Black and Blue (Chubby Chasers, Inc. Series Book 3)

by Angie M. Brashears

  It was getting worse and we all knew it. But she was the mom, supposed to protect me. “I hate you,” I’d sobbed, flinging myself on the bed, praying for a meteor to land on the house, right on the bullseye over their bedroom. Anything, a plane out of the sky, an explosion, a fire, anything so I wouldn’t have to face the mother at breakfast in the morning.

  “You’ll just have to make yourself less appealing.” She’d stated the obvious over eggs, well, what my mother deemed obvious when talking to her daughter about her stepdad. I prayed to be swallowed by the earth as she buttered her toast. As she piled breakfast sausage and biscuits on my plate, she dropped this gem on me. “Bring all the little-girl underwear, dresses, and undershirts to my room. I’ll buy you some time. Get eating, Sara, and maybe stop taking showers for a bit.”

  She left me alone at the table. Through tears, I ate all the breakfast meats and shoveled muffins in, til I felt like vomiting. She was crazy, for sure, but she was also in on it. I wasn’t some charity, or a case worker, not some church basement bazaar worker, handing out Christmas presents. Why was she trying to handle me, with her fake BS? Like I’d been in on it with them, the whole time. I’m her goddamn daughter, I’d thought angrily, wrapping sausages in my napkin. For later.

  The dream me. Split my soul into two disjointed parts. I had buried that particular memory deep, under years of sugar and starches. Now that I’m hungry, well, let’s not beat around the bush, now that I’m starving, the memory resurfaces.

  Legs crossed in a powder blue pant suit, church-approved, smoking a Virginia Slim. Always in secret, didn’t want the preacher to know about her bad habits, he’d had enough of them for the both of them. She always came into my room to smoke. Opening a window, blowing with purpose right out the window. One skinny bird arm waving the air around her. A bottle of her perfume tucked on the windowsill behind the sheer curtains. She’d spritz the air in front of herself and walk into the fragrant cloud.

  No wonder perfume gives me headaches, I think, mentally slapping my forehead. Dr. Timlan would be proud of all the progress I’m making. “Too bad she’ll never know.” Melancholy coats my voice at the thought of the therapist with the kind eyes and hairy chin, whom I’ll never see again.

  Will she just think I bailed because of the assignment? Yep, she will.

  With nothing better to do, I face the chair and have a conversation with my ghost mother. Even in my wildest fantasies, she can’t pretend to be nice. I listen to her berate me, and at one point plead for her to love me, over and over.

  She just waves me away on a cloud of smoke. At one point, I wonder about my current lack of sweat. “Yesterday I soaked the sheets, today nothing.”

  With an unmotherly shrug, she says, “You’re dying, little. By tomorrow, you’ll be panting like a dog. Did you know they don’t sweat like us? They pant. Sweat through their tongues, see?” She leans forward, her nose elongating into a snout, her teeth stretching into canines and sits on the chair, panting.

  Maybe if I pretend to be normal, the mom-mutt won’t notice me noticing. “Hmm, that’s interesting. I didn’t know that. You learn something new every day,” I say to the black dog wearing a pantsuit with a Virginia Slim hanging from his muzzle.

  “Would you like to learn something today, Mother?” She nods and licks her chops. I raise my head. It’s getting harder to do that now, the bones in my neck feel broken, but I fight against the pain and give her the speech. The list I’ve been making just for her. “I forgive you for not having the backbone to protect me when I was younger. You can’t change your cowardly heart, and I sure as shit can’t, so I choose to forgive you.” She utters a short bark, agreeing for the most part. I clear the brick from my throat. “And I forgive you for staying with the bastard after you found out just what he did with your child. You never left, stuck it out, and I salute you. You must have had a shit sandwich for breakfast every morning when you chose to stand behind your man and sacrifice the relationship you had with me. Strong work, Mom.”

  I don’t wait for her response. One isn’t really needed for a deathbed confession. In a moment of clarity, I realize I’m being haunted by the only two people who stole my self-confidence by taking control out of my hands. There’s only one other who’s done that. I pass out, or sleep sets in, I’m never really sure. It feels like I have to have slept at times, but my body feels like it’s had no downtime to recharge. I close my eyes, waiting for that person to make his appearance in my nightmare. Covered in flan.

  My mouth is pried open, another inspection. I can’t even fight. I’ve got nothing left. They’ve taken every piece of me. Bright flashes go off. I try to go towards that light, but a finger in the side of my mouth distracts me.

  Not this time! I taste blood, and a victory puff of air escapes me.

  “Dammit, Blue! It’s me, Gretchen! Ow, that hurt. Gus, I need help in here.”

  Hands all over my body, lifting me. “Goodbye, bed.”

  Shower with Gretchen holding me in a chair. Screams as the cold water pierces my skin. New sheets, thank God.

  ……

  Gretchen

  I feel like a thief in the night. But it’s necessary. I need insurance. Evidence of the crime as it is now, not when she’s clean and fed.

  My camera flashes, collecting proof. I turn her chin, and…she bites me!

  Her eyes are full of the rabid fear of a bunny in a snare. The look on her face, she’s already given up. So far down in her own personal hell, she can’t see the way back.

  Wild with fear and exhaustion.

  I call Gus in, Tony’s mandatory Gretchen guard, to hold her while I start the IV. I’m getting too good at this.

  ……

  My heart slams in my chest with every scream. A frown mars her face, and she’s inconsolable.

  Gus taps me on the shoulder with a syringe. “Haldol. It will get her through the worst of it.” I’m careful not to get too close as I inject the medication in her thigh.

  She doesn’t even notice. Just moans. I keep moving her arms and legs back, but it’s no use. She just opens them wide. Like she’s still on his bed.

  I’ve done this, I think. With all my ‘lesson plans.’ Making ‘12’ and now Blue suffer needlessly because my precious pride was wounded.

  He tied her to the bed, but I decided the length of her sentence.

  My heart is despondent over the state I found her in.

  Matted, dirty, suffering, thirsty…for four days!

  She opens her eyes and looks around the room, seeing people that aren’t there. “It’s a real Chubby reunion in here. Javi’s in the corner eating flan. Esmie floated through early. Sasha should be here any minute.” She falls silent. Her eyes remain open. I lean over, waiting, counting to ten. Then I hear a soft sob. “My eyes aren’t working. I close her lids for her.

  She doesn’t believe I’m really here. Thinks she’s still caught in the midst of her fever dreams. Early this morning, it got up to 104. Hopefully she’s over the worst of it.

  I hate myself right now.

  “Am I dead, Gretchen?” Her soft voice wakes me; I’d fallen asleep in the chair.

  “No, doll.” I give her all the soothing and tender words I can while whispering, long into the night. A tell her a sweet and satisfying bedtime story about revenge, and she listens.

  I wake with a start. It’s morning, she looks to be really sleeping, so I go out to the kitchen and grab coffee. I look out and see Tony’s Cadillac. Gus comes in, suit immaculate, showered and shaved. “How long’s he been here?” I ask.

  “Showed up right after we did. Doesn’t want to come in. Said you’ve got enough on your plate.”

  I nod. “Thoughtful of him. Bring this out to him, would ya?”

  He looks sad. "I bet he’d like it a lot better if you did.”

  I tense, and he sees it. He reaches for the cup, but I pull it back. He’s right. “I’ve got it.” I say and go out to see my husband.

  I face away as I tap the window
with the cup. It’s a habit now. I never know how I’ll react when I see him up close. Will he still look like my attacker now that he’s older? Will his smile stoke my fear?

  I don’t chance it as he takes the cup. “Where’s yours?” he jokes.

  I wish I had my tail on. That seems to be the only time I can be myself with him.

  He waits, and when I say nothing, he thanks me for the coffee and leans back into the dark car.

  I take a breath and kick a pebble out of the dirt. “I fucked up, Tony. I should have come the minute I knew the address. I know better!”

  “She wasn’t ready yet. Needed to be primed. What better way than to let her stew in his trap? Then he’s the bad guy, not you.”

  I don’t answer. His words don’t make me feel any better.

  Exasperated, he says. “Is she alive? Yes, or no?”

  I try to smash the pebble under my toe, but it’s unyielding. Pure resistance as I prod it. “Yes, barely.”

  “Don’t give me that ‘barely’ bullshit. She’s here. Maybe she got a little roughed up. And she’ll be paid for it. But you need to get your head straight. You’re her savior, you got it?”

  I let out a breath and bend to pick up the rock. I place it in my pocket, where I can find it and clutch it when I talk to Blue. It will remind me to be strong, stay the course. I’m so close I can taste it. Freedom.

  “I know you’re upset now, but it won’t be for long. We’re made different, you and I. Self-preservation is always gonna be our top need. And right below that, resilience, tenacity, strength.

  “You’re a signature away from having it all, little nymph.”

  He puts his hand on top of mine. I fight to leave my hand where it is, smothered under his big paw. “Why don’t you go in there and make it official.”

  Blue

  I watch with a close eye as she changes my IV bag. Something she had said isn’t setting right with me. Wait, was it her or the mother?

  Not sure.

  I stall till it comes to me. “Gretchen, if this is real, where’s Sasha?” I don’t believe for a second that she wouldn’t be the first through the door.

  I look up at the IV. Dextrose, it says. Pure fucking sugar. No wonder my nerves are zinging. Everywhere except my legs. I look down, try to kick. Nothing happens. Terrified, I beg her, “Gretchen, check my legs! Are they still there?”

  She jumps up and touches my legs all over. “Blue, I told you, you’ve gotta get up, move these legs.” She pulls back the covers so I can see them. My glorious legs, still firmly attached. For a second there, I almost thought I’d never get out of this bed, that the physical restraints may be gone, but I’m still locked in, like a peg, unable to free myself.

  Still there, numb as stumps, but I can feel her hands as she bends each of my legs. I watch my legs do work without me. On the bottom of each thigh there’s an angry red rash. Looks like I got beat with scissors. I look away.

  “Do you think if Gus and I help, maybe you can get up and walk a bit? Get the old circulation flowing?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “That a girl!” She helps me sit higher in the bed, but she keeps shying away from my hands, preferring to do the work herself.

  “Sorry, Blue. You haven’t been yourself. You’ve been screaming for the last twelve hours. You bit me, slapped me.” She holds up her hand, a white bandage dotted with blood wrapped around the side of her hand. Her voice is full of compassion. “It’s okay, believe me, I understand. But do you believe I’m here? That there’s no one else here who will hurt you. We won’t let them. No inspections, I promise.”

  Her words fill me with dread. “You saw him then, the Preacher.”

  Gretchen looks concerned. “We’ve got to get you up. Wait here.”

  I look down at my uncooperative legs. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

  Something about a phone, my phone. What was it?

  ……

  I sit on the toilet, sweat dotting my brow. My legs zing with pins and needles. It’s nothing compared to the lemon juice spurting out when I try to pee. But I’m out of the bed.

  I feel like I got hit by a Mack Truck, but I made it.

  I speak to the crack in the door. “Gretchen, can I have a cup?”

  She brings one in, and I ask her to fill it with ice cold water. I pour it over my genitals, trying to put out the fire down below.

  She starts a shower. There’s a seat in there. I remember it. “This will be better, Blue. Just wash it all away. Do you think you can do it on your own now?”

  I nod and take care of the essential, tears pricking my eyes. The back of my thighs sing with welts. When I try to raise my hands to wash my hair, they won’t cooperate. I can’t get my hands to boob level. My shoulders feel wrenched.

  She steps in, clothes and all, and washes my hair tenderly.

  ……

  I sit in a chair—not the mom chair. No, this one’s an overstuffed one. Comfortable. I’m in the other bedroom. No restraints, ghosts and worst of all, no view of the birds. Gretchen excused herself, once I was settled. Needing to get my lunch and have a word with Gus. I’m happy to have the company, if they’re really here. They are, c’mon fruit loop.

  It still hurts to take a deep breath, like my lungs don’t quite dare to fully expand. They’re having a hard time believing the rescue, too.

  I keep stealing glances towards the windows, forgetting that these ones are covered. I can’t see outside. My breathing worsens.

  “Do you want the curtains open, Blue?” Gretchen walks in, changed, with a tray, and sets it on the rolling feeder table. She doesn’t know.

  “I want to go outside, Gretch. Can you help me?”

  “Can you try a little soup first? For me? Get your strength back?” I don’t have the backyard view here. I miss my bird and her nest. TCFB on the backside of the house.

  I try two bites and push the tray away. She sets two pill bottles on the table.

  “What are those for?” I ask, not really interested. I just feel like I need to sleep. Real sleep.

  “Nausea and pain.”

  She pulls one pill out of the front pocket of her slacks and lays it on the nightstand.

  “It’s not a roofie, is it?”

  Her eyes cloud as she reassures me. “No one’s ever going to hurt you again, Blue. I promise.”

  Gretchen

  I don’t know how to start. What approach to take with this new version of Blue. There’s a new cautious look she keep shooting my way and she hasn’t smiled. Not once.

  My hand throbs where she bit me. I was able to walk her to the back deck with only one stop for a break. There’s blooms of red dots on my white, bulky dressing. I must’ve reopened the cut, she bit down to the bone, after all.

  I can feel Tony and Gus. Their eyes on me, urging me on. But I’m in no hurry. I need to make her understand.

  “Blue, did you marry Javi?” I don’t let hope take over, keeping my voice controlled as I explain, “I need to talk about some things. Time is of the essence. This may be hard for you, but I need to know. Did you marry Javi?”

  Her face wrinkles in disgust and the cautious look returns. But she’s lucid, her hair drying in the sun. All good things. “You are safe.” I say. We both need to hear this.

  She frowns. “Now I’ll have to get an annulment.”

  I hold up a hand. “Before you do, please hear me out. There are some—unpleasant things—you need to know about. Then I’d like to ask for your help. Please, Blue.”

  Blue

  “Of course, Gretchen. I owe you my life.” It’s the truth. I do.

  I don’t know what her grimace is about—phone—and I don’t care. She did save me. I smile at her.

  “Blue. I don’t need to tell you this. Javi’s out of control. I can’t stop him, can do nothing, really, but pick up the pieces when he’s done playing.”

  I reach for my glass and take a sip. It feels so good to be able to quench my thirst again. “Is this a
ll a game to him? Sorry, Chance, Trouble? Are we just pieces on a board? Is this fun for him?”

  A brushfire of anger sears my insides. “Do I at least, get two hundred dollars for passing Go?”

  She looks sick, and won’t meet my eyes.

  Insistent and clipped, I demand. “How many times?”

  “You are the thirteenth girl.” I keep waiting for more, and then it hits me. “That’s my number.”

  She nods. “That’s how he wants it. You were the only one he married. All the others—and I know this is going to be very hard to hear— were engaged, with identical dresses, rings. But you are the only one that made it to the altar. That makes you special.”

  I bark out a laugh. “Special? Is that what we’re calling it?”

  My breathing is ragged, pained. I will not fucking cry.

  She reaches to pat my hand, but I don’t want to be touched.

  “You are special. We all knew it. Even Javi. He was afraid of your love, it endangered his way of life. What he did…doesn’t mean he doesn’t love…”

  But I stop her. In a menacing voice, one that scares even me, I hiss. “Don’t you dare.”

  She nods and looks down at her clasped hands. “Javi wants his muñecas, or dolls, to look and act a certain way. His way. He orchestrates everything.”

  I spit out, “His victims, you mean. Why do you go along with this?” Thirteen times she’s cleaned up after him. Is still cleaning up now.

  She sighs and rakes her blonde hair away from her face. A pained expression drags her features down. “Can I hold your hand?”

  I’ve never seen her look so beaten down. Shocked, I nod, and she takes my offered hand in hers.

  “I go along because I have nowhere else to go, Blue. I moved into the Chubby Chaser house as a Favor to Javi’s father, Senior.” She blows out a resigned breath. “To keep an eye on him. Mother him.” She hacks out a laugh. “That’s rich. I was a teen myself. Javi and I grew up together, maybe rubbed off a little on each other. He thinks I’m a hooker.” She raises her eyes and challenges me. “But I’m a survivor. I do whatever’s necessary.”