Black

by T. L Smith

  “I got engaged,” he states. I nod my head, having no idea what he expects me to say. “Don’t bring up what you do,” he warns me. He needn’t worry about that, I never do anyway. Sax works in the security business for rich businessmen clientele. I met him through a job. We didn’t talk much, just the basics. It was a job, no reason to become friends. He always seemed to have an edge, one where he could be one of your worst nightmares if he chose to be. I respected that, respected his work. It doesn’t come easy, the line of work he’s in. Mine, well, it does come easy, but not many people can do it for as long as I have and still maintain the professionalism and exceptionalism I possess.

  “I like her, I see why you do,” he says after a moment of silence.

  A car pulls up. Sax stands and walks down to a short brunette who slides out from the driver’s seat. She looks up at me and smiles and waves. I don’t return the action and watch the passenger who hasn’t moved. Her eyes are glued on me though.

  The brunette urges Rose out of the car. Eventually she climbs out and stands, slowly walking toward me. She looks unsure now, weaker than she was when I saw her last.

  “What’s wrong?” I immediately ask, thinking the worst. Her eyes look up at me, then back to the ground.

  “I need…” she starts to say and swings her head back to where her friend stands with Sax.

  “Come,” I say, reaching for her hand and holding it tight. I practically drag her to my car, opening the door and letting her in. When I shut the door, I turn to see Sax and her friend staring at us wide eyed. I don’t acknowledge them, and walk around to the driver’s side and drive away.

  “You need a hit?” I ask her, and she starts twitching with her hands, playing with them.

  She looks up at me and nods her head. “I didn’t… didn’t until he came in.” Her head starts to shake. “How will I ever get better if just seeing him makes me want to go to that dark place again?” I can hear the pain in her voice, the internal struggle she’s currently fighting within herself. I don’t know who exactly she’s talking about, though I guess it’s the man she once loved.

  “You told me,” I say, trying to think of somewhere to drive us so I can distract her from the want. I would like to fuck her, fuck her so hard that all she will crave will be me, but I won’t.

  “I trust you,” she whispers. It’s weird for someone to say those words to me. They have never been said. For me it’s usually fear, terror, anger. Never trust.

  “You shouldn’t,” I say, pulling off to the side of the road and stopping at a train station. It’s familiar. I climb out grabbing spray cans of paint. She sits in the truck, thinking on my words while I swing her door open, telling her to climb out. She does and stops, staring at me.

  “You don’t scare me, and don’t tell me not to trust you.” She has a determination in her voice. “You’re the only person… the only person that has helped me without expecting anything in return. Do you know that? Do you?” Anger—I feel it radiating from her. I like it. “Every man has wanted something for something, whether it be drugs for sex, sex for money. I haven’t had one single person care for me, or even my whereabouts for two damn years, Black!” she screams the last part, and a tear slides down her cheek. She’s trying to be strong, trying to mask the fact that she can be weak. “Two years,” she whispers. I pick her chin up with my fingers, her eyes shine brightly with wetness as she looks at me. The pain of not having anyone love her, or care about her, evident in her eyes. I got used to that a long time ago and it was hard. But she shouldn’t have to, there’s nothing wrong with her, nothing at all.

  “Distraction time,” I say, passing her a can of spray paint. She looks at it and actually smiles. I gaze around to make sure no one is here before I drag her to the empty train on the tracks. She laughs when I stumble over a rock, not being able to see clearly in the dark.

  “You’re quite cute when you’re mad.” She giggles like a girl.

  “I am not cute, Rose.”

  “You so are, Black,” she says, a smile evident on her face. I shake my head and chuck the lid from the paint can down to the ground. I start tagging her name—red for a red rose when I hear her gasp.

  I turn to look at her and watch as she drops the can, taking a step backward, away from me. Evidence of who I am is written all over her now stricken face.

  “You…” she says accusingly.

  “Me…” I smile at her, finally being able to tell her the truth of who I am.

  It’s exactly the same, exactly the same writing and color from when I was sixteen. The same boy who drew it last time is standing as a man in front of me, and I didn’t even know. I’ve thought about him for years, the one that always sticks with you. You know how you meet someone and there’s an instant attraction at the first sight? He was attractive, the best-looking guy in school, but the one no one wanted to be around. He had a bad name, a dangerous name. He hung with the bad crowds, and kids were warned not to go near him. So they didn’t. He was always by himself, never talking or mingling with anyone.

  Then one night, I lost my grandmother. My heart broke—shattered to a million pieces—and I ran into the night, stopping at the park. That’s when I met him, beautiful and broken, just as I was that night. So beautiful, but yet so completely destroyed.

  He’s now a man, an exquisitely handsome man. One that chose not to tell me who he was. One that looks at me for the very first time with a smile. A smirk if you will. Like he can’t believe I’ve just put it all together.

  “You look so different,” I say, my hand lifting of its own accord, wanting to touch his face. My palm softens under his cheek, his breath comes in heavy bursts. I watch his eyes squeeze closed like my hand is burning him and it’s painful to have my touch. I quickly remove it. His eyes open, and his hand touches where my hand just was.

  “Still feel the need?” he asks, and I shake my head. I don’t think it’s even in my head anymore. All that’s there in this moment is filled with him.

  “No,” I whisper. “It’s really you?” We shared such a connection. I’ve never shared a connection with someone so strong. I was so young and I didn’t understand it. I knew I liked him, more than any of the other boys my age. Boys didn’t interest me back then, but he did and I didn’t understand why. Was it the bad boy cliché I wanted? Or was it purely him?

  “You remember me?” he asks, searching my eyes.

  “How could I forget?”

  “People tend to forget me. It’s in their nature.” My heart breaks. I believe his words, believe people do. What fools they are. What pitiful, shameful fools!

  “Never.” My head shakes back and forth. I want to touch him again, but I don’t get the chance as he turns his head and finishes tagging my name. I just stand there and watch. He adds a black rose, a black rose the same as he added last time we were together. I understand it better now. He’s black, and I’m the rose.

  “I want to touch you,” I say, now inches from his back. I can smell him. He smells deliriously delicious. I want to hold him, bury my head in his chest and listen to his heart, taking in his scent all day.

  My hand reaches out, his body turns around. My hand touches his chest and his eyes watch mine, I notice the restraint he’s holding. I’m barely touching him, my hand only feathering his chest. I don’t quite understand it. Understand how someone could not want the basic human instinct of touch. He seems to think it’s poisonous. A touch that seems painfully real to him, like my touch will inflict nothing but pain.

  My hand holds tighter, clinging to him even more. I take a step forward. Closing the distance between us, his hand places itself on top of mine, holding me to him. His now dark green eyes with dark specs through them don’t look me in the face. He looks anywhere and everywhere but at my face.

  My second hand goes up and I place it above his heart. He flinches and steps backward so fast that I’m left standing with my hands in the air.

  “We can’t do that,” he says, walking away, back to
the car. I look back at my name, then the rose. A smile forms on my face, and then I follow him back to the car.

  We drive in silence. He stares straight ahead, never sparing me a glance. I can’t keep my eyes off of him. He gives me butterflies in a good kind of way. His looks, his mystery, his presentation. All of it draws me in, and again, I think it’s the cliché bad boy thing I’m looking for. I double guess myself, because I don’t even see that when I look at him. I see a man, a man who cares, even when he shouldn’t. A man who’s broken, but will fix others. A man that hides in all his blackness, even taking the name to seem deadlier, which I’m sure he doesn’t need.

  “Liam,” I finally say his name, that name hasn’t left my lips for ten years. It feels good. His head swings to me, and his face tightens.

  “It’s Black,” he says, correcting me, then turning back to the road.

  “Not to me you’re not. Just Liam…” I smile, feeling giddy. Why does he give me those feelings? He catches me smiling, shakes his head, and turns into Casey’s driveway. He stops and doesn’t move, doesn’t even turn the car off.

  “I think it's best if we don’t contact each other. Lose my number,” he says, keeping his eyes peeled ahead. I open the door, stepping out. I turn to him before I shut the door, but he doesn’t look at me.

  “Not happening,” I reply. His head swings to me and I slam the door and walk to the front door. I hear him pull away with a tire squeal just as I open the door.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been ringing you non-stop,” she cries, wrapping her arms around me. She seems worried, it makes me feel wanted that she may actually care more than she did previously.

  “Didn’t take my phone. No one usually cares where I am anyway.” She pulls me back, her face now in my face. Sax is behind her and shakes his head at her, but smiles.

  “Of course I care. For all I know, that fine piece of ass could’ve taken you to the woods and chopped you into tiny pieces,” she huffs out, releasing me, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “He does have a fine ass, doesn’t he?” I smile, which pulls a smile from her.

  “Yeah, and all that dark and ‘don’t fuck with me’ exterior actually makes him that much hotter.” She fans herself dramatically and Sax grunts from behind her.

  “He’s dangerous,” Sax says, standing, not moving.

  Casey waves a hand at him, blowing him off. “They said the same about you, and look where we are now… I’m knocked up with a ring on my finger.” Her hand flies to her mouth, and she turns to me biting her lip and worry lines appearing on her forehead. “I’m so sorry, Rose,” she says. I wave her off.

  “Its fine, don’t worry. I’m happy for you.” I smile. She knows my situation with Roger. The bastard.

  “You’re pregnant?” Sax asks, clearly shocked. Casey’s eyes go furiously wide in front of me. “Whoops…” she says, turning around. “Sorry, baby, I planned to tell you tonight.” I sneak past them and go to the spare room, which I can’t stay in for much longer now, now that she’ll be having a baby of her own. I hear Sax cheer and Casey giggle in delight. I lay on my bed, smiling at them and pick up my phone, planning to send one last message before I drift off to sleep.

  Me: When can I see you again? Can we meet up? Please. x

  “You…” he stutters, shock coating his face. He doesn’t know me but knows of me. Knew I was here for him, to take him away from this thing he calls a life. My gun is in my left hand, my finger on the trigger, ready to be pulled.

  “Why?” he asks, looking around desperately for help. There’s no one here. I made sure of that before I set this up. This hit is my only one this week. I didn’t lie to my body man when I told him I’d be taking things slower. My phone hasn’t stopped. My name and number are being spread faster—almost time to change the number I think.

  I don’t know his story, I choose not to. I like these cases better, not knowing helps me sleep at night. Helps me not to care. This is a job, a job where I do not need to know all the details.

  “Are you ready?” I ask him. The safety goes off, and my hand goes up. His head is now full blown shaking and words keep leaving his lips over and over, “No… no… no…”

  “I will pay you whatever they are. Triple…” he says in between head shakes. That’s not how I roll. I don’t do it for the money. Yes, it’s a big factor. I charge more now than I did when I first started. I don’t go back on my contracts, no matter how much money is thrown in afterward or how much begging goes on.

  “Say your prayers.” My finger pulls down, the gun goes off. The man drops to the floor. He wasn’t old, mid to late thirties I would guess. Fit, just not smart. Blood oozes from his head wound, his eyes wide open staring at the black sky above us. I grab a black tarp, roll him in it, and move his body over. I throw bleach over his blood then call my clean-up crew.

  Another job done, another piece of my soul chipped away.

  Another calling card left.

  Her text sits on my phone. It’s been all week. I haven’t answered her or even when she tried calling yesterday. It won’t do her any good to contact me or be in touch with me. Nothing good comes from me, the blood on my hands only goes to prove that.

  Jake walks through my door. I’m not even home for ten minutes when his voice calls out. He walks in, Stella behind him. I shake my head and watch as she walks to him and wraps her hands around his mid-section. She eyes me like she’s looking for a reaction, one she won’t get.

  “Got your pussy, brother?” Jake asks, tapping her ass. She squeals and I turn my head back to finish washing my hands.

  “Have it,” I reply.

  “Some chick’s been asking about you,” Jake says. I dry my hands clean and nod my head to the door for Stella to leave. She doesn’t listen and Jake removes her arms from him.

  “Car,” he says, looking at her then straight back to me. She cries out in frustration and slams the door when she walks out. “That bitch is crazy! How do I get rid of her?” I want to laugh at him, but he looks at the door then back to me.

  “Good luck with that one.”

  “Yeah, she’s a great fuck, but a mind fuck if you know what I mean?” He picks up a beer a starts drinking it. “Keeps on going on about you being in love with that chick you kidnapped.” My back straightens up, and he notices my reaction. “Oh shit! Who is she?” His hand slams down on the table, demanding an answer and wanting to know out of curiosity.

  “No one,” I say, ending the conversation. Usually Jake knows me well, reads me well, except he wants to dig. He knows almost everything there is about me, so he’s not happy about not knowing who she is.

  “Black…” he warns.

  “Jake…” I say back.

  “Just tell me this much. Is she a gymnast? If she is, can I have a turn?” My head shakes at him, always about the sex. “Come on, brother.”

  “Go and take your play thing home, and don’t bring her back.”

  “Give me a sec,” he says, picking up his keys and running out the door. It takes me a moment to notice movement over my left shoulder, and when I do my gun is raised straight at the intruder’s head. Hayden shakes, his eyes start to fill with tears. I lower the gun and tuck it back in my pants. Usually I wouldn’t even have it on me, but my mind is not thinking straight. It’s all over the shop.

  “Your old man do that?” I ask him, reaching into the fridge to pull out juice for him. His face is bruised, worse than it usually is. He’s gotten a beating, a terrible beating. He takes the juice, wiping his tears away, his blond curls now longer than the last time I saw him.

  “I hate him,” he whispers angrily. I pat his shoulder and he takes a seat on the bench, where Jake was sitting. “Is that girl gone?” he asks, looking down the stairs then back to me. I nod my head and Jake walks back through the door, stopping when he sees Hayden, then smiles and sits next to him.

  “Boys slumber party, I reckon,” he says, pulling Hayden to him. Hayden smiles up at him. Jake knows his story, he’
s seen him here enough.

  “I don’t do slumber parties.” My mouth contours.

  “Ah, shush up, you baby. Alcohol, movies, and more alcohol. How could you not want that?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Well, pig shit and bubble gum. And while you’re at it go and put on a pink shirt, might lift those spirits.” He chuckles to himself.

  Idiot.

  “Mr. Black only wears black,” Hayden pipes up. Jake looks down at him and smirks. Most kids would be afraid of him, he isn’t a friendly looking guy. He’s covered in ink, piercings through his face. Not Hayden though, he lives with demons, they assault him daily. To him we are his saviors. What a poor fucked up boy he’ll grow up to be, because we’re anything but.

  “You know of Black’s mystery woman?” Jake asks him. I turn my back and grab some food out to feed the kid since he doesn’t eat well. So when he’s here he eats as much as he can.

  “Yeah, she’s pretty,” he says. I roll my eyes and curse while grabbing a bag of chips and handing it to him. Jake looks up to me. Curious now. Hayden doesn’t waste any time opening the packet and eating them.

  “Just tell me her name?”

  “Rose…” He straightens up, he knows that name. That’s when I started hanging with him just as she left. He knows of her but doesn’t actually know her.

  “The same Rose?” he asks.

  I look to Hayden, who’s not even listening, and answer him, “The one in the same.”

  “Shit, no wonder your boxers are in a mess.”

  “Are not!”

  “They so are. She was the one you took that night, wasn’t she? The druggie?”

  “Yes.” I grit my teeth. We don’t touch druggie hookers, they’re too much of a risk. They steal, lie, and cheat. Anything to get what they need.

  “You, my friend, are officially fucked. Fucked like a motherfucker.”

  “I know.”

  He’s ignoring me, I know he is. I just don’t understand why. My call goes unanswered, my text messages unnoticed. I don’t understand why? I want something more from him, I just don’t know what that is. Or even why. It’s not like he’s insinuated that he wants more. Actually, he’s the exact opposite—silent and emotionless.