by K. S. Adkins
“Seriously?” she says handing me a bottle of water.
“I’m built to intimidate, not sprint.”
“Admit it, it’s not as easy as it looks.”
“Why are you always chasing people?”
“Because they run?” she counters.
“I can’t believe he made me chase his ass,” I mutter.
“No?” she laughs. “You weren’t exactly out of sight.”
“I wasn’t hiding behind a dumpster to wait him out,” I remind her. “That’s disgusting.”
“Yelling ‘stop or die’ made much more sense,” she smirks.
“I’ll do better next time,” I promise her.
“Of course, you will,” she says kissing my cheek.
“You got him, right?”
Leaning into me, she winks and says, “I got him.”
An hour later, I dropped her off at the shop so I could go home and shower before dinner.
PI work was much grimier than I had expected and I stunk. Exiting the shower, I check my phone noticing a dozen missed calls from an unknown number. Dialing it back, I wasn’t expecting Pita.
“What’s wrong?” I demand when I hear his voice.
“Mercy,” his voice trembled.
“Is she hurt?” At his silence I roar, “Focus! Is she hurt?”
“No –” he whispers. “Just get here okay? She’s not right.”
“Where’s here, Pita?”
“The shop,” he says then yells, “Mercy, no!” and then I got dead air.
Rushing to the shop, I was still several blocks away when I saw smoke, lights, and even a fucking news van. Throwing it in park, I ran the rest of the way on foot to find Mercy staring at what used to be her business.
Pita was holding her hand and Ember was pacing. Without knocking the kid over, I wrapped myself around her doing my best not to freak the hell out. “What the fuck happened?”
“Bomb,” Pita says squeezing her too and I realized he wasn’t just doing it for his own comfort. He was also doing it to keep her still. I could feel her vibrating in my arms yet outwardly she didn’t move.
“Did you say bomb?”
“That’s what the cops told her,” he says looking away.
Just then a uniform tapped her on the shoulder and asked to speak with her privately. Loosening my grip, I watch her walk a few feet away and nearly killed the guy for hugging her. Nodding to him, she comes back to me and goes back to staring at the flames.
“Please talk to me, beautiful,” I urge her and for a while I thought she was ignoring me but Mercy as always, was thinking.
“What kind of sick soulless bastard blows up an adult toy store, Dion?”
“We’re going to find out,” I vow.
“All that affordable pleasure…gone. So much for the BOGO sale…”
Watching a thousand emotions cross her face, when it hardened I tensed. “Mercy,” I say gently. “Where’s your head at right now.”
“Probably best you don’t know, Dion.”
“What’s our next step?” I ask because she wasn’t doing this alone.
“Can you take Pita home?”
Crowding her, I ask, “Why? Where are you going?”
Looking up at me, I see everything right there in her eyes and it terrified me. “I’m going hunting.”
Decision made, I tell her, “We’ll take him home and then we go hunting, together.”
She was ready to argue, I could feel it so I ended it with, “I stand by my woman, always.” Mercy was at war with herself so I reminded her, “Now is not the time to test me.” Offering me a quick nod, we fall in step together and motion the kid toward the car.
While the ride back was quiet, the tension was loud. Exiting the truck, I inform him, “From now on you work from my office. Security will be made aware. Do you follow me?”
Pita nods at me, but couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.
“Good. Now, get some rest, kid.”
Opening her own door, Mercy throws herself around him and whispers, “I’m sorry, Pita.”
Hugging her tight, he asks, “What for?”
“If anything had happened to you…”
“So, you’re saying you love me,” he teases.
“Pain in the ass,” she mumbles pushing off.
“But I’m your pain in the ass,” he smiles before heading inside.
For several minutes Mercy stared at the door the kid had closed behind him. Her fury was so strong, I was surprised her hair wasn’t standing on end. Now that the kid was safe, my own fury was threatening to knock me over. I was pissed and terrified. I could have lost her.
I knew she was rattled because when I said, “Get in the fucking car,” she didn’t fight me on it.
Dion wasn’t the only one riding the adrenaline train.
As far as I was concerned, I was the fucking conductor right now.
The knowledge that some asshole purposely planted an explosive, thus blowing my shop sky high wasn’t setting well with me. And it wasn’t about the business. I was insured. Sex toys and pornos could be replaced.
Ember and Pita, had they been there, were not replaceable.
Innocent people were not replaceable.
And those people belonged to me.
But I was at a total loss right now. I was a PI for fuck’s sake. I wasn’t into crime or any heinous shit. Sure, I ran into the occasional idiot, but I had a hard time believing I pissed someone off enough to try and kill me.
So, when Dion sunk his fingers into my skin and I felt his tremble, I didn’t fight him.
I would give him what he needed tonight.
Because he was thinking of what ifs just as I was.
Tonight, Dion needed to know I was safe and I was his. God’s honest, I needed the same.
As we silently undress each other, it was clumsy and rushed. When my clothes wouldn’t come off the old-fashioned way, Dion tore them off. Another time I’d find that hot. Right now, I was too desperate to mention it.
“Hands and knees,” he says guiding me forward. Without protest, I crawl on to his bed and assume the position.
Behind me, I felt him grappling for some modicum of control. Knowing full well when emotions ran in the red like this, he wouldn’t find what he was looking for, I say, “You need to fuck me, Dion.”
With a low growl, he spends a moment rubbing between my legs before lining up and slamming home. The force of his thrusts was so powerful, I braced on my forearms to absorb the impact. Closing my eyes, I push all thoughts of bombs, bad guys and death away. The bad would not destroy the good. I refused to let it.
Fisting my hair, he continues to pound me in the best possible way. “No one is taking you from me, Mercy.”
“I’m okay,” I whisper but I had a feeling even if I yelled he wouldn’t have heard.
“Waited my whole life,” he grates out. “So, small, so precious. So, God damn brave.”
Wiggling free, I launch forward and flip onto my back. Opening my arms, I ask him to, “Come home, Dion.”
Wearing a savage expression, he makes his way to me, covers my body with his own and links our fingers together. “Look at me,” he demands.
Doing as I’m told, he tightens his grip, presses his forehead to mine and whispers, “I fucking adore you, Mercy.”
The hitch in my breathing gave me away. Speechless and pliant, it was on the tip of my tongue to say it back when he took his hands back using them to spread me open. Sliding inside of me, I watch Dion lose himself.
In perfect rhythm, he masters my body and I wondered how I ever lived without him. With his hands splayed under my ass, he starts fucking me slower, deeper and not once did his eyes leave mine.
So when he says, “I love a good scotch, working with my hands and having Roger as a friend. For me to say I simply love you would be a lie. Because I could live without liquor, projects and even my brother. I wouldn’t survive losing you. Your smile, voice, hair, hands, feet, pussy, I adore every-fucking-
thing about you. I’ve loved a lot of shit in my life but never, not once, have I had anything to adore. Anything that was mine alone. You have my complete adoration,” I let the tears fall.
Wrapping his body around mine, our mouths met and the frenzy inside of us took over.
We came together, coating each other with evidence of our union. Rolling me with him, I found my place on Dion’s chest and burrowed in. Strong arms held me, protected me, adored me. As I began to drift, I heard him say, “Please adore me too, Mercy.”
If I said anything, I didn’t remember what it was.
I woke up to Ember staring at me. Not that this was unusual because she had a habit of sneaking into my room. But I wasn’t in my room, I was in Dion’s.
“Morning sleepyhead,” she says tickling my arm.
“Good morning, stalker. How’d you get in here?”
Instead of answering, she takes my hand and squeezes. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“Since you’re good, I wanted to say goodbye. I’m going to Arizona.”
Sitting up, I blurt, “Our building just exploded, Ember. I’m far from good. You’re leaving? Now?”
“Like I said, you’re good.”
“You’re the dildo slinger of the Midwest! We’ll get a new place, you can’t just leave!”
“Honey,” she says gently. “Listen to me. You’re good. You don’t need me.”
“I will always need you,” I grate out. “What’s going on?”
“Let me go fuck up my life for a while so we can add role reversal to our resumes.”
It hits me like a battering ram that all this time Ember stayed by my side because I wasn’t okay. She had put her life on hold while I got mine together. Smiling at her I say, “Yeah, you’re right. You need to go catch an STD or something.”
Tackling me to the mattress, she buries her face into my neck assuring me, “You are more than good, Mercy. I’d even say you’re fucking there. He loves you and that is all I ever wanted for you.”
Hugging her tight because I’ll miss Ember like crazy, I explain, “He doesn’t love, Em. He adores me.”
Sitting up and wiping her eyes, she smiles and says, “So do I, Mercy.”
“Well, I am adorable,” I say through the tears.
“And not modest in the least,” she jokes. “Your caveman is prowling around the kitchen waiting for you.”
“He’s so hot when he’s cagey.”
“It’s coming up,” she reminds me. “Tell him, take him with you, show him, Mercy.”
“Em –”
“He adores you,” she whispers. “Don’t fuck it up by shutting down.”
Then my best friend kisses me on the forehead and closes the door behind her.
Though I did hear her threaten Dion to, “Find the motherfucker who blew up my dicks and make sure he chokes on them.”
Which was Ember’s way of saying, I approve.
What if I forget you…
I couldn’t get those words out of my head no matter what I did.
I stayed awake all night watching her sleep, listening to her breathe, all the while wondering what the hell that meant. Those words were haunting enough on their own. But hearing the fear and sadness in her voice gutted me and I didn’t even know why.
I could have lost her last night. So, I refused to wait any longer to tell her how I felt. I didn’t give her a chance to say it back because I sensed she wasn’t ready. Yes, I knew she felt the same. It was in everything she did. But Mercy wasn’t ready for those three words and I was willing to give her time.
What if I forget you…
I was stewing on that when Ember let herself into my apartment nearly giving me a heart attack. Before I could get a word out, she holds up her hand and says, “I came to tell her goodbye. I just need a minute and then she’s all yours.”
Pointing in the direction of the bedroom, I watch her disappear and go back to pacing.
Moments later, when she comes back out, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Why is she worried she’ll forget me?”
Suddenly yelling, “Find the motherfucker who blew up my dicks and make sure he chokes on them,” she pulls me down toward her face and I see the anguish all over hers. Eyes locked on mine she whispers, “She’s going to pull away, Dion.”
“What?”
“And when she does, you best be there to pull her back. Reassure her, follow her, listen to her.”
“I can’t help her if I don’t –”
“I told you what to do,” she says breaking away. “Though clearly you need help on the listening part…”
“Is she…is she okay?”
“Nope,” she says grabbing her coat. “But you can fix that. If you adore her as much as I think you do, you won’t fuck this up.”
Ember was right and wrong.
She was right about Mercy pulling away.
But she was wrong too. Because I couldn’t fix her if she wouldn’t let me.
There are times my mood shifts and I don’t know the cause. But I was fully aware of why I was shutting Dion out and was not up for a therapy session. Which is how I ended up threatening to stab him if he didn’t go back to his place and him looking at me like I was the biggest disappointment he’d ever met. While I loved waking up to him, what I had to do today always has an adverse effect on me and I desperately needed to be alone for it.
I asked him to leave for his benefit, not mine.
And because today was going to be brutal, as always, I called for a car instead of driving.
On the way over, I allowed myself to retreat a bit. This was the only way I knew how to preserve my strength.
Because I’d need it, I always needed it, after.
So as the city flew by, I promised myself that I would explain this to Dion, right after I apologized for being a bitch.
Twenty minutes later, pushing the buzzer, I was allowed entrance, signed my name and then took a deep breath.
Each time I did this I never recall the walk, sights, or smells. I literally blank out until I’m standing in front of this door. Just raising my fist to knock takes everything I have.
When the voice on the other side says, “Come in,” I do and the second I see her, I mourn the woman I had taken for granted.
“Hello, Miss Marilyn,” using the name she liked to be called.
“Hello,” she says inviting me to sit. Hands in my lap she asks me who I am and so not to upset or confuse her I respond, “My name is Mercy, Miss Marilyn.”
“Mercy,” she thinks on it. “Unique, it suits you.”
I wanted to crawl into her lap and beg her to remember it was she who gave me the name to. But I stay put letting her take this visit where she wanted it to go. Nothing good ever came out of Miss Marilyn being agitated.
Another lesson I learned the hard way. Willing someone to remember you doesn’t work. Neither does peppering her with questions hoping it triggers a memory. Early on, I hadn’t known better.
Years of trial and error have taught me otherwise.
“Did you come to play cards?” she asks reaching for the deck that sits on her bedside table.
“Yes ma’am,” I force myself to smile. “Do you have a favorite game?”
Not missing a beat, she says, “Poker.”
Her memories may be gone, her mind in a place that I’m no longer welcome, but her fingers were just as nimble now as they were when I was a kid. I was glad she didn’t lose the skill of shuffling. I was glad she had something.
When she was first admitted, I practically lived here.
Sometimes I sat as a stranger in the dining hall watching her eat, other times I wasn’t even able to get that close. I’ve pretended to be a patient’s daughter who was lost in the hall. I’ve even pretended to be the janitor claiming I needed to clean her bathroom. I’ve brought her favorite books happy to spend hours reading to her. Just like when I was little, I wanted to be the daughter she needed me to be.
Except each time I come, the harder it is
to return.
But the hardest part of all was looking into the eyes of a woman I loved and not seeing that love returned.
If I never came back, Miss Marilyn wouldn’t remember to miss me.
We were about twenty minutes into the game when she asks, “Who are you?”
“My name is Mercy, Miss Marilyn.”
“Mercy,” she thinks on it. “Unique, it suits you.”
“My mom really loved Marvin Gaye.” Though loved was an understatement. My mom had been obsessed with him and sang his songs so much my dad and I were convinced she wasn’t even aware of it.
On cue, she begins to sing, “Whoa mercy, mercy me. Ah things ain’t what they used to be, no no.”
Just like that I wanted to pull her to me and ask if she remembered me but then she blinks and it was gone. Taking the frame from her dresser, she runs her finger over it before handing it to me. Holding it as I’ve done a hundred times before, I fight the tears back. I knew what was coming and I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to take it today. But I knew, if I let one tear fall the visit was over.
“That’s me,” she says sitting to my left but far enough away I couldn’t touch her. “I’m wearing the beige hat.”
“Yes,” I reply softly. “I see.”
“Isn’t she beautiful?” she asks pointing to the teenage girl laughing at her mom’s joke. My dad had taken this picture of us at Cedar Point right after I had screamed my head off on the Demon Drop.
“She looks very much like you,” I say careful not to confuse her.
“Turn it over,” she orders me and for just a moment I considered refusing. But this wasn’t her fault or her battle. It was just fucking unfair but, I turned it over and watched her expression as she read her own handwriting, “Mercy, age thirteen.”
And like a rerun I can’t escape, she says, “Would you look at that. Her name is Mercy too.”
“Yes ma’am it is.”
“Why you two could be sisters,” she smiles as she raises the frame holding it next to my face.
“Miss Marilyn,” I say softly. “I believe it’s time for me to go.”
