I was in awe of the swiftness with which all of that had transpired. One life ended so another could flourish.
I realized I had a choice to make.
My life…or Samantha’s.
I wanted her to flourish.
My face knotted in agony. My chest tightened as jagged knives of regret stabbed me from the inside out. How the fuck had I fucked things up so badly? I inhaled deeply, ready to shout my lungs out in an attempt to release some of the tension ripping my heart apart.
Then I realized shouting would call attention to myself.
Nyyhmy Hall was shaped like a blocky letter H when you looked at it from the top. The balcony was on the top side of the fat horizontal bar of the H. The thick vertical columns of the H held all the dorm rooms, the windows of which faced the balcony where I stood. Because it was San Diego, and it was no cooler than sixty degrees outside, many of those windows were open. Since this was a college dorm building, several of those windows had lights on, and some had their curtains open. If I started shouting, I had no doubt heads would start popping out of those windows like gophers checking for eagles overhead. The last thing I wanted was an audience or someone calling campus security and telling them there was another jumper on the tenth floor. I was enjoying my peace and quiet.
I took a deep breath. My stabbing regret eased a fraction. I took another breath.
That was when I realized I’d been looking at my situation all wrong. Eagles, owls, gophers and mice.
First, the owl and the mouse. For all I knew, that was a mama owl with baby owls back in her nest that hadn’t eaten in weeks. No one wanted baby owls to go hungry. I know I didn’t.
Second, the eagle and the gophers.
We all know which animal I was in that scenario.
No matter how much confusion and pain writhed in my guts, I would never be a gopher. I was the predator in my life, not the prey. I was not going to live my life cringing away from danger, always wondering when the death strike might come raining down from above.
I was going to step boldly into life and dance with danger.
I wasn’t going to give up.
Like the eagle and the owl, I was going to bare my claws and teeth and do what I did best.
Fight.
For myself. For Samantha.
For my life.
No one was going to bring me down and tear me apart. Not even the judicial system. I never took the easy way out. That’s how I’d ended up in this predicament in the first place. Because I liked living dangerously.
I was up here because the day I’d met Samantha, it had taken me less than half a second to decide that Horst Grossman, the fat fuck who was up in her face, was way out of line, and needed to lay off her shit. The easy thing would’ve been to ride away and forget all about her.
But that wasn’t how I rolled. Not that day, not tonight, and not at my trial. If I was going down, I was going down fighting.
I still hadn’t told my attorney, Russell Merriweather, whether or not to accept the plea bargain from the District Attorney. The offer was one year in jail in exchange for a guilty plea. Probably only nine months with time off for good behavior. That was the sure thing. If I went to trial, I risked up to four years in state prison if the jury found me guilty. Fuck it. I liked risks and I liked fighting.
I was going to roll the dice and go to trial.
I grinned and shook my head. I don’t know why I’d been so stressed about all this. Like most women, Lady Luck had the hots for my shit. No reason why she wouldn’t back me up at my trial.
Still balanced on one foot with my knee in the air, I lowered my foot down to the railing and stabilized myself.
As I was about to hop back onto the balcony, my phone rang, startling me.
The sound cut through the nighttime silence.
I hissed and pitched forward, I was so surprised. My arms whirled automatically and my hips thrust back violently, counter-balancing my weight. If I over compensated, I was over the edge of this railing and three seconds later, over with permanently. I strained to regain my balance. Agonizing seconds later, I recovered my center of gravity and hopped onto the cold cement balcony.
Was Lady Luck calling to tell me something?
Before Your Love by Kelly Clarkson continued playing through the tiny speakers on my phone.
Not Lady Luck.
Samantha.
I rolled my head back and chuckled. “Fuck,” I mumbled to myself. She’d almost killed me. Tragic irony was a funny thing, as long as it didn’t happen to you.
I answered her call. “Hey,” I mumbled.
“Where are you?” Samantha begged.
“Out getting some fresh air.” I sat down on the cold cement balcony and slid my socks and boots on.
“Are you all right?” she asked, worried.
“I’m fine, agáp—” I stopped myself short. Calling her that right now felt like an empty promise I couldn’t keep for long. Shit was going to get real when I went to trial. I didn’t want Samantha getting her hopes up if things went bad. If I was acquitted, great. But if the jury found me guilty? Nobody was going to throw a party.
“Please tell me where you are, agápi mou,” Samantha said, her voice resonating with a penetrating fear tempered by her bold, fearless love.
Her confidence peeled back some of my reckless resistance. If I said nothing and kept her completely in the dark, I’d feel like a stubborn dick. “I’m at SDU,” I sighed. “Everything is okay.”
“I need to see you, Christos.”
“Now isn’t a good time.” I shook my head at how lame I sounded.
“What do you mean?” she pleaded. “We were talking about some really important stuff and you ran out. Why?”
Did I tell her I’d run because I felt like an idiot? That I was embarrassed by my past? Shit, I could barely admit it to myself. Or did I talk about how my life still balanced on a knife edge thinner than the balcony railing I’d just been standing on?
If I ended up in jail, I’d end up going back to my old ways. I’d have no choice but to harden up and fight my way through each and every day I was stuck in lock up. I knew from experience that prison would get under my skin and dirty my fingernails no matter how hard I tried to hold onto the life I’d been building for the last two years. What kind of institutionalized prick would I be after four years in prison? Would Samantha want to know me then? Would I want to subject her to whatever damage I was sure to suffer from living like a barbarian?
Who was I kidding?
She needed better options than that.
I stifled an insane laugh as I considered how her parents might feel about the whole thing. I was pretty sure I would agree with them.
I shook my head. “Look,” I said gruffly, “I really don’t want to talk about this right now. I need time to think.”
“Come home, Christos. No matter how bad you think things are right now, I love you. Your grandfather loves you. We’re here for you.”
Why did her words tear my guts apart?
Fuck, I couldn’t deal with this.
“Samantha, I need to go.”
“Christos! Please don’t hang up! Tell me exactly where you are and I’ll come right now.”
Her voice sounded jumpy, like she was running with the phone in her hand. I heard the beep beep beep of her VW’s warning bell and a door chunking shut.
“Are you in your car?” I asked.
“Yes. I’m driving out of your driveway right now. Don’t move a muscle. I’m coming for you.”
She wasn’t going to let me get away. It’s not like I was going to run down to my bike and bolt before she got here. I’d already done that earlier.
I shook my head and grinned. I hated to be predictable. Besides, I needed to talk to her sooner or later. And what the hell else was I going to do tonight anyway? Get some quality sleep before my pre-trial hearing?
Yeah, right.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll meet you at the Adams College parking lot
, where the motorcycles are.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Don’t speed,” I said ironically, “I wouldn’t want you getting in an accident.” I meant it. Although my safety was low on my list of priorities, hers was still at the top of my list. “Why don’t we hang up so you can focus on your driving?”
“No!” she shrieked. “Don’t you hang up your phone until I’m standing right in front of you!”
I had to admit, her insistence was endearing. “Okay, I’ll stay on the phone. But at least put yours on speaker and put it in your lap, or in a cup holder or whatever.”
“Okay. My phone is in my lap. Keep talking.”
“Ahh, do I recite poetry now?”
“If you’ve got anything memorized.”
“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe…”
“What language is that?” She giggled.
“English?”
“Are you sure?” She sounded like she was smiling.
“Yeah. It’s the Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll. I had to memorize that shit in the seventh grade. Wanna hear the rest?”
“Do you know the translated version?”
“No,” I chuckled. “But it’s about some kid who slays a crazy dragon. It’s pretty ridiculous.”
“What, slaying a dragon?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“That’s not ridiculous. Isn’t that what you do all the time? Slay dragons?”
I shook my head. “Not the last time I checked.”
“What do you mean? Remember Big Foot? That hairy biker guy at that coffee shop in Pacific Beach? Xanadu? The guy who tried to kidnap me so he could mate with me and make missing link babies?”
“Oh yeah. That guy was like the cyclops from legend or some shit. If I remember correctly, he only had one eye. Didn’t that guy have a pirate eye patch?” I chuckled.
“No! He only had one eye, in the center of his forehead!” Samantha squealed with laughter. “Can you imagine a cyclops with a pirate eye patch? He’d be blind and running around in circles!”
“I hear pirate cyclops only ever wear ear patches,” I quipped.
“Ear patches?” Samantha laughed.
“Christos?” a voice asked from behind me.
I turned to face whoever it was. What a surprise. “Hey, Kamiko. What up?”
“What?” Sam asked on the phone.
Kamiko wore an SDU sweatshirt, sweatpants, and her hair in a sexy knot at the back of her head. A book bag was slung over her shoulder. She looked at me curiously, “What are you doing up here?”
“Enjoying the view,” I said casually, flashing a dimpled grin at her.
“Are you talking to Kamiko?” Samantha asked.
“Yeah,” I said to the phone.
Kamiko asked, “I’m sorry, are you on the phone? I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No worries,” I said to Kamiko. To Samantha, I said, “Hey, can you hold on a second?”
I suddenly remembered Samantha telling me about what happened with her and Kamiko when they went to visit Brandon at Charboneau Gallery to show him Kamiko’s work. Poor Kamiko. From the sound of the story, Brandon had been a many-quilled prickupine. I sensed an opportunity to work some of my magic. Helping other people always put me in a good mood.
“How come you’re up so late?” I asked Kamiko.
“I was studying O Chem with my friend. We just finished.”
“Are you going back to your room?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“You want me to walk you?”
“Sure,” she smiled.
“Cool. Let me tell my buddy I’ll call him back.” To Samantha I said, “Hey, I’m gonna walk my friend to her dorm room. Can I call you back later, bro?”
“Christos,” Samantha said in my ear, “tell Kamiko I’m sorry about what happened with Brandon.”
“Yeah, totally,” I said to Samantha, “as soon as I get a new wet suit, we’ll totally carve some waves. Later, bro.”
“Christos!” Samantha chirped in my ear. “Wait! Don’t hang up!”
I hung up my phone and smiled at Kamiko. We walked toward the elevators across the hall from the balcony.
When the elevator door opened, I motioned with my arm, “After you.”
“Thank you,” Kamiko grinned and stepped inside.
After the elevator ride, I walked Kamiko along the dark pathway between Nyyhmy and Paiute Hall.
“How’s the painting coming along?” I asked. “You still working on submissions for Brandon’s Contemporary Artists Show?”
She stuck her tongue out and groaned. “Ugh. I don’t even want to hear that name. Brandumb is so meh.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Brandumb?”
“Yeah,” she shivered. “Just saying it makes me want to gag.”
We stopped in front of the double doors to Paiute while Kamiko dug her keys out of her bag.
I raised an eyebrow. “What happened to you being the gung ho painting ninja?”
She brightened. “Oh, I’m still totally the painting ninja.” She suddenly spun around and snapped a back kick at me, stopping her foot two inches from my chest.
“Look out! Ninja alert,” I chuckled. “Did you study martial arts at some point?”
“Yeah, I studied shotokan when I was in grade school. It was the only way I could stop my brothers from beating me up,” She grinned. “They called me the Kamiko Kid.”
“What, like the Karate Kid? Your brothers called you that?”
“Yup. But I didn’t study with Mr. Miyagi. The guy who trained me was Mexican.” She lowered her leg and pivoted forward, punching me in the stomach.
I tightened my abs automatically. Her tiny hand met solid muscle.
“Ow!” She yelped.
“Don’t be messing with the man of steel,” I joked. I could tell she wasn’t trying to hit me very hard, but she had put some power behind it. “Nice right hand. Much better than your Karate Kid reference,” I quipped.
She wrinkled her nose. “Do I have to crane kick you in the chin, mister? Because I will.”
I towered over her. “You’re going to need an airlift.”
“Fine! I’ll go for your shins.” She snapped a kick at my shins but I hopped back, out of range. “Let that be a lesson,” she warned.
“Easy, Bruce Lee. I apologize.” I smiled at her.
“Don’t try to be cute,” she grinned.
“Hey, I’m using the only defense I have left before you beat my ass.” I winked at her. “But seriously, are you still working on any paintings?”
“Hells yeah! Even if Brandumb is a total jerk, I’m going to get one of my paintings into his stupid Contemporary Artists Show, just to show him I can.”
I nodded approvingly at her. “I take it you’re over him?”
“Screw him,” Kamiko snarled. “I’m too good for that stupid snake charmer! I refuse to live my life as a mopey dick-whipped chick any longer. I am woman! Hear me paint!” She stomped her foot for effect.
I grinned and chuckled, “I’ll tell Brandon to run the other way when he sees you coming or you’ll go Hunger Games on his ass.”
“That’s a great idea! I totally need to carry a bow and arrow!”
“Next time I see him, I’ll pin a bull’s eye to his ass so you’ll have something to aim at.”
“Who are you going to pin a bull’s eye on?” Samantha asked, walking around the corner toward me and Kamiko.
I flashed a conspiratorial grin at Samantha.
Kamiko frowned, looking between the two of us. “Hey! You guys tricked me!” She leered at me, both her eyes turned up to full stink. “That was Sam on the phone earlier, wasn’t it, Christos?” she asked in an accusatory tone.
“Maybe,” I smiled coyly.
Chapter 2
SAMANTHA
“We trapped you, Kamiko,” I said, a big smile on my face. “Now you have to listen to my apology. For the millionth time.”
&n
bsp; Kamiko folded her arms across her chest. “No, I refuse.” She scowled at Christos. “Traitor. Now I can’t trust either of you guys.”
Christos chuckled.
Oddly, all of my fears about Christos evaporated the moment I’d seen him chatting with Kamiko. Whatever I’d been worried about seemed crazy now. Christos looked like he was in a good mood. Regular old Christos. Why had I been so worried?
“Do you guys need a moment alone?” Christos asked. “For some naughty girl time?”
“Do you want to watch?” I blurted. “We charge admission. A hundred bucks a head for front row seats.”
Christos pulled his wallet out and held up a bunch of twenties. “I’ve got cash to spare, ladies. Where’s the nearest mud-filled kiddie pool?”
I giggled, “I’m game if you are, Kamiko.”
“Mud wrestling?” Kamiko shook her head at me, “You’re as bad as he is.” She glanced between me and Christos. “Okay, no fair you guys, ambushing me like this.”
“I’m sorry, Kamiko,” I said. “That day at Charboneau was all a big misunderstanding. Brandsome—”
“Dumb,” Christos interjected.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Brandumb,” Kamiko said, examining her fingernails.
I smiled, “That sounds about right. He’s too dumb to see a good thing when it’s staring right at him.”
“He’s a total fuck bucket,” Kamiko grumbled.
Christos and I both chuckled.
“I can corroborate that,” Christos grinned. “I have personally caught Brandon fucking buckets on more than one occasion, when he thought no one was around.”
“Did you take photos?” I asked. “Because if you did, maybe we can blackmail Brandumb into accepting Kamiko’s work into the Contemporary Artists Show.”
“I don’t need to blackmail that art fart!” Kamiko said confidently. “I’m going to paint something so awesome, he’s going to offer me oral favors just to get my painting into his stupid show.”
Confused, I asked dumbly, “Do you mean he’ll give you a Lifesaver or a Mentos or whatever?”
Kamiko frowned, “Huh?”
“Didn’t you just say you wanted Brandumb to give you oral flavors?” I asked.
Painless (The Story of Samantha Smith #3) Page 2
