Unsurprisingly Complicated

by Claudia Burgoa

  “No.” I swallow the big knot in my throat. These two men are good people, and I hate to tell them that ‘good cause’ isn’t as good at the moment. That someone is using their money for other things instead of saving children. “Are you aware of what the organization does?”

  “Yes,” Christian answers. “They have different group homes where they give children a house to live in and educate them on how to live.”

  “So, you know what I’m talking about?” He nods, but Gabe remains impassive. “What if I tell you they are a different kind of organization?”

  “No.” Chris walks around the desk and types a few things on the computer keyboard, then turns the screen around to show me. “This is what they do. We researched this, boy. We have been helping for the past year or so. Porter, who, like I did, had a pretty miserable childhood, brought this to me.”

  I hand them the folder with the pictures of the paramilitary camps, the children that are between the ages of sixteen and twenty training with guns in their hands. A list of their suppliers, what they supply to the young minds in that country, and what they import into our country.

  “This is…” Chris’ head drops.

  “We didn’t know any of this,” Gabe tells me. “But why are you investigating it?”

  “A job, like any other I take,” I explain. “You have no idea of everything that my company does. This is another portion. I’m helping an agency take down this group, and to do so I have to do research—and I don’t like what I found.” I take the other folder and show them the list of people who donate on a monthly basis to the cause. Celebrities, who, like them, swear they are helping children. The properties that they use are included, and I wait several minutes until both of them turn paper-white. I know exactly what they have read.

  “She wouldn’t.” Gabe opens his eyes wide, as if pleading for me to understand. “Wait, why does she own a house?”

  “That’s the place Porter wanted to sell,” Chris says. “That’s the only money he has left, and he needed it. I refused to help him because he’d use the money for drugs.”

  “Why is the property under her name?” Gabe questions.

  “Because he bought the house for her, babe,” Chris replies, and my stomach churns. Even Kendrick is capable of buying a house for my girl. I can’t think that far ahead in my life. “She can sell it.”

  “No, the last time we checked, the place is being occupied,” Kowalski intercedes. “The DEA and the FBI are taking care of it; some of my own operatives are helping them. They are arresting whoever is inside, confiscating everything, and we have a recorded conversation with Ainse that she has no idea about the current tenants, or that the house belongs to her.”

  Gabe and Chris sigh and they hold each other, I believe for solidarity and strength. No wonder Nine believes in fairy tales; these two make me want to have that exact connection, support, and admiration of another person. From my Nine.

  “For now, I need you to stop the monthly donations,” I advise them, shaking away the mess inside my head. My father is right; I can’t even imagine signing a six-month lease. My relationship with Nine makes less sense after looking at what she might want from us if I don’t incorporate some limits.

  “Ainse?” both parents ask. “Will she be safe?”

  “She’s fine, nothing will touch her,” I comfort them.

  My brothers and I are having dinner, playing video games, and discussing the school. Toby curls on my lap, napping. I envy him; with all the grunting, cussing, and yelling coming from my brothers, he still dozed off.

  “That cat is like your child.” MJ tries to poke Toby, and I slap him before he can reach his small head.

  “Leave Toby alone.” I pat the kittens head and he purrs. “He’s our child, Mason’s and mine.”

  “How serious are you two?” MJ pauses the game, giving me that half-mast gaze that says he’s interested, but what I have to say must be fast.

  Fast? That’s a tricky question with a complicated answer. But the short version can consist of: as serious as a heart attack. Yes, let’s scream cliché. However, I don’t want to jump to conclusions. “Things are progressing,” I tell them.

  He goes back to his game as if that took care of the problem at hand.

  “Like the music school,” I say as I point to the schedule JC’s supposed to work on, but I know he’s only interested in shooting aliens.

  We may have started it as a summer camp, but the demand for a second session is huge. We need more musicians willing to teach and deal with children. My brothers aren’t the only ones who, after two weeks, realized they don’t want to work with younger children. So, starting next fall, MJ and JC will only work with classes that teach fourteen and older.

  “Babe, you need to find your men outside our friends.” MJ bounces on his seat, tilts his body from left to right and leans forward as his avatar approaches a dark cave. “Please, take into consideration that I like Mason. He’s my friend, my buddy. Bradley hooks me up with new electronics and that video game shit.”

  “Glad to know you care more about the shit he hooks you up with.”

  “I worry about you, AJ,” MJ says pausing the game. “You’re too giving, impulsive, and intense. When someone breaks your heart, you become a full-blown bitch. Example one - our parents. You closed off after the accident where you broke your arm and had to stay at the hospital where they changed your identity. Remember emo girl, JC?”

  “Bitch dressed in baggy, dark clothes?” JC’s stern look reminds me of a sad puppy. I’ve no idea what he’s trying to do. “Yeah, but I kind of liked her, too.”

  Dad, Papi and I have talked about it, forgiven each other and left that shit in the past. I was ten and saw things entirely different—my imagination distorted the reality.

  “Then Porter, the cheating bastard, abused you,” MJ adds. “Then again our parents lied, kicked you out of the house, and weren’t there when you needed them the most. If you fall for this one and it flunks, you’ll become a bigger bitch.”

  I dunk my gaze to Toby and avoid looking at them. I’ve fallen for him. For the past couple weeks, we took the jump. A huge jump for him, and now we’re taking off and flying together.

  “Shit, she’s a goner,” JC points out the obvious. “We’re here, for everything and anything you want to talk about. One strike and you tell me. Don’t wait like you did with Porter. Please.”

  Yes, of course, Porter. I should’ve spoken up, but I had no idea how bad it was. From the inside, it didn’t look as bad when things were sweet and loving.

  “You two should date,” I suggest, flipping the coin on them.

  “We can offer two more weeks starting the second week of July.” JC lifts the papers he’s filling out and grins. Dating subject avoided and forgotten. “We can check if any of the musicians in the area want to work for us. Maybe they can stay on board and teach during the evenings once we open the fall sessions.”

  My phone buzzes as we wrap up our small business meeting. A snapshot of Mason, a plane in the background. ‘Coming home, Nine’ the caption reads.

  My heart flutters in anticipation. It’s been a long time. His scruffy cheeks are an indication that the razor hasn’t touched him, either. Touching. My hands itch to caress him, my entire body buzzes when thinking about the morning he left.

  I snap a selfie of Toby and I. ‘We’re waiting and missing you.’

  This past week dragged and flew by all at the same time. I missed him, but I had so many things on my plate that I didn’t mope. Our relationship is different so far. I can function without him, but my life is brighter when he’s around.

  Mase: Missed you too.

  “She’s grinning.” JC pulls me out of the Mason trance. “Loverboy coming home?”

  I nod a couple of times, biting the corner of my lower lip.

  “Then we won’t invite you hunting.” He turns off the video console.

  “Are you hunting musicians or tonight’s entertainment?”

&
nbsp; “Both,” they answer at the same time.

  “What happened to the neighbor?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “She’s a booty call,” MJ pauses between words. “I call her when there’s no other booty available.”

  I glare at him.

  “Sorry AJ, I haven’t found the love of my life yet.” He gives me that ‘sorry to say’ shrug. “If the person of my dreams ever appears, I’ll stop.”

  He clamps his lips as JC leaves the room. JC had her—the girl of his dreams—but she left. A pain neither one of us can shake from him. Sometimes it is so strong that MJ and I hurt, too.

  “We’ve got to go. If your boy comes over, tell him JC is having a bad day.”

  “What does that mean?” This is new.

  “Loverboy will know.” He lifts a shoulder.

  We both head to the living room where JC paces like a caged animal.

  “Ready?” He stops and looks at MJ.

  “JC, I love you, big brother.” He gives me a tight smile. “Stay safe.”

  JC sweeps me close to him and gives me a tight hug. “I love you too, AJ. Don’t worry about me. I’m like a cockroach. Not even a nuclear bomb can kill me.”

  Not the words I want to hear. They both kiss my forehead and leave, promising to have new teachers by the end of the week.

  I hear a series of faint taps on my window, my eyes refuse to open, and my body screams for me to ignore that insignificant noise. My phone buzzes as I am about to throw a pillow on top of my head. Ugh.

  A text, no, an image of Mason smiling at the front door.

  Mase: Honey, I’m home.

  J-9: I’m not home.

  Mase: I’ll break in if you don’t open, Nine.

  J-9: It’s four in the freaking morning. What is with you and leaving or arriving at the wee hours of the morning?

  Mase: I thought you missed me.

  Mase: I need a bed, I’m tired as hell. Please!

  J-9: You have the keys to the house and the alarm code. If not, you can break in. I’m not getting out of bed.

  Mase: I’ll take that as an invitation.

  J-9: Take it as a ‘let me sleep or I’ll behead you tomorrow morning.’

  Mase: It’s already morning J

  I hear him as he enters the code and then activates it again. His heavy steps take the wooden stairs, and then the noise fades until the handle of my door makes that creaking sound as he moves it. Now I hear him untying his industrial boots and…

  “Wait, are you undressing?” My eyes open as I hear the zipper.

  “Yes.” I hear his clothing hitting the floor. “My shoes, shirt, and jacket. I’m keeping my boxers… unless you want to give me a nice welcome home present.”

  “You wish.”

  “Oh, Nine, if you knew all I wish to do, you’d use your teacher’s ruler and spank me for being a bad, bad boy.”

  The bed dips on the other side, and soon an arm pulls me to his hard body.

  “Morning, my beautiful Nine,” Mason whispers, and I set my head on top of his chest. He showers me with small kisses all over my face and neck.

  “Morning, Mase,” I whisper back. “Somehow I can’t picture you being the one spanked. You like to be in control during sex; bossy, that’s who you are. I can see you spanking me, though.”

  “Oh, I can spank,” his raspy voice caresses my insides. “Hard if you want, but I’d rather not. That’s not my scene; the most I can promise is tying you up and giving you all the pleasure in the world.”

  “Mason, do you ever think about any other subjects?” I stir the conversation before I tell him where to find my scarves and see what tricks he can do while I’m at his mercy.

  “We discuss other things,” he defends himself as he takes a deep breath. “Humans are sexual beings, they always think of sex—just not everyone admits it. I do think of sex—often, and if it could happen with a green-eyed brunette I have my eye on, my early morning will end perfectly. Do I hear a yes?”

  “You have a bed,” I remind him.

  “Yes, but that bed doesn’t have you, and it happens to be right in my office,” he says. “People will knock down the door and start wanting a piece of me, and not in a sexual way.”

  I grunt and he takes a deep breath in as he touches my pajamas. A black lace baby doll with nude mesh that makes it look like a barely-there gown.

  Mason shifts around the bed and a light points toward my body. “Have I mentioned that you own the sexiest lingerie I’ve ever seen?” He raises a hand to my cheek, cups my face gently, and bends down. Mason’s lips touch mine and start moving softly, sweetly. He releases my cheek and his hand explores my body.

  My breath catches in my throat with anticipation as his hand feathers over my bare thighs and sneaks toward my already wet core.

  “Commando, Ainse, I’m going worship your body all day long.” He flicks a finger in my folds. “I missed you, my sweet Nine.”

  “We should do this after you nap,” I half joke.

  “No time like the present,” he murmurs. “I’m only here for a few hours. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright, and I was craving…” He devours my mouth with his. “A taste of you.”

  Mason’s listening skills are poor when it’s convenient for him, so he begins to use that magical mouth and expert hands on my body.

  Mmm, morning sex.

  Heading back home from the music school where I had just finished Anika’s piano lesson. As we started the summer school, we couldn’t help but agree to private lessons for a few people who requested them.

  A car blocking my driveway peaks my curiosity, and I ease my foot from the gas pedal while trying to figure out who the owner of that vehicle is.

  Who could it be?

  Hopefully, someone carrying food. My stomach rumbles, and I feel lightheaded. I haven’t eaten since noon and that had been only a light sandwich. By seven, I am about to go into shock if I don’t consume real food soon. My stomach cramps for the lack of real sustenance. I keep repeating the same thing: Two more days and I’m in Baja; the pool, the sun and all the food Coco can prepare for me.

  The car is definitely not Mason’s silver sports car which I call Scott… nor Tucker, his black truck. I huff.

  He left after an impromptu visit and never mentioned when he’d come back. For all I know, he can be gone forever. Yes, I miss him and my dramatic persona is overtaking my normal thoughts. We talked a couple of days ago and have continued texting each other, but I miss the man.

  I park the car in front of the house as my garage door is blocked, then walk to the entrance where I find him. Disheveled black mane, beard, and bloodshot eyes.

  “Hi, baby.” He takes a step forward.

  “Porter?” I take one backward, scrunching my nose as the stench of booze overwhelms me. “Why—what are you doing here?” I don’t recall losing my mind and giving him my address. It is doubtful that my parents had done so.

  “We need to talk. Let’s go inside,” he orders, tilting his head toward the door.

  “The night is fresh.” I pull my raincoat tighter. “We can talk out here.”

  “In, now, Ainsley. Don’t fucking start with your stupid shit. I’m not in the mood.”

  “You know what, I’m not in the mood either, Porter,” I slash back, but regret it as he pulls his hand out of his jacket revealing a gun. My brain freezes to the point of not being able to even gasp. Not one muscle of my body or face moves.

  “In the fucking house now.”

  The instinct of preservation melts the big chunk of ice, and I follow his instructions. I unlock the door and let him into the house, wondering if I could head to the kitchen and escape from that door. Or try to leave by way of the deck. Maybe I could signal the neighbors, call the police. I wish my parents weren’t out of town.

  “Porter?” My voice trembles as he waves the gun in front of me. I move from the door but leave it open.

  “Turn off that fucking noise,” he screams tilting his head toward the alarm sp
eaker. “Now.”

  Horror sweeps away all my coherent thoughts. A gun. He swerves it again at me. The alarm, of course. I hurry and press the code. The hostage code. The siren won’t go off, but the monitoring service will send someone. The guy who installed it explained that to me.

  Soon, please.

  My hands tremble, my lip quivers and my entire body is about to give up to the fear of the moment. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Us, AJ. What else? Us.” He points the gun from him to me. “You lied to your parents; you told those bastards that I used you. I never used you. Do you have any idea how deep in shit I am?”

  No.

  “My life can be over if I don’t do something fast,” he yells at me. “You’re a crazy bitch. I put up with you, and you repaid me by telling them lies. They don’t want to see me again. I need to record some shit and make some money.”

  “I’ll take you back,” he slurs stepping closer to me.

  “Back?” I shout. “To what?”

  He swings his arm, striking my temple with the gun. I touch it, my shock greater than my pain, as my head begins to pound.

  Shake it off, AJ. I make some room of separation between us.

  “You fucking bitch, after all I did for you. One more chance is all I’m going to give you.”

  “Chance to what?” I sound like a broken record, but the part of my brain that should create coherent thoughts is trembling at the moment, along with the rest of my body.

  “To be with me,” he declares and closes the gap again. “Here or on the other side.”

  He traces a line with the gun over my chest, stunning cold metal that threatens to end it all right now. Move, do something, I tell myself, but my lower limbs barely sustain me. “Other side? Like another country?”

  “So many degrees and you’re dumber than I am,” he huffs.

  You are smarter than him, he’s drunk for God’s sake, Ainsley Janine. Do something. What to do, what to do? Maybe slide a few steps to the side, out of his reach.