by Tempi Lark
Miss Maroon stood behind her with a clipboard and a fanny pack wrapped around her waist. “Make sure to see me to get your allowance before you leave.”
“And don’t spend it on weapons, cords, or rope. Anything that would be considered a safety risk is not allowed on this bus.” Nurse Kline warned. “You might want to think about that before slamming your parents hard earned money onto the counter.”
Since Laces was in front of me he reached Nurse Kline first, and as I watched her strap the monitor around the ankle of his washed-out jeans my heart really started to pound. The pounding was for two reasons—one, she had abused her power and slept with Laces and was probably getting some sort of high touching his calf—and two, I had never been restrained before with technology and therefore didn’t fully trust the method.
Nurse Kline’s hand seemed to linger on his body longer than anyone else. Or maybe it was just me. The process of watching her hands jerk back and forth on the strap seemed like it took hours. A surge of jealousy I didn’t know existed grabbed hold of me as she trailed a bony finger up his leg and toward his thigh. I wanted to reach forward, grab the pointy instrument she was using to turn the monitor’s on, and stab her eyes out with it.
Molester…
Laces didn’t make anything of the gesture. For all I knew he was used to this type of behavior, and that thought only added to the jealousy burning in my gut. I needed to have a talk with him. Yes… this type of behavior was not appropriate. Not now. Not ever.
Miss Maroon passed a black wallet over Nurse Kline’s shoulder. “Here you go, Laces.” Laces shoved it in his back pocket and turned around to watch Nurse Kline slip the monitor around my ankle. I must’ve not been as skilled at faking my disdain like everyone else because he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I said when Nurse Kline knelt down to turn on my monitor.
He jerked his chin. “What’s with the resting bitch face?” He pressed.
My cheeks flushed and I didn’t answer. Before I got off of the bus Miss Maroon informed me that my parents hadn’t added any money to my allowance—which meant the only thing I would be able to buy was lunch with the meal voucher the mall had given everyone. Her eyes were sympathetic as she handed me the voucher, but my expression didn’t change. I expected as much long before I found out about the trip, so I wasn’t too disappointed.
The cameras were still going strong when I stepped down the bus. Laces was waiting at the bottom—arm extended, hand ready for mine—with a sexy grin on his gorgeous face. “Your freedom awaits, milady.”
Seventeen
Gambrielle
It took twenty minutes to get off of the bus and inside Baylor Mall. The moment my foot connected with the concrete, loud, eager voices filled the air and I was blinded. Photographers stormed forward, pushing and squeezing through to try and get an interview.
Just like court…The thought put a bad taste in my mouth. This was supposed to be a special day to relax my body and regain my strength before heading back to the confines of the asylum, but instead it had turned into a media circus complete with microphones, news vans, sharpies, and the latest magazine covers.
Laces’ fingers were intertwined with mine, his free arm protectively shielding me as we navigated through the chaos. He took it in stride—grinning and winking at the cameras as though he were walking the red carpet at the Grammys.
And it wasn’t just him.
Varla and Reyes seemed to relish the opportunity; they posed together, his hand on her hip, just like my mother made me do the night of junior prom. Varla would make cute faces at the camera and blow kisses, while Reyes stood beside her, cocky grin in full swing.
Thorne had found a cozy spot off near a tulip flower garden and was knee deep in conversation with a few news reporters. “No, I haven’t talked to her family and I don’t want to.” He was referring to his ex, the one who had cheated and then hung herself in a warehouse. “One of these days her mother is going to have to accept that her daughter was a lying, cheating whore. Not that there's anything wrong with whores—I bag them all the time—but own your shit.”
Nurse Kline was standing a few feet away and quickly intervened. “I think that’s enough for today.” she said, pulling at Thorne’s elbow. “He’s off of his meds. It’s a really trying time for him.”
“He appears lucid to me.” A reporter noted.
Nurse Kline kicked the back of Thorne’s knee with her foot and he tumbled forward, groaning as he fell to the ground. “You call this lucid? Please, the boy can barely stand.”
“Why do you do this?”
“I’m not doing anything.” Nurse Kline said, helping Thorne to his feet. She patted him on the back once, twice, and said, “There you go, Walsh. Are you feeling okay?”
The reporter smirked. “You can’t protect them forever. People want to know their stories.”
“Too bad.”
“Other young people are going through the same thing—” before he had a chance to finish his statement, Nurse Kline yanked Laces forward and pushed us through the entrance of Baylor Mall. A few orderlies rounded up the rest of the patients and before we were given the okay to freely roam Nurse Kline took it upon herself to use the moment as a learning opportunity.
“Everything you say will follow you outside of this institution.” She warned. “It might seem cool right now to be on the cover of national magazines, but one day the interest will dry up and then what? You think people want to hire a guy that brags about his dead ex-girlfriend to the Enquirer?” Her eyes cut to Thorne. “Think with your brain, not your wallet, asshole.”
“Someone is not happy today.” I murmured through the corner of my lips.
“Just wait until it’s time to leave. With the way she runs around looking for everyone you’d think she was a patient.” Laces snickered.
We were released shortly after, but not before being told to be back at the entrance at 4:00 p.m sharp. Those who didn’t return at the allotted time would face a special punishment, courtesy of Nurse Kline. I didn’t know what she had cooked up, nor did I want to find out.
The mall wasn’t as big as the one back in Charlotte, but it had all of the necessities that mattered to most consumers, like a food court and children’s playground. Since I wasn’t given an allowance I decided to let Laces take the reins and the first stop on his list was, surprisingly, a cell phone store.
“What are we doing?” I asked as he pulled me toward the back. A nice display of the latest touchscreen phones were on top of a glass shelf. Despite the photographers and Nurse Kline’s threatening speech, I had been calm for most of the trip. Keyword, calm. Until now, anyway. “We shouldn’t be in here!”
We weren’t allowed cell phones. It was up there at the top of the list of contraband right next to sharp objects and shoelaces.
“The rules are subjective.” Laces said. He picked up the latest iPhone and slid his finger across the screen.
A nervous chuckle escaped my lips. “They seemed pretty clear to me.” Put it down, put it down, put it down…
“Which one do you like?” Laces held out two phones. I wasn’t tech savvy and thought they both looked the exact same. Seeing my discomfort, he placed the cell phones back in their holders and cupped my chin. “You need to relax.”
“I can’t.”
Laces grinned and my heart skipped a beat. “If anything comes of it I’ll take the blame, stray.” He tapped my nose and whispered, “you need to live a little.”
I wanted to live, really I did, but I also didn’t want to spend 48 hours in solitary confinement—which I could’ve swore was the punishment for first time cell phone offenders. A sales associate strolled over wearing a nice black shirt and a big smile, and my stomach dipped. “Anything I can help you with?”
I grabbed Laces’ arm and started pulling. “No, thank you. I just remembered I don’t have any money so…” It was my last attempt at saving us.
Laces jerked his arm away. “Stop that
shit. People will think you’re trying to kidnap me.”
I frowned and slowly released him. “I didn’t get an allowance.” I admitted, flushing. “And if I did I wouldn’t spend it on black market contraband!”
“We’re not buying drugs!” Laces scolded me.
The sales associate raised a brow at us. “I am an authorized cell dealer.” He assured me.
Before he had the opportunity to say anything else Laces grabbed my elbow and ushered me to the nearest corner like a disobedient child. “I’m going to give you some truth— and for just a minute I want you to block out the good girl part of your brain, soak it in, and—Live. With. Me.” Laces instructed in a serious tone.
I swallowed. “But…I can’t go to solitary. If I do I won’t get a pass to go home and I need my pass!” Without it I wouldn’t be able to find Elizabeth’s diary and Joe would continue to roam free.
Laces placed both hands on my shoulders and squeezed. “We’re not allowed cell phones because they want to monitor who we speak with on the outside. You’re not going to be talking to anyone on the outside. Your cell phone will be programmed to call and text one number: MINE. And where will I be?”
Hawthorne…
I opened my mouth to protest and he quickly put his finger to my lips. “No. Stop thinking like a good girl and live in this moment with me.”
Okay…just breathe. He was dead set on this, and when Laces was dead set on something there was no changing his mind. Peeking up at him with a doubtful gaze, I bit my lip. I knew what we were about to do was wrong, but one look at his playful eyes and I didn’t care. “We’ll only be using it to talk to each other?”
Laces’ eyes darkened. “Only us.” He vowed.
My eyes fell to the cream carpet. I didn’t like the idea, but the thought of having something that was just ours outweighed the bad by a ton. Despite my insistence of wanting a cheap cell he did his own thing and picked out the latest iPhone models that had just hit the market. When the sales associate slid mine across the counter and I got a good look at the shiny glass beaming back at me, my stomach did a few somersaults; I hadn’t realized how much I had missed the normal things in life until now.
“I’m going to pay you back.” I said, beaming up at him. “Whenever I get out of here and get a job, that is.”
“Consider it a gift.” Laces insisted.
“No.”
“YES.”
“I am not your charity case. I’ll pay you back and that’s that.” I said, looking away. I knew all too well what it was like to owe someone and the strings that came attached with such a debt. Joe never let me forget it and often tortured me with it every time an unexpected expense came up. It was one of the many tools he used to stay in control.
“I don’t know why women make such a big deal about money.” Laces said, handing the associate his credit card. “A good boy takes care of his woman.”
“You’re not a good boy, remember?” I murmured through the corner of my lips.
“Thank fuck for that.” Laces said with a roguish grin. He put his credit card back in his wallet, thanked the associate, and steered me out of the cell phone store, grinning. “Bad boys are better, anyways.”
“I am dy-ing to know your logic with that one…”
“Good boys open doors, bad boys close them.”
My face screwed up as we passed a sporty clothing store. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”
Laces held up his hand and started ticking his fingers off, “Good boys open doors, bank accounts, and hearts.” He cut his eyes to me, “A bad boy will close the door that’s been left open, fix the debt you acquired because the good boy, shithead, was off spoiling his mistress, and he will close the hole left in your heart.”
“And what if the good boy keeps opening doors? Accounts? Hearts?” Even though my mother had been dealt the worst hand imaginable when it came to men, I still wanted to believe there were some good men out there. I wanted to believe that for every one Joe walking this earth that there were five great men not too far behind him. My heart told me it was a romantic notion, that one had to kiss a few frogs before she found her amazing prince. My brain, however, didn’t see eye-to-eye, and kept insisting that type of thinking was naïve.
Laces handed me my new iPhone and flashed his pearly whites. “You want my honest opinion, milady?”
I tucked it into my front skirt pocket and said, “I want Lincoln’s honest opinion. Not Laces.”
He leaned toward me, his musky scent slamming into my lungs as he whispered, “They are one in the same.”
Stopping at the elevator that led to the second floor, I pushed the up button and shook my head. “No, they’re not.” The elevator dinged and he looked genuinely intrigued as we stepped inside. “Laces is your heart. Lincoln is your soul.”
As the elevator lifted his back fell against the glass window and he turned his head. There was a storm brewing in his blue eyes, a fight that couldn’t be won just yet. “Some would say I don’t have either.”
“Those people are idiots.” I said, letting out a low smile. “A heartless, bad boy would’ve left me to fend for myself with Dr. Folton.” I shivered at the thought of the pervy old geezer making his own sexual entrances, I leaned toward Laces. “Soulless men don’t care about Emily Bronte, either.”
His dark eyes cut to me. “You think too highly of me.”
“Maybe.”
As we got off of the elevator and headed north toward a trendy art store called Up The Wall, I noticed several women taking second glances as we passed by; their eyes traveled up and down his body, lingering on his buff chest and chiseled facial features. Even the grandmothers. No one was immune. He had a presence that demanded attention.
“I think you’re going to give that grandma on the bench a stroke.” I said once we were inside Up The Wall. Sans the associate, the art supply store was a ghost town. Laces had found his calling in the middle of the store and was in artist mode, studying the vast collection of different sized charcoal pencils. Plucking a few packs from the holder, he held them up like a trophy and thanked the high heavens. In doing so the bottom of his shirt lifted, revealing a toned stomach leading down to that V that had the power to make the smart girls dumb. My eyes widened and my heart picked up.
So did the grandma’s. Dropping her yogurt into a trashcan she adjusted her bifocals and smiled—which didn’t go unnoticed by Laces. After his dramatic show he grabbed a shopping basket and dropped his pencils inside, winking at the grandma as he moved toward the sketchpads. “I’m about to make that woman’s day.” He told me.
“Hmm?”
“The last time she got laid, condoms weren’t on the market.” Laces said, passing off his basket. Grinning like a possum, he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in that way boys do. Yes, I was certain the grandma was going to have a heart attack.
It was the first time I had seen him shirtless, and he did not disappoint. Not that I wanted him to, per say, but part of me had held on to hope that there would be a few flaws so I wouldn’t be so self-conscious. A man of his caliber—of his status—was expected to have some wear-and-tear; one didn’t just enter an asylum looking like a sculpture of Zeus.
But then again, most men weren’t Laces.
Every groove was smooth and taut.
Every muscle defined to perfection by genetics, or God…the way the muscles flexed in his upper biceps as he tossed his shirt into the basket, like they had a mind of their own…Dear Lord…
Perfect sun-kissed tan.
Perfect physique.
And the V-crease, oh the aforementioned crease, had returned from it’s two-minute sabbatical, ready to take over the world with him. As a precaution, my hand flew to my jaw to check that it was still closed. No. Crap. I gestured toward his godly physique—and squeaked. Yes, I actually squeaked.
“Come!” He called out. His unnatural ass shifted against the fabric of his tight jeans as he stomped toward
the back of the store in all of his shirtless glory.
“You have to wear a shirt, sir!” The cashier called out to him as he snatched a couple of erasers. “Sir!”
Laces swirled around on his heel to face him, and flashed the biggest grin. “I’m classified legally insane by the beautiful state of North Carolina.” He took a step forward and toyed with the sleeve of the black and red flannel shirt tied around his jeans. “I don’t have to wear shit if I don’t want to. Now stop giving me a hard time and start ringing shit up.”
Eighteen
Gambrielle
“I cannot do this.”
No. My mother, who had already disowned me, would start pulling in other family members to disown me as well. No one in our family had ever gotten a tattoo. Not if they wanted to stay in the family. Hugging the art supplies that Laces had purchased from Up The Wall, I shook my head for what felt like the twentieth time that day as Laces pointed at a beautiful, white butterfly in the tattoo portfolio he had been looking through. “You need ink. TODAY.”
Nope.
“I’m thinking a sexy butterfly with some skulls above that nice ass of yours.” Laces face split into a wide grin. “I could draw it for you, if you want? Give it a more personal touch…”
I held up my finger, “Or…you can get a tattoo on your pelvic,” I pointed an unsteady finger at the general direction of his crotch and felt nothing but flames burning up my cheeks. “That would give me something to look at while you’re sketching a dagger through Bey’s chest.” I liked my idea. I liked it very much.
Mmhmm.
No pain for me and I would reap the rewards.
Laces smiled, thinking about it. “I fail to see where I benefit from this.”
My chest rumbled. “It’s the gift that keeps on giving.” Every time he took off his shirt, I would be rewarded with the gift of his glorious, lean, tattooed body. What more could a girl ask for? Not a damn thing.
