Kandiland

by T. L Smith

  Words want to leave my mouth as I watch her walk into the bathroom.

  Like, why is she here? Where is Jarod? Does she still love him? Does she love me?

  Pushing those questions away I get dressed, and by the time I place my watch on, she’s coming out, soft pink lips, and long eyelashes fan her face, her hair is pulled back into a clean bun.

  “You look, good,” she says staring at me.

  I don’t tell her how she looks, because if I did, I would want to feel her, and knowing I want to feel her would make me put her back into my bed and have her all over again.

  She drowns out my pain.

  “We should go.”

  Kandi nods as I walk out the door, and she follows a few steps behind me. Alfred’s standing at the front door dressed in all black as he waits for us. Kandi steps up, her hand pushes into mine and she holds it. Then we walk out to my car which Alfred insists on driving with Davina in the passenger seat.

  THE GRAVEYARD IS BUSY, busy with people whose life Pam has affected in some way. Mostly my employees. They all met her when she’d come in looking for me to hide. Now, she’s found her own hiding place. Somewhere where no one can hurt her ever again.

  “He better not come.” My voice is low, deadly.

  Everyone seems to go quiet.

  “Alfred...” I trail off.

  Alfred looks to Kandi, then to me. “He was found dead shortly after you got home.”

  My hand squeezes Kandi’s, and she manages to pull her hand away from my vise grip.

  “You did it.”

  “I told him to do it.” Her voice is small next to me. Turning to her, I remove her sunglasses which cover her face, so I can see her eyes. She looks down then back to me.

  “You told him to what?”

  “To end it. You wouldn’t be thinking clearly. It was the only way to keep you out of prison. Have him die, when you weren’t able to kill him yourself.”

  I turn my head to Alfred. “You agreed to this?”

  “I agree she wants what’s best for you.”

  Looking back to Kandi, I lean in close. Her breath hits my lips. She watches, unsure of what to say or do.

  “You took away my revenge. Do you think I would be okay with that?” Her eyes go wide at my words. “Get the fuck out of my car.” Her hands grab her sunglasses, and she sucks in a deep breath as she pulls the handle open. Kandi doesn’t look back as she makes her way over to where the ceremony is being held.

  “I should kill you for this, and her,” I say to Alfred.

  “She’s one of the first people to care. To actually care for you, and not want anything in return. Maybe think about that next time you’re an asshole,” Davina says, slamming the door as she gets out.

  Alfred shakes his head. “I agreed with her, you are our top priority.”

  “She was mine,” I say almost silently, but Alfred hears me. I turn, looking for Kandi and see her standing near the coffin. Davina’s holding her hand.

  “She was, and because of you, she had one person in this life that truly loved her. Maybe think about that next time you want to kill others for loving you.” Alfred gets out too, so I’m the only one left in the car. He leaves the keys in the ignition.

  Getting out, I look up to everyone. All standing and waiting. Waiting for what? She’s already dead. There isn’t anything they can do or say that will change that fact. My feet pull me to the gravesite. The police officer that arrested me is there, he offers me a small nod.

  Kandi watches me, but doesn’t make a move to come to me.

  Davina stands next to her as they both try to cover their tears with their glasses.

  Alfred stands next to me.

  It all feels wrong.

  This all feels wrong.

  Someone walks up to say a few things, a school friend. I didn’t even know she had one of those. Where were they?

  “She always talked about her hero, Huxley. Every chance she got...” That’s all I hear before I’m walking back to the car. They don’t know her, none of those fucking people know anything about her. I used to change her diapers. Play with her and take beatings for her until I couldn’t any longer. I couldn’t help her, protect her, I let her get killed. In the hands of that monster of all people.

  I’m so mad they killed him, that it wasn’t my hands around his neck as his last breath slipped away. That I wasn’t the last face he saw. They took that away from me, that option to avenge her death.

  Starting the car, I start to drive. The car skids to the side as I push hard on the pedal to get the fuck out of that place. That place Pam has no business being in.

  It doesn’t take me long to get to where I want to be. The place is busy being this early. The wake is to be held here after the burial. My bar. Sitting at the bar, I grab a bottle of whiskey. I don’t drink, never had a liking for it. Today’s different. Today, for the first time, I plan to get fucked up. I’ve avoided drinking. That happens, I guess, when you’re raised with someone who doesn’t know how to handle their liquor and beats you every time he took a sip. You tend to hate it, eventually.

  Not today, though. Nope. Today I want that fucking bottle of brown liquid to help drown the fucking anger and sorrow swimming around in me, making me tether on the edge of hurting someone else.

  If I could go to hell and kill him all over again, I would. Painfully and fucking slowly.

  A man like him deserves every punishment.

  “You aren’t really thinking about it, are you?” Tim comes to stand next to me. Figured he’d come, he would have been the first Alfred called to look after everything. I’ve known Tim a long time and trust him to an extent. Last time I saw him, he had troubles with his woman at the club.

  “Yep,” I answer him, as he sits next to me raising an eyebrow.

  “This I’m staying for, not once have I seen you drink. It should be interesting.”

  “Fuck off.”

  He doesn’t move or flinch at my words. He’s used to them. “I’m working, you’ll have to leave or put up with me.”

  “It’s my fucking business.”

  He smiles. “Not today, today you’re a customer.” He grabs a glass putting it in front of me then pours my first drink. I look at it for a long time, before I can manage to pull it to my lips and take my first sip.

  It’s sweet and awful at the same time. I remember now why I hate it. But I know eventually, a numbing effect will come. It’s why so many drink when they can’t handle the world. I can’t handle the world today. If I could, there would be a pile of dead bodies around my feet.

  “Fuck, if you plan to drink that much, let me join you,” Tim says as I put the bottle to my lips. I need the numb to come fast and hard.

  Fuck this life.

  Chapter 29

  Kandi

  It was a beautiful funeral if those words can even be used. Alfred had someone come pick us up as Huxley took the car we came in. Going back to where I work during daylight hours with people waiting to get in feels weird. It’s hardly ever this busy during the evening, just regulars coming in and out. It’s the dead of night when it’s at its busiest.

  The moment we walk in I spot him. He’s hard to miss, he’s the most standout person in the room, to me. His back is hunched as he sits at the bar with a bottle of alcohol in hand. Not once have I ever seen him drink. It feels weird to watch him holding that glass of liquor.

  He asked me to go away, but he can’t always have what he wants. He needs someone to force themselves into his life, so he knows people love him. Care for him. Just as he cared for Pam. His posture straightens when I walk up behind him. The guy next to him laughs at something Huxley’s said, who isn’t smiling and turns to look at me.

  “And who is this?” Tim asks.

  “Leave.”

  Tim stands, looking me over as he walks off. Taking his vacated seat, I reach for the bottle of alcohol he seems to be nursing and take a sip of it. It’s harsh and awful.

  How can he be drinking this
shit?

  “You don’t really learn, do you?” He takes the bottle back off me. “That I don’t want you here.”

  “You do, you just don’t want to admit it,” I argue back. I won’t let him push me away like he does everyone else.

  “Where’s your husband, Kandi?”

  I lean in close, so he has to look at me. “He’s where he should be, at his home.”

  “And why aren’t you with him?” His eyebrow rises. I can smell the alcohol on his breath.

  “He isn’t who I want to be with.”

  “Tell me, Kandiland, who is?”

  I lean in close, my lips touch his, but I make no move to kiss him. He watches me, his eyes skidding down to our lips then pin me with his stare.

  “You,” I whisper.

  His tongue darts out, it licks both our lips and I taste him. The sweet taste of whiskey on his lips. The taste that’s Huxley. Consuming.

  “You’re treading on dangerous territory, Kandi.” He pulls back, his eyes though, they stay locked on my lips. He wants to kiss me, but he’s holding himself back.

  “I think I need my Huxley jar back.” A voice comes over the room, speaking about Pam. Everyone goes silent, but I like the smirk that tugs on his lips at the mention of my Huxley jar.

  “We may need to fill it,” he says as he stiffens when someone says Pam’s name.

  We all grieve differently. That much I know, and have experienced, is true. My way of dealing is to lock myself away, cry myself to sleep, and hope I wake up the next day.

  Huxley doesn’t like the sound of her name being spoken. He stiffens every time someone says it. It pains him so much.

  My hand touches his thigh. “Do you want to leave?”

  Huxley looks relieved when I say it. He picks up the bottle of whiskey, hands me the keys and starts walking out. I follow closely behind him. Davina stops me just before I walk out the door.

  “He doesn’t really know how to love. You know?”

  “I know.”

  She looks at the door with sad eyes as I lay my hand on top of hers. Patting it, she lets me go so I can follow him. He’s already seated when I get in. Deciding I need to go back to my place first, I drive there. My mother’s outside gardening when I pull up. She looks to me then Huxley in the car, surprise on her face which is followed by a smile.

  “I knew you’d be back.” I envelop her in a hug.

  Huxley doesn’t move from his spot in the car. She looks to him over my shoulder.

  “I’m going to go for a walk, okay.” I nod and watch her walk away, but she turns back to me. “I may be gone all night, you know... just to be safe.” I laugh at her. She’s made friends here with the neighbors I didn’t even know we had. Walking to the car, I open his door and indicate with my finger for him to get out. He does, begrudgingly.

  Following me inside, he walks straight out to my back porch where I was last with Pam. Her painting’s still there. His fingers lightly touch it, skimming it.

  “You can keep it,” I say to him. His hand drops and the bottle goes back to his lips.

  “She liked painting.”

  I nod my head, she did very much. Pulling out my paints and changing the canvas, I strip my dress off, so I don’t get it dirty, and it leaves me in only a G-string and lacy bra. He doesn’t seem to mind, the way his eyes track me.

  “What are you doing?”

  I step up to him and unbutton his shirt. Letting it fall off, I go for his trousers next until they fall off his hips and he steps out of them.

  “I want you to paint me.”

  His eyebrows rise high while I take the bottle off of him. He doesn’t fight me on it, just watches me. Lying down on a white plastic sheet, I pass him a brush with the colors next to me.

  “Paint me, Huxley.”

  “You’re insane.”

  I smile up at him. “Do it.”

  He kneels down, dips the brush in and starts at my midriff. It’s relaxing. So fucking relaxing having someone paint you. The gentle strokes of the brush on your body feels so sensual. The brush makes its way up to between my breasts and when I open my eyes, his eyes are tracking my body. I push myself up on my elbows.

  “Lie down.”

  He does as I ask. Taking the brush from him, I do the same. The cold paint touches his midriff, and I can’t help but notice he’s extremely hard next to me. Just as I reach his neck, he pulls me onto him.

  “I know what you’re doing.” I look at him innocently, batting my eyelashes. “You’re trying to help me forget.”

  He’s right. I am. But not Pam, I would never want him to forget her. She was such a huge part of his life. I want him to forget the hate he holds, even if it’s just for a moment.

  “Where is your husband, Kandi?”

  “Where he belongs, at his home with his mother,” I answer him again truthfully.

  “Why are you here, with me?”

  I suck in a deep breath. “Because I love you. I choose you.”

  He doesn’t blink, but it feels like he stops breathing. “Do you want to know how many times someone I’ve loved told me they love me back?” I shrug my shoulders at him. “Never.” His words shock me, then I recall what he just said. “Someone he loves.”

  He said those words.

  My finger draws on the paint around his heart.

  “You think you love me?” I ask him.

  He grips me to him. Holding me hostage to his touch. “Do we have to label it?” he asks.

  “I think you need to because you’re a man who’s never said those words. I want those words from your lips.”

  He leans up, bites my lip and lies back down. “You’re my Kandiland, I get very lost in you.”

  I lean down and kiss his lips, gripping his face with my paint-covered hands. He tastes like whiskey and all things nice. When I lift back up so I can see him, he’s smiling.

  “You never smile,” I say to him.

  “There really wasn’t much to smile about.”

  His words hurt my heart. How can a man that has so much, have so little?

  “I’ll make you smile,” I say, nipping at his lip. My kisses start down his neck as my hand skirts between us, grabbing hold of him.

  “You do, every fucking time I’m with you. That’s why I’m addicted. You’re my new favorite addiction. One I never plan to get rid of.”

  “Good, because I’m harder to dispose of than you realize.” Shimmying my underwear off, he pulls his so they come off when mine do.

  “You take away the pain,” he says as I feel him at my entrance. He’s hard, and his eyes watch my every move. He doesn’t care we’re both covered in paint. The only thing he sees is me. And I love looking back at myself through his eyes. Because for the first time, I see myself, not someone else staring back at me.

  He might not know how to express love like most people do. But I have no doubt he will be the hardest-loving person I’ve ever met. Those that don’t have it, usually cherish it when they get it.

  His hands slide my hips down, and in one swift movement, he’s in me. Sitting up, my hands stay on his paint-covered chest. My breasts are pulled from my bra, and his hands fondle them, rolling my nipple between his fingers as my hips start rocking back and forth. The feeling of him inside me is one of my favorite places to be. It feels like it’s where I’m meant to be. Right here, with him.

  My hips start rocking, faster and faster. His hands grab hold, pushing and pulling me, so I have even more friction.

  I come undone on top of him, collapsing onto his chest. He isn’t done though. He flips me over, so my chest is on the floor. He lifts my ass, grabbing, and sliding straight back into me. His hands slip into mine, and he uses them as leverage as he continues to fuck me. Take everything from me. He doesn’t stop until he comes, and I follow him again with a finger rubbing my clit and his body covering my back.

  “I won’t let you leave,” he says into my ear as he lies down on me. My face is to the side, I’m unable to move. He isn�
�t putting all his body on me, just a bit so I can feel his weight above me.

  “I hope you never do,” I manage to say back to him.

  He wipes my pink hair from my face, kisses my cheek, and rolls off so he’s now lying next to me. Unable to move, I look up to the painting I was making before I left. I didn’t notice before, but I do now. It’s him, with a broken heart.

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  Love comes in different waves.

  He was like a wave. One I didn’t see coming.

  He smashed into me, taking me in his hold.

  Even to this day, one year from the day I told him I loved him, he still looks at me like I’m the most perfect person in the world. I try my hardest to live up to those expectations. He makes it easy, though. Even at my worst, he thinks it’s my best and loves me all the same.

  It took months before he would even say that word to me. Eventually, I moved in with him, giving my mother the cottage.

  Mother’s the biggest supporter of Huxley. I’m pretty sure she favors him more so than me. He dazzles her with his smile, that he gives to me, and occasionally now to her.

  I never knew I could be this happy again. Never knew that the man walking into our home right now after working all night could manage to make me smile. But he does so with ease.

  His hands wrap around my waist, and he pulls me to him. Slamming my body into his. His kisses are feverish as they attack me. The same way they do almost every night.

  I eventually stopped working for him. No work was getting done because he couldn’t leave me alone long enough for me to do any of it. Then he would proceed to work all night. He needed sleep, and I needed him. I worked out which one I needed more.

  He was my only choice.

  So I did something I never thought I would do.

  I sold paintings. And now, I have a very nice income. I still do furniture, most of our house is furnished with furniture I’ve revamped and given life back to.

  Stacey and Henry even live close by, just like she said she would.