by Sunniva Dee
Tippy-toes on the floor, I lift my hands and cup his face. I need him to hear me out too. “Keyon, baby?”
He shakes his head, concerned, and I don’t know what he’s concerned about. “Paislee, I made a mistake. No, several mistakes. I couldn’t deal with my memories. I didn’t know what had happened to me, and I wasn’t even sure who I was anymore. Now I know. I’m still me, Keyon Arias, the fighter, the lover of this girl who needs to move in with him and be his rock and kiss him through violent sleep.”
I draw a breath. Open my mouth to speak.
“Please don’t do this. I see it in your eyes, Paislee. There’s still something there for me. Hell, you wouldn’t fucking have flown out here if there wasn’t, and all I’m asking is that you give us a chance. Please?”
All this begging. Euphoria froths in my chest, a mélange of bliss and laughter. “Oh my God, enough with the pleases; you need to let me answer. Yes, I love you. Yes, I want to give us a try, just, it’s a bit hard to get a word in edgewise around here.” My cocky words don’t match that I’m out of breath with the enormity of the moment.
He opens his mouth for another objection. As my outburst sinks in, they close slowly, and dilated pupils return to their normal size. “Ahh. You scared the bejesus out of me,” he mumbles. “Freaking H.”
His arm shifts and settles around my shoulders. Draws me in tight. “Oh baby, baby.” The air he lets out is almost a groan. “Time to go pubbing. Pop champagne and tell everyone you’ve agreed to have my babies.”
Shirt haphazardly slung over a shoulder and a wet towel still around his neck, he walks me out of the venue. “Like, a litter of rug rats.”
“Hey, wait a minute.”
“Shush, love. Keep moving.”
KEYON
I hate being away from Paislee. She’s mine, and she has a history of all sorts of things. I should be trusting her. I do too, but goddammit, I’m not the only guy enthralled by her kaleidoscope of awesome. She’s kindness, beauty, and sweetness in one, even after a life that’s treated her harshly.
After seventeen days apart, we’re finally together in Markeston’s brand-new hall of mirrors. Last night, Paislee flew in with her mother and her boss, so I’ve got my girl at a safe distance from the pigs drooling over her in Rigita.
I crush my thoughts before I go out on a tangent. There’s no need to obsess; she is mine. I see it every time I look into her eyes, which I do nightly thanks to Skype. My Paislee will be leaving Rigita for good in a few weeks, on the day my lease in Tampa gets exchanged for a duplex in Las Vegas.
I travel north a few nights before that so we can fly to Sin City together. She huffed when I told her, saying it’s not worth the expense, but I blamed it on my father’s birthday, which will be celebrated in the Coral Mansion.
That made her gooey-eyed, a look so pretty on her it gave me a boner. Until bedtime came early and was even nicer than usual. Yeah, I’ve filed away that little positive side effect for future reference: for erotic pleasures, act as if giving a shit about celebratory traditions.
At the moment, the little lady of my heart strides slowly through the room, thick ponytail swinging lazily as she turns to study details. Dainty fingertips caress the surface of the mirror closest to a backyard window. Her eyes dart to the waning sun outside, then she peers up at Old-Man Win. “Good, right?”
“Excellent,” he agrees.
Markeston isn’t his jovial, calm self. He’s busy impressing my soon-to-be fiancée’s mother. It’s the funniest thing; the man himself straightened a little within his five-foot six-inch frame as soon as she walked in the door, and truth be told, she cleans up nicely.
Margaret’s got a red skirt going, some matching top and bunned-up blonde hair, and makeup that has her looking rosy-cheeked and as beamy as her daughter in the right mood. I almost groan at that, because it’s been weeks since I had my girl to myself.
Last night, we let her mother use my bedroom, while Paislee and I opened the couch in the living room. Between Simon hogging her and no doors to lock, all I got was insanely tight hugs and massages slippery with juices.
Tonight I’m booking a hotel.
“Please, I’ve got room, Margaret,” I overhear Markeston say to Paislee’s mother. “Mr. Win’s isn’t my only guest room. It would be an honor to set you up for the night.”
“Oh no, I can’t thank you enough for paying for the ticket in the first place. This is all too much. I could never…” her mother breathes, trailing off softly. I can see where Paislee gets it from now. One look at Markeston, and I suspect a future fellow prisoner of love for the Cain women. I suppress a smile.
“Mr. Markeston—”
“Oh call me Rick,” he pleads more than says.
“Rick…” she sighs, and it’s got to go straight south on Markeston.
I glance at my girl. Incredulous, her stare flickers between Markeston and her mother. I meet her gaze, purse my face in a playful frown, silently asking her to not interfere: Markeston’s offer could be really good for us. She slinks closer, curling herself into my side, shoulders hunched and nose rubbing my chest like we’re already horizontal and cuddling. I just—
“Love you. I love you.”
“And I love you. Five more weeks, Keyon.”
The phone buzzes in my pocket, and it better be who I think it is. “Hold on. Business,” I say, kissing her forehead and loosening her grip. She’s mildly disappointed, but I clarify, “The contract. There’s that last point I need to negotiate. Two minutes?”
She nods, smile brightening from the pouty-lipped version she wore for a second. I step into the hallway, check the screen, and pick up.
“I can’t find the exit,” he says, annoyed.
“It’s fifty-seven,” I say.
“Not fifty-four?”
“There is no exit fifty-four. Keep going. Unless you’ve passed it?”
“I’m at… Umm. Just passed fifty-five.”
“You’re almost here then. There’s no fifty-six either, so the next one is—”
“Weird, man.”
“Yeah, just deal with it.” I rub my forehead, surprised at how my heart’s speeding. Phone convos don’t usually rile me up like I’m on a beach sprint.
“I see it,” he murmurs, voice low.
“You gonna be all right?” I ask, because who the hell knows.
“What’s gonna stop me from that?” the fucker says. “I’m always okay.”
I get the impulse to noogie him when he arrives for being a smartass. “Good. Five minutes tops.”
“See ya,” he throws out and hangs up.
PAISLEE
“Sorry. A minute?” Keyon slides a hand around my hip and looks at Old-Man for permission to pull me away. Of course Old-Man nods, and Markeston instantly includes Mom in their group so Old-Man won’t be examining the finalized hall of mirrors on his own.
My boyfriend gives me a quick hug in the hallway before he turns me to him. “Paislee, steel yourself, okay? Promise me you won’t have a heart attack.”
It’s true that hearts can leap into people’s throats, because mine instantly anchors itself to my esophagus. “Sure, what’s going on?”
It’s dark in this damn hallway. I can’t read his expression. He pulls me behind him through more rooms until we hit the lobby. He widens the front doors for me, letting me through first.
My self-confidence is better, but it has no skyrocket switch and I can’t lie and say I’m not afraid of bad, bad news right now; Keyon has a history of making himself scarce. If he tells me he’s leaving for Vegas alone, I can’t fall apart here. I’ll have to wait until I’m alone.
Light floods the end of the driveway. Dusk is setting in, making the little car approaching us look ethereal. I peek at Keyon by my side. He doesn’t speak, just looks down the palm-tree-lined driveway, waiting with me as if that’s what we’re doing.
I make up a film clip where it’s a friend of his coming. We want to make sure he finds his way in safely
. He’s a lover of all things mirror, and Keyon has told him what this particular hall is like.
In an effort to extract a last piece of intimacy, I hook my arms around Keyon’s waist, my chin hitting the hollow right beneath his arm.
He folds me in, to comfort me, I’m sure. He’ll start explaining why we’re out here any moment now. Or maybe he’ll wait until that car is out of the way, maid, whatever, so that he can talk to me in peace, perhaps explain more than he did the last time we—
Broke up.
He clears his throat as the car comes to a stop by the biggest fountain all the way in the front. I don’t want him to drop his bomb until the maid is out of the way. Polite, I nod at her windshield.
“Looky,” Keyon says, giving me a squeeze. I close my eyes, suppressing the heartbreak in my throat.
Enjoy the last seconds.
The maid steps out of the car. A man, not a woman. The butler? The gardener? One of the fighters. No, he’s younger. Tall, muscular, shoulders broad and erect like he’s comfortable with himself and where he is.
A mohawk combs his coiffure upward. Perfectly shaved on the sides, it speaks of individualism, a need to stand out that I’ve seen every day on my computer lately.
“Hey, man.” Keyon is the first to speak. “I figured this was a good time since it’s the last time we’ll be in Tampa together for a while.”
The man looks at me from the shadows below the porch. I wish he’d step up closer. He can’t stop looking.
“Yeah, good call,” he says, and that voice… I don’t know it, no. I don’t, and yet I do.
He steps up, into the porch light, and my knees give under me. Keyon catches me before I fall. My eyes remain wide, open, so open, and I never want to blink.
It’s not a man after all. It’s a boy. This boy turned eighteen yesterday, another year without me to light his candles.
“Sis,” he says, voice broken like it must have been when he hit puberty. “Wow. Paislee.”
“Why didn’t you answer my Facebook messages?” I say first of everything. Cugs has no reply, just those dark eyes locking with mine.
“Thanks for accepting my friendship,” Keyon murmurs.
“Keyon ‘The Avenger’ Arias wanted to be my friend. How could I not?” The angle to his mouth indicates he’s being funny, but his stare eats up the years separating us.
“Baby,” I sob out. They look at me. It makes sense, because they’re both baby to me. “You’re crazy, you know that? Scare me like this. Baby, baby brother. Finally.” I throw myself around Cugs’ neck, and he crushes me so tight.
“Shit, Sis, I’m sorry I didn’t respond. Ever since we left, Dad has—”
“I don’t care. You’re here. I love you so much you have no freaking idea.”
“I sort of do.” He chuckles dryly against my cheek. “Fifty-nine Facebook messages.”
“Seriously? That’s how many it’s been and you did nothing? I hate you.” The way I slump against him must be what tells him I’m the me of always, that I hate him no more than I did when I yelled at him for using one of my Barbies for his despicable experiments. His smile is broad when I pull out to stare at him some more.
“Sis. I can’t even tell you how good it is to see you.”
PAISLEE
Rigita has been my home since I was born. Most of what formed me occurred in this glorified ice fortress. To the Cain family’s bread, the Arias’ butter caused my life to twinkle for the years they were here. All they had to do was return, and wham, their influence boomed back in.
Tonight, on my eve as a Rigita citizen, I’m at the hearth of the Arias family, and it is the safest, the most loved I have felt in this place.
Outside, the winter howls, snow raging in a wild dance with the north winds. We’re so far from spring this close to the pole that no one even comments.
But indoors, the amber glow of fireplaces reigns in all rooms. Pine tree and ashes caress my nostrils, making me inhale with a contentment I rarely felt while chained to this town.
It’s different with my boyfriend on my arm, eyes trained on me and caring of how I feel. I smile, flaunting my bliss freely, and already this night creates film clips in my head.
“Hail! Hail!” Keyon’s father bellows, standing and lifting his goblet to his guests. We raise ours, celebrating with him, our fairy tale chalices gleaming in the light from dozens of candles.
“Hail to my son and his beautiful girl, a friend of the family for a decade. Yes, it is my birthday, but we have so much to celebrate, a birthday seems but a small, repetitive thing.”
Around me, people laugh politely. Despite the flames dancing in the fireplace, the room isn’t warm. A shudder runs from my neck and into my open-backed gown, but Keyon’s hand splays across my spine, infusing warmth.
“First, let me introduce you to my son.” His father gestures over the sixty colleagues, friends, and family dining with us. “Not all of you have met our Keyon, a talented MMA fighter, so talented, in fact, he has signed with the EFC in Las Vegas. The initial contract will keep him busy for twelve months, at a salary most newbies—his words, not mine—only can dream of. But never mind the money. Money’s boring, right, Keyon?”
Keyon grumbles quietly but nods in greeting to the stares honing in on him. I squeeze his hand, my goal to lend patience, but he hoods his gaze and whispers, “Sneak upstairs?” while his dad continues his speech.
“Patience, little boy,” I breathe back. It makes him snicker.
“Anything to add, Keyon?” Mr. Arias cuts in, stare piercing him for not paying attention. Though he doesn’t approve of his son’s choices, he’s at least trying, I think to myself. It doesn’t look like Keyon feels as generous.
My boyfriend opens his mouth like he’s about to take his father up on the challenge. His stare floats to me first, and I arch my brows in an unspoken “Is it worth a confrontation?”
Instead of replying, with fifty-eight pairs of eyes fixed on us, my impatient love bends in and grabs my chin. Then he sucks me into a hot kiss, a silent flip-off to his father.
“Right. Which brings me back to Keyon’s lovely girlfriend.” His father laughs, smooth like a mayor should sound. “I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that she was Keyon’s best friend during his high school years in Rigita.”
Markeston’s face pokes out from the row of faces, beaming and nodding his approval. From next to him, my mother applauds and lets out an actual whoop.
“Paislee, will you do us the honor and introduce yourself?” His father’s invitation is unexpected, and it makes me uncomfortable; this is Rigita, not Tampa, and people here know me for my past.
“Happy birthday,” I offer, feeling jittery when the guests’ attention flows from Keyon to me.
“Thank you.” His father’s smile is high and oblivious as bright eyes swipe over the room. A pang of gratitude hits me at Rigita gossip never reaching the mayor’s office. “The proverbial microphone is yours, sweetie.”
Take it away, Keyon mouths, playful.
Devil eyes gleam from the cracked kitchen door. Vicious and unforgiving, they reflect the fire that slowly heats the dining hall. The faces holding them are well known, those of women I’ve slighted, whose relationships I’ve rocked in an effort to soothe my own despair, and right now I wish I’d known another way.
There’s no taking back whom I’ve been and what I’ve done. But I have a future now, and I won’t let train stations and deplorable actions define me anymore.
I rise to my feet. I do it to flickering candles and smiles from those I love. I tune out the hate and the hums of undeserving from the galley. Then I draw a breath and focus on Keyon’s hand swaddling mine, keeping it safe against the small of my back.
“Okay,” I start, sounding young and new to this world.
I’m twenty-one year old Paislee Marie Cain, who finished high school with a scream of mercy. I thought I’d never move out of gossip-town Rigita, so high up in America that the tendrils of our snow
graze glaciers on the wrong day.
“My name is Paislee Marie Cain, I’m twenty-one years old, and I’m from here. From Rigita.” I give a smile that feels tentative on my face.
“Hi, Paislee Marie Cain,” a few utter, like we’re in some group therapy session.
I was that girl, the one who would never see her brother again, or India, the original Hall of Mirrors in Versailles, her father, or the glassblower museum at Murano.
“I’m daughter to Margaret Cain, who sits right there, and sister to Charles George McConnely.” For a moment, I let go of Keyon to lean over the table. Cugs understands. He touches my fingertips with his, and my cheeks flame at my sudden riches.
I was the town slut who worked at the only place in this sleepy, white dot on the map where no one judged her: Win’s Hall of Mirrors, hidden in the nook beyond a hole-in-the-wall falafel storefront on Broad Street.
“Tomorrow, Keyon and I will be on a plane to Vegas. We have a life to settle into. Places to go. Things to do.” I titter, knowing I’m straying, but I’m so… full of everything. “Old-Man, no worries—you know I’ll still handle your website for the Hall of Mirrors. I’ll still keep your customers content. It’ll be like I never left.” I manage a wobbly smile to him, and he nods and mumbles his half-agreement from within a too-long moustache.
I want to ramble on but not about myself. I want to talk about Keyon, about this complex man and what he is to me.
He peels the ugly off beauty. He finds layers and layers of crystal-studded surfaces where none existed before. Tender, violent, and difficult like me, he preaches love and ever-afters, and once a girl hears, she does her best to obey.
ABOUT SEXUAL VIOLENCE:
In the US, 1 out of 6 women and 1 in 33 men have been the victim of rape in their lifetime. It can happen to anyone.
Victims of sexual abuse are:
3 times more likely to suffer from depression.
6 times more likely to suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder.
13 times more likely to abuse alcohol.
26 times more likely to abuse drugs.
4 times more likely to contemplate suicide.
If it happens to you, don’t hesitate; it is free, confidential, and available 24/7 for you to call—
