by T. L Smith
Jake’s confidence has grown compared to five years ago, he still sees himself as damaged and unworthy. I still don’t know exactly what happened to him, and I never ask. The scars on his face—he touches sometimes—pull a pained look so deep that all I want to do is comfort him. Except I don’t. I leave him to fight those demons, the demons that only he can fight. And I show him that everything he thinks is wrong with him, I believe there’s not one thing that’s amiss.
There’s no other like him, just like there’s no other like Liam. I can see why they were best friends. He’s talkative, Liam was quiet. Though when he’s angry, the look that passes over his face reminds me of the one Liam used have on the night that shall not be named.
“Okay hot stuff, let’s go and prance you around this thing. Show all those filthy rich men how hot you are and steal all their money.”
“I’m not stealing money, Jake.”
He offers me his arm, so I hook mine through his and we walk to the limo he’s arranged which is waiting out the front. “I know that, but it’s much more interesting to me when I think of it like that. You’re like Robin Hood…” he looks at me, his eyes look me up and down, “…a much sexier Robin, in a red hood.” He ends with a wink and my nerves are gone. He always does that to me.
The gala was not far from my hotel, and I walked the short distance to the party. I found a black suit, no tie, it didn’t feel right to wear one with a white shirt. My hair is styled, something I haven’t done in a while. I’ve kept it the length it was when I first saw myself, knowing that somehow the reflection looking back at me was me. It’s brushed back, the lengths wisp to the end.
The steps are covered in red carpet, and the ladies at the door are dressed in black. One smiles a bit too brightly when she sees me. She asks for my invite then welcomes me. As soon as I walk in everything is red, it’s dark, and the music is loud. I feel it when I enter—the smell the champagne and strawberries—this is not something I should be attending. I spot Sax straight away, he’s not easily missed towering over most with his bald head. I stand near the doorway watching everyone in long gowns and suits talk and drink champagne. This is not where I should be, I don’t belong. I have facial hair, no one else does. They’re all neatly shaven with tuxes, ties or bow ties.
An announcement is called over the microphone, a lady’s voice speaks through it. I stop breathing. My eyes follow and track that voice to a woman blushing as she stands in front of a podium up on the stage. She doesn’t look up, I glance up to her, just wanting a peek. My thoughts come crashing down when a hand touches my shoulder then it’s quickly gone as fast as it was there. I turn reluctantly to see Sax standing there, staring at me.
“She is something…” his eyes bore into mine, “…don’t you think?” He looks back to the stage and I follow and do exactly as he does. She’s starting to talk now, except her eyes don’t look up much. Actually, they only look slightly up to a man standing in front, then her head ducks back down as she continues to speak.
“Who is he?” I ask, realizing I need to know. But my eyes are trained on the man she keeps staring at, who I cannot see clearly. Just dark hair and neck tattoos.
“I suspect, one day soon, your competition.” He laughs and just as I turn to ask him what he meant by that comment, he’s gone. Someone claps loudly behind me. Bringing her eyes up and locking onto mine, she stands there, her mouth wide open, she doesn’t move for minutes. People start to whisper. Someone speaks to her, her eyes snap to the front, back to the man. Then she begins to cry while everyone watches before she runs off the stage.
Music comes on, and I’m at a loss for ideas about what just happened. I see a balcony to the side and I walk out shutting the door behind me.
That voice, I know that voice. But where, and how?
The door clicks, alerting me someone is there. I’ve been out here for at least an hour, not bothering to go back inside. I wouldn’t know what to do. As I turn, I see it’s her.
And fuck.
She’s dressed in red. It’s floor length, cascading down her long legs, and her heels are high. It’s all red, just the way her cheeks are turning while she’s staring at me.
Who is this woman, and why does she look at me so? Maybe I’m giving her a similar facial expression. I know my heart is beating wildly, I can hear it loudly in my ears. The beat, like loud drums.
She takes a step back from me, her head shakes. I don’t know what to do.
What should I say?
She knows me, but how?
I feel like I know her, but how?
Something is pulling me to her.
Is this why I have an obsession with blue eyes and look at every blonde I pass?
Who is this woman?
Her mouth opens, she goes to speak, and I’m excited to hear the words she will utter.
Who is this woman?
I can’t stop asking myself these questions—especially that one. Who is she?
“It... can’t…”
I stop breathing. That voice, it’s like velvet—sweet and soothing. That’s the voice that haunts me. The one that plagues my dreams. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. Tears leave her eyes and they start falling down her face. She doesn’t even bother wiping them away. She just stands there, staring at me. Like I have all the answers.
“What’s your name?” I manage to ask needing to at least know the answer to that question. To just have that. She looks at me like I’ve slapped her. She even takes a step further away, like my next words will hurt her even more.
“You don’t know?” Her head drops to the side, she questions me. It doesn’t look right her questioning me, especially with the tears cascading down her face. A simple shake is all I can give her. She drops her head, pain appears in her eyes before she lowers them away from mine.
“I…” she starts again, and stops and looks behind her. She’s dressed so beautifully. Her makeup is smeared, but still taking my breath away. “Have to go…” She wipes her face, cleaning the tears away. She looks up to me, mascara still under her eyes. My hand automatically reaches up to wipe it away, but she takes a step back before I can reach her like my touch could be lethal. Maybe it is?
“Go…” I say, nodding back inside. People are dancing, drinking wine. Here we are, standing outside, tearing ourselves apart for reasons I don’t even know.
“It’s not real,” she says looking at me one last time before she opens the door and disappears inside, her body lost in a sea of people.
She leaves me standing there. It takes me a moment before I walk back inside to find out where she’s gone. I notice her when I enter, her arm is hooked with the man with tattoos and dark hair. She clings to his arm tightly, like at any moment she might fall down. But she smiles and shakes peoples’ hands with her free one.
Someone announces over the microphone how much money has been raised tonight. Everyone looks to the man speaking, except her, she’s looking at the doors I just exited. Is she looking for me? Her eyes wander around until they land on me. We stand there, just staring at each other. No one even bothering with what we’re doing, people are too intrigued by what the man is saying on the podium, where she was standing not long ago. Her eyes search my body, though, then she comes back to my eyes and stays there.
I need to know her name, even if it’s just that.
The man she’s with whispers something in her ear, she pulls her eyes away finally breaking the contact and looking to him, then briefly at me one more time before she walks away with him.
“Do you know who she is?” Sax stands in front of me, a glass in his hand. He brings it to his mouth and sips slowly, waiting for me to answer.
“Important.” Is all I can gather, that word seems to fit her perfectly. I am sure of it, just not why.
“You got that right at least.” He chuckles, but it has no real humor in it.
“Her name?”
“You didn’t get it when you spoke to her?” he questions.
I sha
ke my head. “She came out, in tears.”
His head shakes. “If Casey knew it was me, she’d chop my cock off.”
I look at him and wonder if Casey was the brown haired girl he was standing with when I first walked in.
“Wife?” I ask, really just wanting to know who the blonde is.
“Yes, and the blonde’s best friend.” He looks behind him and nods to me before he walks back to his wife, and I still never got a name.
Maybe it’s best I don’t. She seems… put together.
Me, well, I’m damaged beyond repair.
Someone like her doesn’t mix with someone like me.
It’s not real.
It’s not real.
It’s not real.
My imagination is playing tricks on me, it can’t be real.
“Rose, come back.” Jake’s voice penetrates my freak out. His hand on my shoulder, making me look at him. “You’re as white as a ghost. What happened?”
“He...” I look around, my eyes snap back to Jake’s, “…did you see him?”
“See who, Rose?” He looks around too.
It can’t be real, but it is. I spoke to him, in the flesh. His voice, his looks, it’s all the same. He hasn’t changed.
How is that possible?
How come he never came back to me?
Why does he seem to not remember me? I could never forget him.
Was I that forgettable to him? I couldn’t have been, he was blackness to everyone but me. To me, he was anything but.
“Black,” I say. His eyes go wide and search around the room frantically. I saw him first when I was making my speech. Thinking it was my imagination and that it was my mind playing tricks on me, then he spoke and I knew he was real. As real as I am here right now. But how?
“Are you sure, Rose? Are you one hundred percent fucking sure?” His hands are now on my arms, they’re squeezing harder than they should be. I nod my head, and Casey and Sax walk over. Her heavy belly pops out of the blue dress she’s wearing and Sax is looking around.
“Did you see him?” I ask him. He knows everything, he’s one clued in man. He nods his head and Jake swears, then he runs off. We watch as he leaves, the doors slamming open when he walks out. I turn back to Sax, wanting to know it’s real still.
“Did you talk to him?” I can feel myself wanting to scream, cry, something, anything. But I can’t, the night hasn’t ended, I can’t fall apart till the night ends.
“A few weeks ago,” he says, looking straight at me now. I feel like I was just slapped. He knew and didn’t bother to tell me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I needed to dig further.” He steps closer now. Casey stands there in shock, actually quiet for once in her life. “Look Rose… he doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know anyone. I don’t fully understand yet, but I intend to find out.”
“He looked at me like I was a stranger, but his cold stare, it was there. He didn’t know me… at all! How am I meant to deal with that? I have his child.”
Casey interrupts then grabs my shoulders trying her best to hug me. “You can’t force anything. You’re gonna have to take it gradually. You don’t know the man he is now, Rose. He’s still Black, remember that. Not Liam.”
“How could you say that?”
He steps in and leans close to my face. “I saw it, he’s Black, not Liam. Do you understand? Be careful around him.” I know what he’s saying, he’s saying that the man, the man that people fear is all him. And that the man I loved, Liam, isn’t there anymore. That I could easily be thrown to the side or shot like he’s done so many times before.
“He wouldn’t do that to me, though.”
“He would, he doesn’t know you. Don’t trust him.”
“Trust…” I say, it hangs on my tongue like a foreign word.
I ended up leaving as soon as Sax walked away, removing myself from the situation. Telling myself that it was the right decision to make. Maybe it’s best, I don’t know who she is, or even her name.
Savannah has blown up my phone all through the night, even waking me this morning with her constant need. I switch it to vibrate—I’ve had enough—I’ll deal with her when I get back.
I decide the best option is for me to leave this blonde woman. A woman that I know for a fact is not related, but somehow connected to me is best off without me here. She does not need someone like me, someone so… broken.
The moment I open my hotel door with my bag in hand and ready to leave, she’s there, her hand raised mid-strike to knock on the door. Sunglasses cover her eyes, but I still feel her shock when she sees me. Her hands drop to her side, and I can feel her eyes bore into mine.
“I was just leaving,” I tell her, not knowing what to say or do.
She opens her mouth, then closes it. Opens it again, then stares at me some more. “I was wondering if we could talk?” she manages to ask. I nod my head and pull the door open wider, moving back to allow her entry. She walks past me and I get a waft of her perfume, she smells like flowers—caring, sweet, loving.
I close the door and turn to watch her while she looks around the small motel room. Her hand drags along the television cabinet, her fingernails painted red from last night’s function. She stops when she hears me move, her body turns tight and she looks at me, removing her glasses from her eyes showcasing the blue—she’s so beautiful.
“Do you know who I am?” I want to call her Red. I know from here on out every time I see the color red, it will be associated with her.
“No! Do you know who I am?”
Her head drops, she wipes the corner of one eye and looks back up to me again. “I do. I know you better than anyone else.”
“How?”
She takes a step to the bed and sits down on it, crossing her legs and pats the front of her skirt down before she looks back up to me. “I know you both on friendly terms, as well as physical.”
“We fucked?”
She flinches at my choice of word. “Yes.”
“I’m sure I’ve fucked a lot of women, Red.”
“Red?” she asks, ignoring my remark about fucking other women.
“Yes. I don’t know your name, so I’ve been calling you Red.”
“Why Red?”
I shake my head, this is not answering anything I need. “You seem to wear it a lot, your foundation is called Red.”
“It is.” She smiles.
“How long have we known each other?”
She looks back down to her skirt and brushes it straight, even though it hasn’t moved. “Since we were sixteen.”
I take a step back. That’s a long time to know someone, and that’s a lot of memory to forget. “Sixteen…” is all I can mutter. Just then my phone vibrates, and I don’t even look or think when I answer it. Red’s eyes are on me as she watches. “Yeah,” is all I can manage to say, staring at her, trying to think of just the slightest thing that would remind me… anything. Those words distract me so much that I don’t think twice as I answer the phone.
“Baby, I miss you so much. Come home,” Savannah’s voice whines into my ear. I pull the phone away wanting to punch myself for being stupid enough to answer it in the first place.
“Savannah, when I’m ready.”
“But baby, I crave you so much. No one can touch me or fuck me like you.”
“Not now,” I reply and hang up on her. Red hasn’t stopped looking at me, her eyes wide.
“Do you…” her voice is shaky, “…have a girlfriend? Or wife?” She stands now, not being able to sit any longer.
“Yes.”
Her head shakes. “Yes to what?” Her hands throw themselves up and fall back to her side. “Wife?”
“No.” Her hand flies to her heart like she’s relieved. “I need to go,” I finally say. Knowing I’ll have to deal with Savannah when I get back, it’s the last thing I want to do.
“Leave?” she questions. I nod my head to her. “We need to talk, you can’t leave. I need to
know that it’s you, and not just my imagination.”
“Imagination?” I question her.
“Yes, that it’s not my imagination trying to repair my heart.”
“Give me your phone.” I hold my hand out and she gives me a questioning look then reaches into her skirt pocket and pulls it out handing it to me. Her locked screen has a photo of three kids on it. I look longer than necessary before I unlock then add my phone number.
“It's under Trace,” I tell her handing her, her phone back.
“Trace?” she questions.
“Yes, my name.”
“This can’t be real, it just can’t.” She steps closer and touches my face. I don’t move and let her hand touch me. “It’s got to be you, but it can’t…” Her hand drops and she shakes her head. “I can contact you through this number?” she asks after a moment of silence.
“Yes.”
“Anytime?” she asks again.
“Yes, anytime.”
Her head nods in a slow nod. “Can I ask you what your first memory was?”
“Memory?” I question her.
“Yes, I need to know what you remember.”
“I don’t have any memory apart from the last five years. When I woke up, I didn’t know anything or anyone… even myself. I remember seeing a lot of black.”
Her breath sucks in, it’s fast and sharp. “Thank you,” she says and starts to leave, she stops when she’s next to me and leans up placing a soft kiss on my cheek. “I’ve missed you,” she says then she’s gone.
Sometimes I have undeniable pain. Pain that’s so deep I think I’m damaged, actually, I know I’m damaged. I see women everywhere, and if one has long blonde hair, I feel the need to follow her. Something I don’t understand either. What is it with blonde women that haunts me so? Is it her—Red? Is she the reason that for five long years when I see a blonde, or ice blue eyes, something inside me stops?
