he has you where he wants you. But you are too blind by the way he fucks to see clearly.”
“There's no doubt he is good in bed,” I point out. “But I already suspected the same thing. I just don’t know exactly what it is yet.”
“And you’re willing to find out?”
“Lucas won’t let me walk away, regardless. He isn’t that type of man. So, I have no other choice.” I shrug.
“You always have a choice.”
“Since when? Look at where we live, what we do. Who we are?”
Merci stands, walks over, and grips my face. “But look at where you are now. You aren’t that little girl that your momma abandoned anymore. You are amazing, you know that.”
“Sometimes, I don’t feel it,” I say in a small voice.
“That’s just because we aren’t conditioned to it. We weren’t lucky enough for that. I’m thankful for my grandmother, but I didn’t always have her.”
I look down at my bare right foot, where a small scar sits. You wouldn’t notice if I didn’t point it out, but I remember it clearly.
* * *
They were fighting. Always, always fighting. They mentioned love, but was that really a thing if it was meant to be like that? I didn’t understand it. Surely, this couldn’t be right.
Brody cries from the next room, and I push open the front door. I was planning on staying on the other side until they finished, but I’m hungry, and I need to use the bathroom. Plus, I need to comfort Brody.
“You useless piece of shit.” Dad’s angry. When isn’t he, though?
“Fuck you,” my mother hisses.
“You.” I stop just as I walk in. Both sets of eyes fall to me. “Where have you been?” My father walks over to me. I look back to my mother to see her turn away and grab a bottle of something with brown liquid before she lights a cigarette. My father slaps my face for not focusing on him—he hates it when I disobey him. But sometimes, I have to. He just doesn’t understand, or maybe he does.
“Yes.” My voice is small because I am small. But I know well enough to not argue with him. He doesn’t care about hitting me. He will do it, then walk over to Mama and do the same.
He hasn’t hit Brody yet, maybe because he’s too little.
I don’t remember a time when he didn’t hit me.
“Where have you been? Your brother has been crying for the last hour, and you know you’re meant to be looking after him.”
I hold up the now warm bottle of milk. He grabs and throws it. I hear it crack, and I shiver.
I had to steal that money from him to be able to get it. Brody needs milk. It’s why he’s screaming.
“Go and look after your brother. Shut him up.” I nod and walk behind my father to the kitchen and grab a bottle. It’s dirty, so I rinse it under the water as Mama stands there doing nothing but smoking. When I look at the milk, there’s a little bit left in the bottom, so I pick it up and pour it in, then add some water.
Just as I screw on the lid, Dad is back, the glass from the broken bottle in his hand.
“I told you to shut him up,” he screams at me. “Why is he still crying?”
I hate him.
Detest him.
Loathe the fucker and her.
I hate them both.
I shouldn’t hate them.
But I can’t help it.
The clothes that I am wearing are second-hand, and the shoes I wear are too small and hurt my feet. I currently have blisters all over them and my toes are curling.
“John.” My mama’s voice rings through. I cringe as she walks over and touches his shoulder. “Let’s get high.”
“Woman, you’re already high. You smoked all our fucking shit.” Then his dark eyes fall back to me.
“Women are good for one thing…fucking. Do you hear me, kid?” I nod, having no idea what he’s talking about. “And yet, your
mother sucks at it.”
“John, you weren’t complaining last night.” I glance at my mama to see her licking her lips. Then my father places the piece of glass on the counter, picks up a knife, and turns to me. He leans in real close to my ear, and I grip the bottle hard, wanting to run, but also hearing Brody scream for me.
It’s never them he screams for.
It’s me.
“You’ll remember what I said. Women are only good for one thing,” he says into my ear.
I nod.
“You’ll remember.” Then he drops the knife, and it falls straight into my foot. The pain makes me scream. The bottle I was clutching falls to the floor, and my father walks away, leaving me there staring at the knife sticking out of my foot.
Angrily, I wipe the tears away and pull the knife out, silently screaming as I do. Then I grab the bottle—luckily, it didn’t smash—and walk into Brody’s room. Giving him the bottle, he shuts up straight away. As soon as he’s settled, I open his door to peek out to see where they are. My foot is throbbing, and I need to cover it because blood is soaking the floor.
I hate blood.
They are both on the floor talking, getting high, needles hanging from their arms.
Picking Brody up, I walk us out of the room and past them to the front door.
Immediately, I head off to Merci’s house and knock. Her grandmother lets us in, fixes my foot, and gives me a nice new pair of shoes that fit my feet.
We stay there for two nights.
My parents never look for us once.
* * *
“Lucas is here,” Merci says, breaking my flashback.
I get up from the bed, taking my cell, and smile back at her.
“Tell Brody I’ll be back tomorrow.” I offer her a small smile before I walk out to find him waiting for me. Lucas says nothing, just turns and walks out.
I follow.
Because I’m stupid like that.
Maybe I am my mother—the one person I tried hard not to be.
29
Lucas
She walks into my house behind me, and I say, “I’m going to bed, and you’re coming with me.”
“You honestly think you can tell me what to do? That you can control me?” She chews the inside of her cheek.
“I don’t have the patience to fight with you right now.” I really don’t. All I want to do is bury myself deep inside of her and forget what I have to do tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
“What am I to you? Do you even know? Or is this just a control thing?” she asks.
I pause.
I can’t tell her what she is.
It would destroy us both.
“You are the woman who controls my fucking thoughts, who takes leverage in them, and doesn’t want to fucking let go.”
She remains silent at my outburst at first and then whispers, “You don’t even know me.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know you.” She looks away. “Why are we doing this? Will you let me walk out and away?”
“No,” I state with absolutely no hesitation.
“Figured as much.”
“I know that your parents mistreated you, that you raised your brother with the help of your neighbors. I know that you love pasta and ice cream. I know that I’m the only man who can make you come. That you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re nervous or antsy. And most of all, you hate that you feel something when you are around me, just as I do.” I turn and stalk into my room, tearing off my clothes on the way, and I sense her behind me as I kick my trousers off.
“You have a problem with control. You think you can control every aspect of your life, and you hate that you can’t control me. That’s why you want me so badly,” she whispers, and I turn to see her looking at the floor and not at me. “You love your mother, even though you love no one else.”
“I…” I pause.
Do I love her? I’m not even sure what this is.
“And that word is so foreign to you, that I have a feeling not even your mother says it.” She’s right. I do love my mother, but we don’t tell each other. My father never said it to her either, or me. “But I don’t know anything about your father. You keep that hidden.”
“I need you undressed.” I reach for her, but she shakes her head.
“I’m tired, Lucas. So damn tired.” She leans forward, and her head rests on my chest. She takes deep breaths, breathing me in, and I pat her head, holding her to me while my fingers stroke through her hair.
“My mother did love my father, but my father…” I pause. “He loved only himself. There is no one in this world he loved more than himself.” Chanel remains quiet as she listens to me. “When I started working for Keir, I saw then that he really did only love himself. He would ask me to get him things, do things for him. Because now I had more connections than him, and he didn’t like that. He hated that I was becoming more powerful than him. It stressed him to no end. He left my mother, which he should have done right after I was born, because he constantly cheated on her anyway. He would come home smelling of other women, with absolutely no remorse for how that would make my mother feel.”
“Does she still love him?” Chanel asks.
“No, she’s learned that it wasn’t her. She always thought throughout the marriage that the problem was that she couldn’t keep him happy. But there is no keeping him happy, no matter what. He was and always will be all about him.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I know them to be true.
“Do you still talk to him?”
“Yes, he is my father.”
“Just because he is, doesn’t mean you should.” She pulls back. “Sometimes people’s love is misleading. False. Broken.”
“My parents didn’t have your family’s dynamic,” I point out.
“No, my father and mother loved each other. All through their fucked-up ways and their stupid habits, I have memories of them when they were sober. They were good when they were, though it was rare to find them that way. But when they touched the drugs…” She sighs. “It was a whole different ball game.”
“I’m going to shower.” I pull away from her and walk into the bathroom, stripping out of my clothes and stepping into the shower.
Her family and mine are complete opposites. I still have my parents in my life, and hers are dead because they cared more about the drugs than their own children.
“You have a problem with drugs,” she says, now standing on the other side of the shower door.
“Just the idiots who ingest them,” I tell her.
“What if I were to tell you I did drugs? What would you think of me, then?”
I stop washing myself and look at her. “Do you?”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“I would tell you to leave this fucking house.”
“Goodbye, Lucas.” She walks out, and I stand there shocked.
I would have known if she did, wouldn’t I?
I’ve seen every inch of her body, and there is no trace of track marks. She’s never had that glassy-eyed look that junkies get when they’re high. And I’ve never seen her with any drugs or drug paraphernalia.
Fuck this! Putting my head under the water, I scream, “Fuuuck!”
Immediately, I jump out of the shower and run straight out the front door, where she’s already halfway down the street. Is she fucking crazy? She is asking me to kill her.
“Chanel,” I shout after her.
She doesn’t stop.
So I jog down the sidewalk to catch up with her. “Fucking stop.”
She stops with a loud huff and spins toward me. When she sees me, she rolls her eyes and looks around. “Do you really not have a problem with everyone seeing your cock?” She glances at my naked body.
“No. It only plans to be buried inside of you. So, it doesn’t matter who sees it, because it will only be seeing your cunt.”
“What if I were to run out of the house naked?”
“I would chase you down and spank your fuck
ing ass.” She gives me another solid eye roll. “You do drugs?” I ask her.
“I have tried them, yes,” she admits.
“But you don’t do them any longer, correct?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Come back inside.”
“What if I went and got high right now? Would you kick me out again?” she asks, her arms crossing over her chest.
“No. Seems I don’t like that option, so I’d just tie you to the bed and let you ride it out.”
“You aren’t tying me to the bed ever again.”
“Oh yes, I will be, and you’ll enjoy it.” I reach for her hand and drag her back inside, her feet moving willingly even if her mouth says otherwise.
“What are we even doing?” she whispers, asking that same question again, as the door closes behind us.
“Lord knows, but I’m going to keep on doing it.” I smoothe my hands down her back, then grab her ass and lift her up. She squeals but wraps her legs around me.
“Lucas.” I pause my steps, and she pulls back and strokes my face. “I don’t want to like you.”
“I think it’s a bit late for that, wouldn’t you say?” The tiniest smile pulls from those beautiful lips, and I lean in to kiss them, but she beats me to it and kisses the corner of my mouth, then slides her face into my neck.
She still has semi-control.
And she isn’t planning on letting that go.
30
Chanel
Hands roam my body. Sinful hands that have taken lives. Hands that have given me pleasure, then taken it away.
Lips touch my skin. Lips that set butterflies off in my stomach. Lips that utter words so cruel that I wonder how I ever had those lips anywhere near me or my body.
“Mio per sempre.”
“Tell me what it means?” I ask, clutching his face in my hands. We’re on the bed, and he’s spent the last few minutes undressing and kissing as many parts of my body as possible.
Kisses as hot as fire.
Hands as cool as the night breeze.
Breaths tickle and linger in places, as if trying to pause a moment in time.
