Her Home Run Desires

by Payne, Jenna

  I push the gas to the floor and squeal down the road. As I pass the gallery window I only catch a glimpse, but beyond the blue curtains it looks like there is some type of sculpture inside. Then I realize it’s the one thought I don’t want to imagine.

  Placing my last clove cigarette between my lips, I lower the window and blaze through a red light. I light clove and inhale its smoke so deeply that my lungs are filled with a burning sensation.

  This is living, I think.

  THE END

  Bonus Story 21 of 40

  Biker Routine

  I never liked motorcycles. I didn’t like motorcycles the same way I didn’t like tattoos or leather jackets or drugs. To me, they were trashy, things that people in another, more dangerous world indulged in. Not me.

  I even stayed away from drinking if I could help it. It was not just the thought of losing control I didn’t like. It was also the taste of alcohol. The bitter, burning sting it caused as it flowed down my throat was not in any way relaxing or cathartic.

  Needless to say, I was not the kind of girl you would take to dance clubs. I was not the kind of girl you could feel up and maybe take home to have sex with. But, if anyone thought I was a sweet, compliant bookworm who would be content as a housewife in the kitchen, they’d have been wrong about that.

  I was a nurse, and definitely not the sexy kind. More the busy kind. My brown, natural hair was always pulled back in a tight, functional bun. As I worked around the ill and dying all day, there was no need to wear makeup. Hospital food and lack of time to exercise did nothing for my figure. I wasn’t exactly a blob, but I wasn’t a size zero by any means, either.

  And I wasn’t content to stay a nurse. I was studying hard at med school at night to become a general practitioner and open my own practice. But studying took up even more time than nursing already did. So, in the little free time I had, I sleep.

  There was no time for going out, no time for socialization and definitely no time to mess around with guys. None of that. So I definitely didn’t have a boyfriend.

  Anyway, one night in October, I was sitting at the coffee table in my little townhouse. I had just gotten off an eight-hour shift one hour before. I’d hoped to get two hours of studying for the medical exam in before bed. But when I started, I found that my eyes were blurry. I couldn’t focus.

  It was ten o’clock and I’d only gotten halfway through. I was about to give up and go to bed when I heard a knock at the door.

  I froze. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Indeed, I hardly ever had visitors to my place. Mostly because I was hardly ever here.

  I thought of pretending I wasn’t here. There were no windows beside the front door, after all. The door was locked. Anyone could easily assume that I was either in bed or away from home.

  Then, I heard the knocking again. This time it lasted longer and sounded more desperate. My mood switched quickly from annoyance to fear.

  I knew the statistics. Women were most likely to be assaulted at home and, when that home was close to a college campus (as mine was) the risk increased tenfold.

  The knocking changed to a pounding on the door and I ran to my purse. I was deciding whether I should grab my phone to call 911 first or grab hold of my mace in case the insane knocker broke the door down.

  “Kayla! Kayla, please! Open the door!”

  I knew that voice though I hadn’t heard it in almost a year.

  All the same, I ran quickly to the door and peeked through the spyhole.

  “Heath?!” I exclaimed, opening the door and looking my stepbrother over. He looked as though he’d just been to hell and come back.

  His shoulder-length black hair, which he usually took great pride in, now looked matted. His narrow, thin face was sweaty and his swirling gray eyes, normally brimming with an arrogant sort of pride, now looked fearful, almost terrified.

  My eyes were drawn to his right arm. Just above the colorful sleeve tattoo, he was clutching his large bicep and grimacing in pain. I could see a hint of blood under his hand and between his fingers.

  “You’ve got to help me, Kayla, please!” he said. “They’re coming, there’s no one else.”

  “Get in,” I said, quickly grabbing him by his free arm and dragging him into the house.

  I closed the door forcefully behind me as I rushed him to the couch and, shoving my books off of it, moved him to lie down.

  “They...they didn’t follow me. I don’t think they followed me...not sure,” he was muttering incoherently as I laid him down. I was beginning to feel more afraid than I had been when I thought I was about to be assaulted by a pervert.

  I’d never seen Heath look so vulnerable. Heath was always confident. Often to the point of arrogance and stupidity.

  I remembered the day we first met. Two months before our parents’ wedding, he introduced himself. I remember staring at him and thinking about how incredibly handsome he was. But, that was before he spoke.

  “Look, I know you probably want to kiss me. But, we’re going to be family pretty soon. So, it’s not really allowed,” he’d said, before winking at me.

  I was only fourteen but, I knew enough not to be charmed by the sixteen-year-old. No matter how handsome I thought he was. I gave him a snarky reply which he blew off.

  And that’s been our relationship since. Him hitting on me ill-advisedly. Me turning him down.

  But now, this Heath, this vulnerable terrified man, more of a boy really; I didn’t know him at all.

  Once he was lying down, I pried his hand away from the arm he was clutching.

  When I did, I saw copious amounts of blood flowing from what was, very obviously a bullet wound.

  “Heath,” I said staring at it a moment in shock, “what...what the hell happened?”

  “Never mind about that,” he said. His tone was more forceful now. More like the tone I knew.

  “How bad is it?” he asked instead.

  I took a closer look at the wound. While it was clear a bullet had nicked his skin, it did not look like it had lodged in his arm.

  “You’ll be okay,” I said, “I just need to clean it and get you a compress. You shouldn’t get up from the couch for a while.”

  I moved from my spot next to him on the couch towards my medical bag.

  “That’s good,” Heath said as I unzipped the bag and rooted around for a compress and alcohol swabs, “‘cause I’ll need to lay low here for a couple of days.”

  “What?” I asked, dropping one of the swabs back into the back and turning around to face him.

  Tending to a family member, making sure he was okay was one thing. But letting him stay with me...

  “No,” I answered. “Absolutely not.”

  “Kayla, come on!” he said now clearly frustrated, “it’s a lousy two days then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you said to your dad a year ago,” I answered, “you ended up staying a month and taking off with one hundred dollars.”

  “He’d said I could have some money,” Heath said defensively, but I wasn’t buying it.

  “If you’re in such dire straits why didn’t you go to your dad for help?” I asked. Marvin, Heath’s dad, had helped his son out of multiple jams before even though my Mom tried to tell him that he needed to be a lot firmer with his son. Marvin, it seemed, never had the heart to turn Heath down.

  “I called,” Heath said, “your mom won’t let him take me in. Absolutely put her foot down.”

  “Good for her,” I snapped at him. “It’s about time somebody did.”

  He at least seemed to have the self-awareness to look away from me when I said that, a blush coloring his cheeks.

  Heath seemed to know that he had taken advantage of his father for years. And, what was more, for the first time, he looked utterly ashamed of that fact.

  “Look,” Heath said, “I know you don’t like me. I know you never have but...believe me. I wouldn’t be here if I had anywhere else to turn. Please, Kayla. Just a couple of days.
That’s all.”

  I looked at him, his eyes downcast. A guilty knot formed in my stomach.

  Oh, don’t get me wrong. I still remembered all the times Heath had let us all down. It was something he’d been doing since I met him when we were both in High School.

  First, he’d been arrested for drinking and driving when he was sixteen. Then he’d been suspended for smoking pot in the restroom his senior year. As soon as he turned eighteen, he left school altogether and started taking up with the worst kind of criminals.

  Marvin and my mom had bailed him out of jail more than a handful of times.

  But, then I also remembered the good things he’d done. He gave a beautiful speech at our parents wedding all about how his dad was the best man he would ever know. He’d gotten mom’s medicine for her and even cooked dinner when she had the flu.

  And then there was the time my first boyfriend dumped me for some blonde cheerleader. Heath caught up with him after class and beat him down until he had two black eyes. All the while screaming about how no one treats his sister like that.

  All this, combined with his pitiable, forlorn look softened my stance. At least a bit.

  “You can stay one night,” I said.

  “And tomorrow I’m getting kicked out to the curb?” he answered in a sullen almost child-like voice.

  “Tomorrow,” I began gently, “I’ll call around and see if I can find somewhere else for you to stay.”

  “Like where?” he asked derisively.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe I can get mom to change her mind. Until then, we need to get that arm taken care of. Then you need to rest.”

  I moved back over to the couch alcohol swabs and compress in hand.

  “I’ll need to move my bike into the garage,” he said as I began wiping the blood on his arm. I was lucky, very lucky to find a townhome with an attached garage. They were difficult to get.

  “Where is it now?” I asked.

  “By the curb,” he answered.

  “Not exactly lying low, are you?” I asked. Anybody who had been chasing Heath would clearly be able to recognize his bright red bike standing starkly on my front lawn.

  “I didn’t have time to move it anywhere else,” he said weakly.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, now placing the compress on his bicep. “I’ll go take care of it.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Don’t mention it,” I answered, finishing the last tape on the compress. Suddenly, I felt the hand on his wounded arm come up and weakly cover mine. I looked up to find that his gray eyes were staring at me intently.

  “I mean it, Kayla,” he said urgently. “Thank you. For everything.”

  My heart started to beat a million miles an hour in my chest and I felt like I was fourteen again, spotting Heath for the first time.

  Suddenly, my mind was back to the vague fantasies about him that I had to push aside.

  Fantasies that involved the broad hand that was holding mine as well as the rest of his body. His entire body covering me, his hands groping and his lips kissing and sucking and…

  I pulled my hand out from under his and, with a forced half smile said, “You should be okay for tonight. Just sleep there and I’ll go take care of your bike.”

  Without waiting for him to say anything more, I headed out of the living room and to the door in the kitchen that lead to the dark garage. Once there, I leaned up against the wall and took two deep breaths.

  I didn’t know if I would be able to control these stupid fantasies while Heath and I were sleeping under the same roof.

  I told myself it was only for one night. Surely I could contain my errant mind for the next eight hours.

  But, as I remembered placing my hand on Heath’s firm bicep, his warm hand covering mine, I began to doubt that when morning came, I would have any control left at all.

  *****

  “Look, Mom,” I said on the phone. “It’s different this time. He’s hurt, he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  I’d called my Mom as soon as I woke up that morning, just after getting dressed in my scrubs for my morning shift.

  As I suspected, rather sexual dreams of Heath had filled my sleeping hours and I was anxious to get him out of the house before my previously repressed desires got out of hand.

  “Kayla,” Mom said, her voice dripping with weary exasperation, “if he’s as injured as you say he is, why doesn’t he just go to the hospital?”

  “He won’t tell me,” I answered. “But I know that he’s scared, mom. I’ve never seen him this scared before. I think he’s really in trouble.”

  “What is she saying about Heath?” I heard my stepdad Marvin’s voice in the background of the call.

  “Don’t worry, Marvin,” Mom called back to him, “if he’s really in trouble he can get himself help.”

  “Mom,” I answered, “I can’t keep him here. I’ve got my big exam in two days. I’m running day shifts at the hospital all this week—”

  “He’s a big boy, Kayla,” Mom said. “He can take care of himself.”

  In the background of the call, I heard Marvin mutter something that sounded a lot like ‘couldn’t we..?’

  “No, Marvin,” I heard Mom clearly though she had moved her voice away from the speaker. “He needs to learn how to clean up his own mess.”

  “So, that’s a definite ‘no’ then?” I asked Mom, my stomach plummeting to the floor.

  “Honey, tell him to go to the hospital,” Mom said. “Better yet, tell him to go to the police. If he’s in trouble they can protect him.”

  “I’ll try talking to him,” I answered. Though, I knew it would be difficult to tell Heath to go to the police without knowing exactly what had happened. I knew from experience that there were things the police couldn’t help with.

  “Ok,” Mom said. “Call us back to tell us what you’ve decided. And make sure to keep yourself safe first and foremost.”

  My stomach plummeted even further when I heard the concern in her voice. “I will, Mom,” I answered.

  I’d been so focused first on telling Heath off and then on patching him up last night that I hadn’t given much thought to what he really might have gotten himself into.

  I realized now that I’d given virtually no thought to how Heath’s actions might affect me. That, by answering the door, by letting him stay even for one night, I might have gotten myself tied up in whatever was happening to him.

  “What’d they say?” a voice from the couch asked.

  I turned to find Heath, eyes fully open and staring at me. There was more color in his cheeks then there had been last night. His hair was disheveled, but his lips were turned up in a familiar smirk that, though extremely cocky was also undeniably sexy.

  I turned away from him and began to gather my medical bag.

  “Mom says you should go to the police,” I answered.

  “How does she know I’ve done anything to warrant the police getting involved?” he asked.

  “Experience,” I said simply.

  “I guess I deserve that,” Heath said, “but, the police can’t help me out of this one.”

  “Why is that?” I asked, turning to him. I placed my medical bag by the wall next to the kitchen and moved to the coffee table. There, I sat down next to Heath.

  “It’s a long story,” Heath said again not meeting my eyes.

  “Look,” I said firmly, “you said it yourself, I’m the only help you’ve got. So, if you want me to help you, you’re going to have to tell me what’s going on.”

  “Ok,” he said with a small nod, “if you want to know...here it is. Basically, I’ve been running in this biker club. We’re called the Matadors. Anyway, we’ve got this rivalry with the Bulls on the south side of town.”

  I knew both names from the news. These gangs were notorious for drug running and shooting each other up.

  “So, you got into some turf war?” I asked, wondering how the police had not already been involv
ed.

  “Not exactly,” Heath said, “What happened was, me and two other Mats were supposed to meet up with representatives from the Bulls. We’d agreed on a sort of truce. And it involved this...deal.”

  The way he said deal made me think that the two clubs were not trading marbles or opening up a restaurant together.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “the deal went south and the two guys sent by the Bulls shot the two guys with me. I ran for it. They followed me for a while, shooting at me. That’s what happened to the arm. Then, I slipped into this warehouse I knew of around that area, and they kind of gave up.”

  “And then you came here?” I asked. He nodded.

  “And they’re...they’re still looking for you?” I asked trying to keep the fear out of my voice.

  “I wasn’t supposed to survive,” he said. “The police weren’t supposed to know that anything went down until weeks later.”

  “But, you did survive!” I said. “So, you’ve got to tell them! You’ve got to go to the cops and say—”

  “No!” Heath said fiercely sitting up on the couch, “it doesn’t matter if I go to the police. They’ll find me anyway. Besides, I’m not going to snitch on my club.”

  “Really?” I replied, now frustrated. “You’re going to get both yourself and possibly me killed because you don’t want your friends to be mad at you?”

  “You don’t get it,” Heath said, “I should’ve known you wouldn’t.”

  “And what, exactly don’t I get?” I asked crossing my arms and staring at him. All the silly little fantasies that had filled my head last night flew out of my mind to be replaced by intense frustration.

  “You don’t just snitch on the Matadors,” he said. “When I joined I took an oath.”

  “So, some oath matters more than your life?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, “as a matter of fact, it does.”

  I stared at him one more moment and pursed my lips before making a firm decision.