by A. C. Bextor
As Decklan tears through the contents of the bag one by one, I take the opportunity to study him again. His small fingers are thin but long, like mine. His lips are full and red in color, again like mine. Even though he’s just five, he’s tall for his age and thin. He gets that from Vinnie. His dark hair comes from each of us. The dark-brown hue of his eyes, although a trait given by his father, is kind, gentle, and portrays innocence, not malevolence.
I don’t want to leave him here.
After my dad pays the bill, he grabs Decklan’s hands and starts to move toward the door. Following closely behind, Ace snatches the child’s menu that Deck studiously colored and gives it to me. Then he holds the small of my back, pushing forward gently to keep me moving.
“Raegan, you have my number. Use it for whatever you need: money, advice, even just to call and say hello. I’ll handle your mother.”
I walk to my dad and hug him tight. “I’m so sorry, Dad,” I say quickly before I start to cry.
My dad’s voice holds the same emotion. “I’m sorry, too. I’m glad you’re safe and you’re here. Things back then were so different. A father senses when his daughter isn’t what she should be, and I never did enough to help you. I hope by doing this I’m making up for some of that.”
Tears stream down my face as I pull away from my dad. Turning around, I see Ace has Decklan in his large arms. Decklan is tracing Ace’s tattoo that marks his forearm. Ace is explaining what the symbol means, and Deck appears to be listening carefully. The sight removes all my doubt in an instant.
“Decklan?” I realize this is the first time I’ve said his name to him, trying to gain his attention. He turns to me immediately, reassuring me that I have his focus.
“Hi,” he says softly, as if even at five he can sense the delicate situation.
I rub his small temple with the front of one finger and look up at him as he sits in Ace’s arms. “I hope you have a great birthday. Your grandpa told me I could visit with you again soon.”
“We live at my Gramma’s house.” Such a small person explaining the obvious. The thought that he refers to his home as my mother’s rubs me wrong, but I let it go.
“I’ll find you there. How’s that?”
He nods in agreement as my dad grabs him from Ace, positions him on the ground next to him, and shakes Ace’s hand. Then Dad leans down quickly, to avoid making it awkward, and kisses my cheek while squeezing my forearm.
Dad’s words are reassuring. “We’ll see you soon, Rae. Take care.”
“Did you just hug and kiss her?” Decklan is observant, good to know.
My dad smiles and looks down at him. “I did.”
Desperate to show Decklan my affection, I boldly ask him, “Can I hug you, too?”
“Yes.” His smile is short, there then not, but I’ll take it.
Bending down, I give him a quick hug and let him go. When I do, he wraps his arms around my dad’s thigh, immediately seeking the security and comfort it offers.
“See you soon, buddy,” Ace offers, breaking the silence.
Decklan waves as my dad takes his hand and heads toward his car.
After Dad and Decklan drive away, Ace turns to me and smiles. “You’ve got this.”
I smile back, repeating, “I’ve got this.”
One month later…
“RAEGAN, DO YOU like to fish?”
“I’ve never been fishing.”
Decklan and I are on our own today at the park. He’s sitting in the sand as I sit above him in Dad’s lawn chair that I brought with us. To others, it’s most likely a hot and miserable late-August day, but I don’t feel it since I’m focused on spending time with him.
He looks at me with a confusion stare, as if I’m not telling the truth. “Never?”
“Nope. Have you?”
He nods. “Grandpa took me once, and he said I didn’t have the patents to catch anything but a shoe. Do people really catch shoes?”
I laugh at his misuse of words. I know he means patience, but I find it funny. It’s amusing to picture my dad attempting to keep a child’s focus on a bobber. “Well, maybe we should ask Grandpa to take us next time I visit.”
“Gramma says you’re staying with us next time.”
I’ve been staying in a hotel this weekend. I wasn’t comfortable staying in the same house as my mother while trying to keep my courage and emotions in check during my time to visit Decklan. Next month, we’ve all agreed to start moving this along and allow me to be with him the whole weekend rather than several hours at a time.
“She’s right. Maybe we can talk him into taking us then.”
Standing up and brushing the sand from his hands, he unexpectedly reaches for me and climbs into my lap. I freeze, capturing the moment and savoring it to enjoy later. I wish I had a witness to this, someone to high-five and celebrate with. For me, this is a monumental happening. God, I wish Ace were standing right here so he could be part of this, as well.
Decklan doesn’t say anything as he lays the back of his head against my chest and rests it there. Looking down at him, I steal a small kiss that he doesn’t feel, but I do. He’s tired from our afternoon in the sun. It’s nearly four o’clock, so our time this weekend is almost up. I leave at eight-thirty tonight.
When I asked my parents if I could walk him down to the park near their house unsupervised, it wasn’t me that convinced them. Decklan begged them to let us go and without giving them a chance to refuse, he gave them his pleading eyes. My dad agreed and Mom said nothing.
“Ready to go?”
Rubbing his eyes and yawning in my arms, he replies, “Yeah, I’m thirsty.”
“And tired?”
“No.”
I’m slowly learning his habits. I’ve just been around him a few times, but I’m able to label his mannerisms. I know when he’s hungry, tired, and when he’s about to get cranky as all five-year-olds do.
“All right, let’s head back.”
On the walk back to the house, he musters enough energy to talk endlessly about Grandpa’s garage being full of tools, and he tells me about the things they build. He also tells me all about how Gramma doesn’t appreciate the messes these projects bring.
During the conversation, I make a mistake; Ace would be livid at my loss of focus. Looking into the street, watching the cars pass by as we walk the sidewalk in the neighborhood, I spot a black, expensive town car that slows down as it passes us. The windows are tinted and I can’t see the driver, but I feel the same instinct I felt last month while Ace and I were at the café waiting for Deck and Dad.
Darkness.
Last night, when Cherry came home from her first trip to see Decklan, she was elated. Her description of their time together was delivered to Sarah, Bean, and me with animation and detail. She relived every moment, and her relief was visible. I’m thankful for this.
Travis, my friend who I’m extremely pissed at right now, texted Cherry and told her the guys were going to have band practice this evening in Hayden’s dad’s garage. I arrived home after work and was immediately put into the shower so she wouldn’t miss it. They practice every Monday, Wednesday, and sometimes Sundays. She accepted his invitation to watch, so now we’re on our way there. This wasn’t how I intended to spend my evening with her.
Hayden’s dad is an arrogant ass. He’s a fifty-three-year-old playboy in a suit. His law degree serves him one purpose, to attract and catch women of all ages. At one time, he dated a girl younger than I was. It was gross and thankfully, it didn’t last.
“Turn it up.” Cherry demands the increase of volume in my truck, but I’m stalling knowing she’s changed the station to her crap even after I’ve told her not to do this. It’s classic rock or silence. It’s my truck and that’s how it works.
“No. Let’s talk.” She’s not taking my request lightly. I see the defeated expression on her face as she sighs in an aggravated state.
Rolling her eyes, she leans toward my radio. Before she’s able to touch
it, I reach out and hold her hand in mine, an act of avoidance disguised as an act of affection.
“You’re impossible. It’s a song. Three minutes of your time that won’t kill you, but will make me happy.”
“Three minutes of torture for me that will make you satisfied in makin’ me listen to that shit.”
Jerking her hand from mine, she moves quickly and before I’m able to stop her, the sounds of Kenny Rogers and his “Lady” surround us.
This is a horrific experience. My ears are plugging themselves. It’s that painful.
She’s quietly mumbling along in concert all alone. To avoid listening to her voice that’s clearly out of tune and off-note, I join in with a quiet hum.
I’m hoping to hell the boys at Hayden’s don’t ask me to rehearse with them tonight. I’ll cut each of them if they do. Cherry doesn’t have a clue what my past life entailed and I’m not about to explain it all to her today.
After a few stoplights, right turns, and the end of that fuckin’ ridiculous song, we arrive at the garage. “We’re here.”
Cherry doesn’t look at me at all before she hops out into the driveway, making her way to the boys after spotting them already setting up. I note, unhappily, that we would’ve had time to mess around before she rushed me out the damn door to get here.
Travis immediately walks to her, hugs her, and smiles into her hair. I hate that douche right now, not only for extending her the invite, but for touching her affectionately.
Hayden offers a small hello, which is a far cry from his usual perverted greeting, and Toby says nothing. His usual relaxed posture is tense while he finishes setting up his drums.
Marlee comes barreling out of the house entrance next with an announcement that Cherry and I don’t understand. “Well, that asshole got a piece of my mind. Bet he doesn’t ask me to do that again.”
Looking up, she realizes she has more company. “Hey, Marlee. What’s got you pissed off?” I ask with a smile, hoping I haven’t walked into a mess.
She looks to Hayden, who continues to look solemn. “Mr. Flynn had some wine with lunch and apparently mistook me for one of his lady friends. Problem solved; he’s sleepin’ it off on the couch.” She makes a quick move to Hayden and hugs him around the middle. “It’s not your fault your dad’s an idiot.”
“Oh, shit.” That’s the only thing I can think to say. Hayden’s used to his dad’s ridiculous behavior but it never hurts any less, especially now, since his most recent target was his best friend’s wife.
Cherry walks directly to me, seeking superficial comfort from the situation. I oblige and take her into my side just as I always do.
“All right, let’s go. Ace, are you in on this today?” Marlee’s question is innocent, but I correct her immediately.
“No. We’re not staying long.”
Cherry removes herself from my side and stands in front of me with her back to the others, playing the pity and sad-eye cards without shame. “Play, Ace. Please, I want to hear you play the guitar.”
The garage silences. Even the equipment being handled seizes at her words. She has no idea what she’s talking about and, again, I’m not explaining.
“Not today.”
Giving up, she makes a joke in front of everyone at my expense, not knowing the joke is on her and I don’t have the first fuckin’ clue how to play a guitar. “Oh, fine. Eventually though, I’ll solve the mystery of your banjo.”
Silence no more. Thanks, Cherry.
Hayden responds first. “Banjo? Oh, Jesus, Rae. Just castrate the mother fucker now.”
“I already did. On the drive over, he played Kenny Rogers for me.” Smiling, she continues making fun of me in a room full of people I have to live with for the rest of my life.
“What the hell?” Toby, rightfully, can’t believe her words.
“I didn’t play it for her, damn it. It was on the radio. It was an unlucky break.”
“In your truck. You played old man music voluntarily in your truck. Yeah, you’re definitely not part of the practice set tonight. Sit this one out.” Finally, Hayden is coming back to himself.
Shaking the tune out of my head, so am I. “Fuck off.”
Travis stands at his keyboard, smiling at Cherry then back at me.
Marlee giggles as she continues to help Toby with his shit.
Cherry looks at me from the side, noting I’m not enjoying this, and laughs.
We’ll see who’s laughing later.
I’m being punished. The joke I made at Ace’s expense in front of his friends tonight has unleashed a sexually imaginative streak in him I never knew he had. Because of my past, he’s always been careful not to hurt or scare me while touching me. He’s always been nothing but cautious and gentle. Most often, when Ace and I are together, it’s about desire and connection; although, sometimes the desire supersedes the need for connection. Still, he’s been nothing but careful.
This, however, is not cautious or gentle. It’s definitely not about desire or connection. This is payback; sweet, torturous, and agonizing payback.
On the way home, I taunted Ace. I used my voice to seduce him, explaining to him, in graphic detail, what I wanted to do to him when we got home. I’m finding now that this was a mistake that I plan to make again because he has me spread naked on his bed. He’s endlessly taunting me and enjoying himself while doing it.
“Do you trust me?” His hands are between my thighs, his thumb barely caressing my clit as one finger glides in and out of me.
Looking to the ceiling to avoid him seeing me squirm with anticipation, I answer. “Yes.”
“Are you going to apologize for making fun of my banjo?”
Oh, God, that damn banjo.
I can’t help but smile through my words and his tone, both childlike and hurt. “Not really.”
“Oh, Cherry. This could make for a long night.”
When Ace is in control of a situation, he owns the moment. In this one, the situation is my defiance and challenge, and he’s owning it just as he would anything else. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Pulling out a scarf that I fear is Bean’s, he runs it up my naked body and the feel of its silky softness causes my skin to pebble. “You do know, but I need you to tell me again that you trust me.”
The scarf reaches my chest, and I draw my back off the bed slightly to increase the pressure of it. This is sweet torture.
I answer with impatience, “I said yes. I trust you.”
Settling on top of me, Ace lifts my hands over my head, and I start to feel him wrap my wrists in the scarf. I let out a small whimper. I don’t want to challenge this, but being tied up for any reason, sensual play or rape, scares me to every degree.
He senses this and bends to my ear, “Shhh, I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t tie it tight. Trust, remember?”
I nod slightly, still unsure if this is okay.
Once the scarf is tied, I test its knot. If I wanted to get free, I could.
It’s a game. It’s just a game, and I’m with Ace; he won’t hurt me.
Sensing my anxiety, Ace verifies my state of mind. “Do you feel all right? Not too tight?”
Exhaling with relief after hearing his voice in my ear, I tell him, “Not too tight.”
“Good.” Bending down, his mouth latches to my right breast. The feel of his tongue licking and his teeth gently pulling causes me to shift under him. He senses I want more.
“So, now what?” I’m probably challenging his authority, but my curiosity, frustration, and impatience for what’s coming next is winning the race.
Moving back up to my face, he looms over me and although it’s almost dark, I can still watch as a small smile crosses his face. It’s not a jovial smile. It’s predatory, but passionate. “Do I need to gag you, too?”
Giving him the blunt truth, I reply, “God, no.”
“Then can you shut up?”
God, I hate those words. ‘Shut up’ makes me feel like a child who i
s being bullied. “No.”
Reaching under the blanket of his bed, he pulls out another scarf. Re-thinking the number of beers I drank earlier, I realize he’s calculated this. He wasn’t quiet on the drive home because he wanted me; he was quiet because he was exacting his plan.
“I’m going to blindfold you. Still trust me, Rae?”
Blindfolds leave you in the dark. Although it’s already dark in the room, the fear of my eyes being covered outweighs the reward of pleasing him. “Please, don’t.”
Understanding my plea, he looks to the scarf and tosses it on the floor by the bed to remove it from my sight.
“Thank you.”
Slowly making his way down my body, leaving a string of gentle kisses, he settles himself between my thighs after spreading them wide. Before I can say anything, Ace runs his tongue up my center and after, he begins to devour me. Using his tongue to caress my clit, then entering me slowly and back up again, I’m close to letting go.
“Oh, God, Ace. You never…”
He doesn’t slow his tongue’s assault. My only confirmation that he heard me was the feel of his fingers digging into my thighs with greater need.
Before I’m able to reach climax, he stops. Letting go of my legs and moving to rest on his elbows, I look down and see him smirk. “Are you close?”
“I was.” My tone is full of annoyance.
“Good.”
Slamming my head back down on my pillow, I let out another exasperated sigh. “Will this be over soon?”
“You want this to be over?” he says, thrusting his tongue back into me as the two-day growth of his jawline reminds me of his male possessiveness.
Rolling my eyes with satisfaction and looking back up to the ceiling, I respond to his ludicrous question. “No, keep going.”
Just as I’m about find my release, Ace stops, again. I look down and find he’s messing with another item from under the covers, and I’m left mentally asking myself how I could have missed that. I can’t see it from here, but its brief shine in the outside light causes my stomach to flutter. Moments later, I hear the quiet buzzing.
