by Carnal, MJ
“What are you thinking about, Princess?”
“God, Ax, just about how much I’m going to miss you. You promise to come back to me?” I ask him, the tears coming back into my eyes, and the melancholy that has been a constant presence since his graduation Friday night returns.
“Just try and keep me away,” he says, leaning in to take my lips in a toe-curling kiss. His tongue licks my bottom lip, and then he catches it in between his teeth, lightly biting down. I open my mouth to let him in and capture his moan down my throat. Pushing his shoulder, I roll him underneath me, feeling his already hard cock nestle within my wet core.
“Mmmm, babe, already?” he groans.
“Always, Axel. I’m always ready for you,” I say as I lift up and help guide him inside my body.
As I begin to move with a perfectly mastered rhythm over his lean, hard body, I think to myself how hard it’s going to be to drop my boyfriend off at the bus tomorrow knowing that it’s going to be six long months before I see him again.
Little do I know, the last time I look into these eyes will be when he turns around to wave while walking up the steps to the bus, the bus that takes my heart with it.
A heart that never returns to me.
~~*
Like I said, I haven’t always been this weak woman. I don’t think anyone wakes up and says, “Hey, today I think I will be weak, broken, and completely fucked up!” I certainly didn’t. I think I have worked hard to become who I am today. With the help of Dr. Maxwell—and Dee, of course—I have slowly become the me I once was.
It hasn’t been easy, and I still have my moments. I can’t hear my full name without it taking me back to the dark years with Brandon. I started taking the steps to finalize our divorce about six months ago. The same time I had finally healed enough to start moving on. I started my own web design company, something I have always loved to do, and it seemed like the perfect choice. I felt comfortable being able to work out of the house Dee and I shared. Safer.
Brandon isn’t making things easy for me. One would think with a clear, black and white police report and hospital records showing what the marriage to him did to me that I wouldn’t have any issues with a quick divorce. But no…nothing ever came easy for me. I’ve been fighting with him the whole time—through lawyers, of course. I haven’t actually seen him since the day I was released from the hospital two years ago.
That was also the day that Dee and my duo became a trio.
The day I met Greg.
Where Dee is my sister; Greg is my brother.
Bonds so tight they would be almost impossible to break.
Greg is our protector, whether we want him or not. He looks out for us and doesn’t shy away from Friday nights spent in watching chick flicks and eating junk food.
I met Greg the day I was released from the hospital after a week stay, healing from Brandon’s final beating. Dee was there to pick me up. She pulled up in a minivan with the back loaded up full of boxes. Looking back now, I can laugh, but the look on her face when I asked her why she had the boxes was priceless. She looked me dead in the eyes with the fiercest expression she could muster and said, “Girl, if you think I will leave you here with that piece-of-sorry-shit husband, you are nuts. Nope, no way. We are packing you up and hitting the road. The world is our oyster or something like that.” She then explained that she had the local sheriff meeting us there to make sure Bastard Brandon didn’t try anything. Dee was ready for anything. She told me not only would the law be there to look over things, but she had one of her friends meeting us there. She didn’t get into detail, and I didn’t care. I wanted it over.
When we pulled up to the house I shared with Brandon, he was of course there and raging mad. I sat in the passenger’s seat shaking like a leaf. Dee came around and helped me out, using her tiny body as a shield. I kept my eyes down until they met two huge booted feet in my path. Following those boots up thick thighs, a rock-solid chest, and powerful arms, I looked up into thunderous blue eyes. He was a huge man, easily a foot over my five foot three. With his expression, I immediately shrank back, hoping it hadn’t been noticeable, but nothing escaped this man’s eyes. He carefully schooled his expression and tucked me under his thick arm by throwing it over my shoulders.
As he guided me into the house, he softly said, “Don’t you worry, baby girl. We’ve got you now.” I don’t know what it was, but when I met Greg that day, all it took were those words to instantly set me at ease.
An hour later, we had six years of my life boxed and loaded.
I left it all, only taking my clothes, important documents, pictures from my childhood, and small treasures I had hidden away from my life before Brandon.
I haven’t looked back since.
I may feel alive, but today I’m alive with one bitch of a hangover. Looking at the clock, I shake my head at the time. How the hell did I sleep this late? That’s right—Dee. Dee is how I slept this late. Crazy chick got home last night and thought we should spend the evening with Jack. One of these days she is going to remember that, Jack and I, we are not friends. Never have been, never would be. Nights spent with Jack always bring me to the same spot—hung over, and pissed off. Damn, Dee. She better have breakfast ready this morning, er…afternoon.
What did I let her talk me into last night? The last thing I remember is Dee coming home from work with a big-ass brown bag in her arms, screaming “Liquor delivery, bitch!” I guess that’s what happens when you have been friends with someone for so long. She knew I needed her, and damn it, I needed Jack. So her announcement was met with red-rimmed eyes, ratty sweats, and a best friend on her third carton of ice cream.
She knew me, and she knew I would be hurting this weekend. So instead of letting me drink myself stupid alone, she grabbed two glasses and proceeded to get wasted with me. Helping me forget, helping me numb my mind, and just being there.
Walking over to my desk, trying to clear the fog from last night’s bender, I look down at my desk calendar and triple-check the date. Yup, it’s still August 8th, my thirtieth birthday. Also the twelve year anniversary of what is still the worst day of my life. Getting into the shower, without the aid of Jack, I can’t stop my mind from wandering back in time.
“GRAM!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Gram, oh my God, GRAM!! There’s blood, so much blood, Gram! What do I do? Why is there so much… Why is there any?” I’ve reached complete hysterical breakdown proportions with my wailing.
This can’t be happening! There is no way God would be so cruel to take this too!
I crash down onto my knees, doubling over and curling into myself, screaming and praying…praying and screaming. Sobbing big, huge, gasping sobs.
Pop’s voice finally reaches my grief-filled mind, picking my small frame up and carrying me out to his truck. “Here we go, my little one. Buckle up and have no worries for your beautiful heart. Pop’s got you now.”
Shaking my head, I come back from that horrible day. My eighteenth birthday is still, twelve years later, marking all the birthdays that follow with heart-stopping pain. One day, I promise myself. One day I will be able to wake up on my birthday and smile. I can’t wait for that day.
Feeling slightly more human than I did a half hour ago, I throw my fluffy robe over my naked skin and take off to find my best friend.
I walk into the kitchen and smile down at the note from Dee.
Yo! Made you some grub. Eat…and shower because I bet you smell like yesterday’s shit. I had to run into the office, but be ready… I’ll be home around noon. We have some serious shopping and pampering to do! That’s right, not getting out of it! LOVE-me!
Picking up the salad from the fast food joint up the street, I plop down with a smile. Made me some grub, my ass. More like drove two seconds away and paid someone else to do it. Leave it to Dee. Busy as always on a Friday before a long weekend but still making sure I eat and take care of myself. Times like this remind me of how lucky I am to have her in my life; I really don
’t know what I would do without her. She has saved me from myself more often than I can count. Knowing she will be home in an hour is just more proof of that. She knows I need her this weekend, so she is closing up shop half a day early.
I finish up lunch and then tidy up the kitchen. I return to my room to collect some laundry and get some housework done before Dee gets home, anything to try to keep my mind free of bad memories.
I know she means well, but I would much rather stay home and just be alone.
I understand why she wants to keep me busy, I really do, but I just don’t think I will be able to do it. Another year of going through the ‘normal’ motions. Another year missing him, missing them, missing everything.
A quick peek at the clock has me picking up my speed. Little Miss Happiness should be floating in soon; I at least need to be ready before the rainbows and glitter start fucking with me.
I’m deep in my closet, trying unsuccessfully to find something to wear today when I hear her…singing. Laughing to myself, I let a smile crack my face. Dee can’t hold a tune to save her life, but that will never stop her.
She comes bouncing in my room, smiling from ear to ear, “Hey, you sexy bitch. I see you decided to rock the birthday suit today. Nice choice, although we might have some issues getting into the mall like that. I think there might be laws against this. But hey, more power to you!” She smacks my ass on the way over to park it on my bed.
“What the hell, Dee! Door. Closed. Knock!” I try to scowl at her the way Greg always does to us but end up laughing right along with her giggles.
She flops her flat stomach down onto my bed. “So, my sexy ‘older’ friend, what will be worn on your naked self today? I assume that is what you are doing digging around in that closet of yours.”
“I don’t know, Dee,” I don’t have to fake the scowl this time. “Do we have to do this today? Can’t we just stay in today? I really don’t think I am going to make good company at all.” I’m pleading with her, and I am willing to bet I sound as desperate as I feel. I know I won’t be pleasant to be around today. I planned on a repeat of last night. Shitfaced, falling down, rip-roaring drunk. Healthy? No, but it works. Why should I mess with a good thing?
“Iz, get your skinny ass ready now. We’re going to drive down to the mall, get a new hot-as-fuck outfit for both of us, go see Sway at the salon, and have some serious pampering before Greg comes over to take us to dinner tonight. You aren’t going to sit at home alone. I know that’s your plan. Not again, Iz. Not this year.”
Her eyebrows are puckering and she looks like she will drag me out of here naked if I don’t agree. Jesus. There really is no sense in arguing with her when she gets this worked up. I’ll just come up with some excuse later and ditch her and Greg for a night at home with Jack.
Now, that’s a plan with some promise.
Chapter 2
We’ve been shopping for hours. Or at least it feels like hours to a person who does not enjoy shopping. Dee started dragging me around the second we walked through the doors. She is a woman on a mission.
We were in our second store—second store after the three different lingerie stores. I had more freaking panties than I would need in a lifetime. Apparently, step one of Dee’s master plan was making sure I had new everything. I put my foot down the second I noticed her intent. No freaking way.
After a small fight, she finally agreed—one outfit, one complete outfit, and that’s all.
And that brings us to now.
I have tried on what feels like the whole entire dress department. There is always something she finds wrong with each one. Finally, she thrust a bright candy-apple red scarf at me. I say scarf because there is no way there is enough material to call this a dress.
“Uh, Dee…where is the rest of it?” I question.
“That’s it, Iz. I just know it. That is the dress!” She’s bouncing—literally bouncing—up and down in place. Her curly hair is jumping right along with her. If I weren’t so annoyed, I would think she is pretty damn cute right now.
“There is no way I am wearing that, Dee. Is there even a back on that thing? And…and my vagina is seriously going to be playing peekaboo all night. There is no way, no way at all.”
I’m practically panting with anxiety. I’ve spent the last two years hiding my body. I lost all the weight I gained during my marriage, but I still see the fat girl I once was when I look in the mirror. Dee is constantly on my ass to stop wearing my ‘ratty-ass jeans and man shirts,’ which is what she affectionately calls my lack of style. I like my style. Jeans and tees—it’s easy and perfect.
Shit.
Sighing, I look down at the scrap of beautiful red material, thinking to myself, it’s just one night. One night of wearing a scarf to keep that smile on Dee’s face. After everything she has done, parading around with my vagina smiling at the world is a small price to pay.
“All right, you pushy little shit. I’ll see what it looks like on, but don’t blame me if it doesn’t work,” I tell her with fake exasperation.
Turning from her smiling face, I step into the dressing room and remove my street clothes once again. Once I pull the miniscule piece of fashion over my hips, I bring the tiny strings that will hold this ‘dress’ on my body over my arms and set them in place on my shoulders. Reaching behind me for the zipper, I meet bare skin. Called it, I thought to myself. Placing my palm against my back, I confirm that there is, in fact, no back. I slowly turn around and face the mirror, sealing my fate. Unable to stop the small gasp that escapes my lips, I look myself up and down.
Is that me?
The dress fits perfectly, but then again, with Dee, I knew it would. The front of the dress fits snug across my chest, making my average-sized chest look a cup larger than my small C’s. The straight neckline starts just under my collarbone, essentially covering everything. The small straps going over my shoulders make my frame look sleek and petite.
Not too bad.
Taking a deep breath, I turn around to check out the damage. Another small gasp escapes before I bite my lip and take in everything the back lacks. I can see the straps holding the dress up, hugging my shoulders as if they fear at any second they could snap. I follow the exposed line of my spine all the way down to the two dimples above my ass and the small piece of red fabric hugging my cheeks—barely.
How am I supposed to wear underwear with this dress?
Dee chooses this moment to start tapping on the dressing room door impatiently.
“Izzzzzy,” she sings. “Izzy, I know what you’re doing in there. Stop freaking your freak and let me see!”
I crack the door, giving her another one of Greg’s mean looks. “I’m going to kill you for this.”
She laughs as she pushes herself into the dressing room with me, taking me in from top to bottom and then back up again. The smile that comes over her face creeps me the hell out. I don’t think I have ever seen that look before. She looks so… Shit…she is practically oozing joy.
“I knew it! I just knew it. Izzy, you have been hiding this banging body for way too long. No more. Maybe we should keep shopping.” She looks down at her watch. “There’s still time. I could have you outfitted in a few hours. The works—dresses, skirts, slacks, blouses…” She trails off; I don’t even think she is speaking to me anymore. I am almost a hundred percent sure her eyes have just glossed over.
“Denise Anne Roberts, you calm yourself down right the hell now. I told you one outfit. ONE! I did not say we would spend the rest of eternity buying the whole damn mall. One, Dee. One dress. I already caved on the lingerie.” I whisper sharply at her.
She gives me a hurt look before that creepy little grin comes back.
“Okay, okay… Damn, Iz. No more clothes for now. But one day you will let me do a complete makeover. We still need shoes, so let’s go, birthday girl. Get naked and let me have that awesome dress while you put those ratty-ass jeans and ugly ass man shirt back on.”
She’s bouncing again
, and damn it, even though I smile, I’m slightly worried about what I just got myself into.
Two hours later, we finally reach the salon and our favorite stylist in the world, Sway. Sway is a short, fat African-American man with long platinum-blond hair. When he isn’t rocking his trademark heels, I can almost look him in the eye. Sway, whose real name is Dilbert Harrison III, is the funniest man I have ever met. How often in small-town Georgia does a small black man come up to you with four-inch heels, skinny jeans, and a tight-fitting shirt on, kiss both cheeks, and pronounce you looking “marvelous, darling”? Not very often, I promise you that.
Sway has been itching to get his hands on my thick, long mahogany hair. He was shocked the first time he styled it and I told him I didn’t touch color products. I have always been blessed with perfect hair. It’s dark brown with so many different shades of auburn that when the sun hits it you can almost see it set fire.
Exhausted from my shopping mission with Dee, I sit down and tell him to go for it, whatever he wants.
“Sweet baby Jesus in a manger… Sweet child, oh Lord have mercy, please tell Sway that I am not hearing things?” He turns his excited eyes on me with a look of elation, pure elation.
“Go for it, Sway. Just please don’t make me regret this.” Smiling at him through the mirror, I let myself drift off.
The first time I met Sway was when Dee and I arrived in town two years before. He was our second stop after unloading all of her stuff and my few boxes at our new house. Dee had explained to me on the drive that this was our new chapter in life. A chance to start from scratch and become new people. I knew what she was giving up to run with me. She had a very successful insurance company in Bakersville, North Carolina. Luckily, she was your typical trust fund baby, so it wasn’t hard for her to up and leave. She’d left her second-in-command in charge with plans on expanding wherever we landed. We’d taken everything we owned and drove south. The one and only saving grace I’d had was an account Dee had helped me set up with the money my grandfather had left me when he passed away five years ago.
