Mine

by Kenya Wright

  “These rocks are broken.” Zola let out a long breath.

  “They’re not.”

  “Are you going to have kids and get married?”

  I scrunched up my face and slung a rock in. “Why?”

  Zola bit her lip and went quiet, as if thinking hard about it. “You’re already bigger than my daddy.”

  Although her father and Mrs. Ellen weren’t together anymore, he came by to visit and had them for some holidays and parts of the summer. Her dad hadn’t been too excited to have a tall boy in the house with his daughter, especially one coming from such a troubled family.

  But Mrs. Ellen had a motto. “Have a complaint? Write it down on some paper. Fold it up and put it in the Complaint Box, which we also call the trash can.”

  Mrs. Ellen didn’t deal with complaints, critiques, or suggestions. As a single mother, she had control of our lives and joy for every minute of the day. And she did it by herself, often falling asleep on the couch with her laptop open as she tried to finish her part-time college courses and still make it to a full-time job the next morning.

  Therefore, she had no room for people telling her what and how she needed to do anything. That being said, I did my best to behave, especially around Mrs. Ellen’s ex-husband. I didn’t want Mrs. Ellen to get in trouble from taking care of me.

  “You’re so tall.” Zola had that mischievous grin. “Like a warrior tall. You’ll be married soon.”

  “Married soon?” I quirked my eyebrow. “But, I’m not even eighteen, yet.”

  “One day you will be.” She tossed another ill-fated stone into the pond. “You’ll move far, far away and get married and that will be your family...and you’ll forget about me.”

  “No.” I slung a rock.

  For the first time, it sunk in the water with a big splash. Zola laughed and picked up several rocks as if invigorated by my failure. If I could suck, maybe she could win. And I hoped she would find that it was true.

  Seconds later, she skipped her first rock with precision.

  I smiled. “No kids for me, Zuzu.”

  “Why not?”

  “I would be a cruel parent.”

  She widened her eyes and stared at me as if I had a real crystal ball. “How do you know?”

  “It’s in my DNA.”

  “I didn’t know that could happen.”

  “I’m sure it does.” I winked at her. “Lucky for your kids, your DNA is perfect, sweet, and caring.”

  She blushed. “No. I won’t have kids either. We can just stay with Mom and live together forever.”

  “Not a bad idea.” I shrugged. “I’ll consider it, if I don’t rule the world first.”

  She frowned and scooted closer to me. “No. You have to promise me one thing.”

  Only she could make me smile. “What, Zuzu?”

  “No matter how big and bad you get, you’ll never stop loving me.” She held up her pinky and gave it to me.

  “Never, ever.” I locked my pinky with her. “You’ve got my heart, Zuzu.”

  We left the pond, and she convinced me to get her some ice cream and take her to the library down the street.

  Never in that moment did I think that our sweet, loving bond would shift into twisted, sexual darkness.

  Why did my love for her have to turn into lust? Sure, the love was still there, just more intensified, more obsessive. Before, she was my Zuzu—warm hugs and cookies, books and running through a field of lilies.

  Now Zuzu was Zola—hot, lush curves that I wanted to bite. I no longer wanted to cuddle with her with a mug of cocoa and a cozy novel. Now, I wanted to rip her clothes off, spread her legs open, and fuck her like no hero had ever done to a heroine in any novel she’d ever read.

  Jesus. Buddha.

  The sight of her in that zebra bikini flashed in my head.

  Yahweh. Jehovah.

  My cock grew in my pants.

  Zeus. Hades.

  I rubbed my face and returned to the suite. There was no need to worry about Zola striking the conversation back up. We both had to get ready for this stupid event tonight.

  Her team rushed around her. Alexander showed her this dress and that. One woman began brushing her hair and spraying stuff on it. Another painted her left hand’s nails. With her right hand, Zola nibbled the food I’d ordered earlier.

  I brought her over a glass of wine. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Smiling, she nodded, but her eyes said she wanted to talk. “I’m okay for now.”

  We will talk, Zola. We will.

  “There we go, girl.” Alexander had been talking most of the time. “Oh yeah. I never got that drink I asked for.”

  I was sure he was talking to me, but I did a decent job of tuning him out while I watched her. Poor Alexander sighed and walked over to the bar himself, making his own drink.

  The rest of Zola’s team scampered around her.

  Everything will be fine. I’m on guard now. I’m focused.

  Zola sipped a little wine, then leaned forward. The pose exposed her cleavage, and all I could think about was how soft and warm and wonderful it would feel to bury my face between those soft mounds.

  I’m…focused.

  I grunted. Once my mind went there, I couldn’t stop. Visions of her bare breasts played in my head. She sipped more wine, then leaned forward even more, placing her elbows on the table.

  Motherfucker.

  Zola had an incredible mouth too. Perfectly shaped. Designed by the gods. She bit her lip as she stared back at me in the mirror’s reflection. I yearned to do some biting there too. But I’d begin with her toes and work my way up, nibbling those thighs and lapping at her pussy. I’d leave small bites around the sensitive tips of her nipples, then go back lower, delve between her thighs, and just feast until my tongue was so saturated with her taste and texture.

  Goddamn it! What are you doing?

  I worked hard to appear unaffected as she gazed back at me. Meanwhile, unaffected was the absolute antithesis of my feeling. Currently, I stood behind a kitchen counter, camouflaging my erection.

  Fuck. Get a damn grip, man!

  “I’ll be back.” I left them all there, unable to be around Zola anymore and not think of her naked. The confession had brought everything back full speed.

  I went into my bedroom and stared in the mirror.

  Why did you tell her? If she’s disgusted by it, then she won’t talk to me. If she’s turned on by it, then I’ll have to deal with the fact that I won’t be able to stop myself from fucking her.

  It was a puzzle I would have to solve later. There would be time. Zola would remain professional for the evening. Later, we would need to talk it through.

  Damn it. No matter what she says, I won’t lose her. I know that.

  Whatever she wanted to do to fix this, I would do it. I’d let my fear stop me from talking to her. Now I felt stupid, after confessing everything. Her reaction hadn’t been one of the many things I thought would happen.

  She looked shocked and…turned on. No. That’s just what I want.

  Sighing, I took a quick shower and dressed. It had taken me only a few minutes to put on my Brioni suit. Hand-tailored. Hand-sewn. Cashmere and silk. Embellished, but minimal. When wearing Brioni, there was no need for anything else.

  I walked back into the living room. Time had passed. Another girl stood next to Zola. She introduced herself as CiCi. I made a note of everyone, snapped some quick pics of them, and sent it to Baptiste. Anyone around Zola would be a suspect until I found the psycho.

  I surveyed them all. Some appeared supportive. Others professional. There were definitely some that came off as ego-inflated, but none gave me the psychopath vibe.

  Zola had already showered and now the team had taken over. Every second of that time, they swarmed around her, buzzing and primping. Flat ironing and curling. Applying this color and that. Bright plum powders. Hot red lipstick. Perfume lingered in the air.

  The whole time I watched, unable to take my g
aze off her.

  Stay…focused.

  The outfit showed off that curvy body. The top and bottom of the dress was full, exaggerating her narrow waist. Nothing was sexier. Still the dress was short and skin-tight in many places, displaying every curve of her body. Running up her legs were black stockings. An inch or so of garter belt showed on her thigh; the rest disappeared under her dress. It made me hunger to see what kind of underwear it connected to. A thin necklace of diamonds covered her throat and a long diamond pendant dangled from her neck all the way down to the low V which just exposed the jutting swell of her breasts.

  And those breasts pressed against the fabric appearing ready to escape. Each time her makeup artist moved Zola’s position, Zola’s cleavage jiggled, and I had to run my fingers through my hair to stop myself from going over to touch her.

  One good tug and I could free them for her, taste her perky nipples, drag my teeth across them. Stop it. Fuck.

  Still, I imagined leaving love marks all over her breasts. I forced myself to think of something else.

  You’re supposed to be watching her team for suspicious people, not drooling over her.

  I gestured to the makeup artist. “What’s your name?”

  She gave me a nervous smile. “Takako. By the way, I prefer the pronoun they and their.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Takako stopped and stared at me. “When you refer to me, instead of he or she, use they.”

  “Understood.”

  I studied Takako. Earlier, I’d thought she was a female, but with the whole spiel, she might’ve been born a male and identified as female.

  They raised their eyebrows and grabbed a brush. “You’re wondering, aren’t you?”

  Zola remained quiet but smiled.

  “Wondering what?” I asked Takako.

  “You’re wondering what I am?” They said.

  “The thought crossed my mind, when you discussed your pronouns.”

  “I was born a boy.” Takako dusted a dark gold on Zola’s forehead, the tip of her nose, and both of her cheeks. Surprisingly, it didn’t show gold. Instead, Zola’s face looked more highlighted and seemed to glow.

  “I’m only telling you this, because…” Takako dusted the gold on Zola’s face some more. “Because Z told me you were her new bodyguard, but better than Rico. More like James Bond.”

  “And what character would Rico be?” I asked.

  “Austin Powers.” They shrugged.

  Zola shook her head and appeared to be holding in a laugh.

  Takako finished up in silence, and I studied them some more. They had long black hair that fell to the waist. I was sure they had Japanese parents. There was a subtle distinction among Asian ethnic groups that one with a heart and brain took time to understand and note.

  Definitely Japanese. But where did they come from, and could they be the stalker?

  Slim body. Small breasts and broad arms. Tall for a woman, but too slim and curvy for a man.

  “I know what you’re thinking now.” Takako put the brush down and smirked.

  I tilted my head to the side. “What am I thinking?”

  “You’re wondering, if you would do me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You will.”

  I won’t.

  Scanning the area, I checked for everyone else.

  Alexander had disappeared.

  Where did he go?

  “I’ll be right back.” I left Zola and searched for him. It took no time to find him in Zola’s bathroom. He hadn’t even locked the door as he leaned forward and had his face over the counter.

  I cleared my throat.

  “I’m almost done.” He rose and glanced over his shoulder.

  The whites of his eyes showed stark around the irises. His gaze held a doll-like appearance, lifeless and still. I looked at the counter and confirmed what I’d already thought.

  A line of cocaine lay on the surface.

  I held my hand up. “Take your time.”

  “I sure will. This is good stuff. Want some?”

  “No.”

  “Cool.” Alexander bent over, sucked up the line in less than a minute with his right nostril, and then shook his head. “I just needed a few bumps to prepare for the night.”

  I nodded, used to this sort of thing. Drugs went with money. The whole time a person was broke, they solemnly believed that they would be happier when they were rich. And then the money came, and their depression and darkness never left. The extra dollars didn’t make them happy, but at least they now had money for drugs.

  I shut the door and waited for him to leave.

  While Alexander’s cocaine habit was unsettling, I doubted a druggie could pull off a good stalking. Statistics showed that many stalkers didn’t use illegal drugs. They hallucinated enough without them. And if they did take a drug, it was a good ole prescription one—worse than the natural stuff and way more addictive.

  I don’t think it’s him, but I can’t be too sure. After that fiasco in the apartment, everyone is going to be watched.

  Alexander came out rubbing his nose. “Thanks, man.”

  “No problem.”

  “Damn. That suit is just off the Brioni fall collection’s runway.” Alexander spotted me and looked like he wanted to touch my jacket, but thankfully didn’t it. “Bluette herringbone. Condotti cashmere jacket. Yes, sir. Do it.”

  “Thank you.” I nodded at Alexander. “I respect a man with good taste.”

  “Me too.” He adjusted his tie and walked out.

  I went to the bathroom, checked the sink. If he was the sicko, he might’ve rummaged through the area himself or even left something. I found no sign of snooping.

  When I returned, Takako had been continuing their work.

  Zola gazed at me from the mirror’s reflection. While her expression appeared neutral, her eyes heated with lust.

  Or am I just imagining this?

  “We’re almost done.” Takako finished painting a masterpiece on that already perfect face.

  Minutes later, Alexander announced it was time to leave.

  I had the car brought around. Her best friend, CiCi, as well as the rest of the team followed, and we headed to the limo. At my shock, a few tumbled into the car with us. The stylist continued to move different strands as if her hair had gotten destroyed during the journey from the suite to the car. Alexander fanned her. Another scanned her phone, tracking the red carpet footage for the album release.

  “Girl, nobody is coming like you,” CiCi said. “You’re going to kill it.”

  “Okay.” Alexander snapped. “Let these bitches know.”

  Zola gave them a weak smile, glancing at me every few seconds, before gazing out of the window. Tension filled the air between us, but I doubted the others noticed as they continued to primp and paw on her.

  How can she deal with this? I’m already tired of them, and it’s only been a few hours.

  We arrived at the nightclub in no time.

  When we left the car, I offered my hand to her, half being a gentleman and the other half testing how she might feel about me after my confession. She took my hand, almost as if it was a lifeboat, stopping her from drowning.

  She leaned in. “Thank you.”

  The sweet fragrance of her surrounded me. “Always.”

  “Sorry about my team. They can be a bit much.”

  “They are.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t shoot one of them.”

  “I considered it.”

  “Not funny.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

  She gazed at the view in front of us. “Here we go.”

  “I’ve got you.”

  She smiled, and as we walked toward the club entrance, cameras flashed. Noise rose.

  Teens yelled all around us, “Oh shit! That’s Zola!”

  Paparazzi swarmed too, snapping images. Still holding her hand, I tried to remain in the back as much as I could. But the media demons weren’t having it
.

  The crowd assaulted her with questions.

  “Zola, who’s this?”

  “Are Trigger and you over?”

  “Will Trigger be upset with you bringing your new boo here?”

  “Zola, is My Heartbreak Bitch about you?”

  “What parts of the album do you think you inspired? Was it Brokenhearted? Was it Love or Go?”

  Like a pro, Zola continued forward.

  I considered correcting them on my being her new boo but knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Anything we said could be twisted and used against her. With gossip blogs, it wasn’t about the truth. It was about what subject would get the most clicks and views.

  Meanwhile, I scanned the crowd, searching for someone off to the side, snapping pictures, but not truly. Someone who would be mimicking the paparazzi with the sole reason to get closer. He’d probably be happy for the new pictures of her tonight too.

  Are you out there?

  When we arrived inside an empty lobby, she paused at the nightclub’s interior double doors and exhaled. Her makeup team and friend hurried along, yapping and excited to be at the event. They barreled through the doors and didn’t notice we’d stopped.

  I squeezed her hand. “Do you need a minute?”

  It would probably be the only few moments where we would be alone for a while.

  “Yes,” she said.

  I guided us to the side. “I could run in and get you a glass of water or—”

  “No. I’m good.” She gazed up at me.

  “What’s wrong, Zuzu?”

  “Don’t call me Zuzu.”

  “What’s wrong, Zola?”

  In a flash, she wrapped her arms around my shoulders. Thanks to those heels and her pushing on her toes, she almost reached me eye level. Before I could ask her what she was doing, she hit me with shocking words.

  “I’ve always wanted you too.”

  I tensed, loving what I was hearing, but also unsure of it.

  Did she understand what those words would do to my body? My heart? My mind? My fucking soul? This was nothing to play with, nothing to toy or act on with haste. What would this mean for us? Would it change our lives forever?