I thought it would get easier but it got harder instead. Every day he was there turned into a marathon of self control. He was watching me...but I was watching him, too. I’d drink in the hard muscles of his legs and ass whenever his back was turned, or peek between the leaves of the plants as I was working and lose myself in the smooth swells of his pecs under his t-shirt, tracing their curves with my eyes the way I wanted to with my fingers. I imagined Sean on top of me, underneath me, behind me, up against the wall. I day-dreamed about his lips on my body so vividly that I swore I could feel them, working their way millimeter by millimeter across my chest, my nipples growing hard under my top as his tongue lathed each one.
I knew things were going in a dangerous direction. After a week, we were like two caged animals. I felt like we needed to be separated for our own safety.
I tried to defuse things by talking to him, but that made things worse.
At first it was innocent enough—the same sort of conversation you’d have with anyone if you spent enough time with them. Movies and food and safe subjects like that. He’d become even gruffer, since we nearly kissed, so it was me doing most of the talking. One day I told him about the candy I used to eat as a kid, stuff like Pixie Sticks. “I love those things,” I told him. We were just chatting. It was fine.
Except, the next morning when I visited Kayley, she was running a fever. She’d picked up an infection, something that would have been no big deal normally, but the medication she was on had left her vulnerable. I stayed with her as much as possible over the next few days, falling asleep by her bedside until the nurses chased me away. I barely ate. Sean told me he could look after the plants, but I stumbled bleary-eyed to the grow house every day anyway, because it was better than sitting worrying in my apartment alone. And just as I was losing it, just as I was at my lowest point, I came in to find a clumsily-wrapped package sitting on one of the tables.
Sean was across the room, messing with the hinges on one of the security doors. He didn’t say anything or even look up as I opened the package. But inside was a whole box of Pixie Sticks. I looked at him, but he kept his eyes on his work.
The next day, Kayley’s fever broke and everything went back to normal. But little things like that kept happening: like I noticed my wreck of a car was running better and realized that, while I’d been looking after the plants in the house, he’d sometimes been out in the garage, swapping out a filter or changing the oil. Or I’d pull a double shift and get to the grow house late, having not eaten, and he’d grunt that there was an extra turkey and cheese sandwich if I wanted it. Or once, when I was so caught up in the plants and the hospital and my job that I barely went home for a week, I suddenly realized I hadn’t watered my plants on the rooftop. I ran up there, expecting to find them all dead...and found someone had done it for me.
He never acknowledged any of it and that made it even harder. When I was around him, the fantasies wouldn’t stop: those big hands tangled in my hair or the press of his chest against my breasts. But now, when I was alone, I started to miss him. The days when he didn’t visit felt lonely. And at night, after I’d tossed and turned and finally run out of willpower, after I’d played with myself to visions of him thrusting deep inside me, I lay there and imagined him spooning me from behind.
He was changing, in my mind, from some dark, bad boy lover I fantasized about to a real person—just as dark and just as dangerous but someone who’d be with you for more than just one night. Which was insane, because a guy like Sean didn’t do relationships. And I knew that. But I’d still wake on a morning in the empty apartment and look down to the floor, imagining him in his apartment downstairs, and have a crazy, momentary wish that he was there beside me. I wondered who he was sleeping with, down there. I suspected he’d started going to the homes of the women he picked up, because I hadn’t heard him bring anyone back recently.
At the end of May, Doctor Huxler said Kayley could come home. The initial round of treatment was finished and he told me quietly that she’d feel better for a while. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking she’s cured,” he warned me. “Remember, this is only a holding action. Soon, she’s going to start going downhill. Slow at first, then fast. Four months and she’ll need the Swiss treatment.”
I nodded and told him I was taking care of it. I thought of the plants, still with so much potential for disaster, and felt sick.
The chemo had taken most, but not all, of Kayley’s golden hair. It would grow back eventually, but for now she’d chosen to wear a Sex Pistols cap I’d found on the internet. The first night she was home, she wanted movie and a pizza. I went into the kitchen with my phone to order the pizza...then stopped. Normally, I’d fight her on it, saying the pizza was unhealthy and expensive. Of course, now I didn’t care about any of that, I just wanted to indulge her...but if I did, would that give away how worried I was about her? Spoil her because she was so ill and risk her knowing, or be tough on her to reassure her that everything was normal...and risk her thinking I didn’t care?
I got stuck in a loop with it—it wasn’t just that it was a hard decision, it was that there was no one in the world I could ask for advice. Mom and dad were gone and I’d been so busy at the grow house that I’d barely seen any of my friends for months. Even Stacey thought I was being cold because I was so secretive about where I was all the time. I got more and more worked up and, just when I thought I was about to hurl the phone at the wall in frustration, I broke down in tears. They came out of nowhere, all of the stress just pouring out, and I couldn’t keep them quiet. I let out a fractured, moaning sob.
Kayley’s voice from the living room. “Louise?”
Shit. I heard her jump down off the couch. I looked around, eyes full of tears...and then grabbed the handle of the refrigerator. I hauled open the door, shoved my hand in and then slammed it on my fingers.
Kayley ran in to find the refrigerator door open and me crying and nursing my throbbing hand. “Motherfucker,” I spat, showing her the rising red marks.
“I’ll get some ice,” she told me. “And that’s a dollar in the curse jar.”
I watched her with eyes full of tears. The grow house had to work. I couldn’t lose her.
June
Sean
I’d sworn to myself, after I nearly kissed her, that I was going to keep my distance...and I did. But not seeing her made me crazy: I was addicted and I’d start jonesing after just a couple of days.
I’d find excuses just to be at the grow house and then sit there watching her, imagining every filthy thing I’d like to do to that pale body...and she just carried on working, oblivious, probably thinking about roots or nutrients or something. Surrounded by plants, she looked even more like some goddess of nature. I’d never seen her look so totally at home...I just wished it could be in a proper garden instead of a windowless grow house. Somewhere she’d be safe. Like one of those stately homes I’d been taken to as a kid. That’d suit her, being lady of the manor. God knows she was classy enough.
I did what I could for her. Little stuff. I couldn’t stand by while life ground somebody like her into the dirt. So I helped her out and quietly drove myself crazy, torturing myself by putting myself in the same room as her week after week.
Then, one day in June, it all went wrong.
It was way too hot for so early in the year, even in California. One of those days where the sun really pounds down on you, where you can almost hear your skin hissing and reddening and the asphalt in the streets goes sticky under your feet. It wasn’t too bad in the air conditioned house, but I’d been walking outside, checking for anyone sizing up the house. When I got inside, I pulled off my tank top and went and stood right in front of the air conditioning unit so that the cold air was smacking right against my shining body.
Bliss. I closed my eyes and let out a long groan and slowly rotated, letting the air chill every part of me. I had to back up, so it could hit all of me, and eventually I felt myself knock into a table.
“What?” I grunted.
“What happened to you?” she whispered. She was staring at my back.
Shit.
She’d seen the burns.
They’re pretty well hidden by my tattoos. That’s the idea of them—all those snaking lines and the black ink make the circular, puckered scars disappear. But when I’d backed up against the table, the lights had lit me up, hundreds of watts of pure white light shining right at my skin, and revealed everything.
I looked back to Louise. Her eyes were wide with shock...and something else I never wanted to see: pity.
“None of your fucking business,” I spat. It was out before I could stop it, a reflexive defense. I pulled my tank top back and stalked outside into the sunlight. If she called after me, I didn’t hear it over the roar of the Mustang’s engine and the screech of the tires.
That day woke me up. It reminded me of what I was and why we couldn’t be together. It didn’t matter how much I wanted her: I wasn’t going to taint her or put her at risk by getting any closer. Sure as fuck not close enough that she’d figure out where all my anger came from.
I stopped hanging out at the grow house. Louise was doing just fine with the plants, I reasoned. She didn’t need me there at this stage. I buried myself in work, taking on as many jobs as I could fit in.
A few weeks later, at the end of June, I was in the back of a car with Lennie, traveling to a job. I prefer to drive myself, but sometimes the people who hire me like to come along to watch.
Lennie’s one of the bigger dealers. Thin, under his suit, and sort of jumpy, but he’s got all this long black hair and big dark eyes so women flock around him. Right now, I was sitting with him in the rear of his huge old Lincoln Town Car as it cruised down the street. He had a blonde next to him and she was running her hands all over his chest through his shirt, her fake boobs almost falling out of her dress. Normally, I would have enjoyed the view. Now, all I could think about was how much better Louise would look in that dress, with her pale, natural breasts, and how amazing those cool, soft hands would feel as they explored my body….
“Lennie,” I said. “Could you get me a meeting with Malone?” I’d only met Malone, the big distributor, a couple of times. Normally, the jobs came from either the dealers or the growers, well below his level.
Lennie was looking at the top of the blonde’s head. She was unbuttoning the top of his shirt, now, and starting to press her lips against his chest in hungry little kisses. “Why the fuck would you want to see Malone?” he mumbled.
Working for these people is kind of like being their attack dog. They respect you for your abilities, but they don’t expect their animals to talk back...or even talk, period.
“I’ve got word about some product,” I said. “Weed. A lot of weed. Really good stuff.”
Lennie grunted and shifted in his seat. His shirt was undone halfway, now, and the blonde was kissing his nipples. “You rip someone off, Irish?”
“I know a grower. A new one. It’s just business, Lennie. More weed for everyone—that’s good, right?”
The blonde was massaging his cock through his pants, but Lennie’s eyes were suddenly on me. “You’re trying to do a deal? With Malone?” He gave me a patronizing grin and shook his head. “That’s a fucking dramatic leap up the food chain. Why don’t you bring this grower to me? I can make the introduction.” He leaned back in his seat, humping his groin into the blonde’s hand a little.
I knew what he was saying: all you’re good for is smashing stuff. I said nothing, just sat there and soaked it up. But I let my fingers play up and down the shaft of my hammer like it was the fret of my guitar.
Lennie’s smile faded along with his hard-on. “But sure,” he said quickly. “Sure, if you want to see Malone, I can make that happen.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Lennie.” I leaned my hammer back against my shoulder and relaxed my hands.
With the threat gone, Lennie tried to regain control of things. “You okay, Irish? You seem different. Woman trouble?” He looked down at the blonde, who was drawing his hardening cock out of his pants. “You want to find yourself a girl like Marissa here. Marissa knows how to have fun.”
I gave a non-committal grunt. I’d thought staying away from Louise would make it easier, but it was like a sickness, a hunger...the longer I went without seeing her, the more she was in my mind. I hadn’t ever had that, before. Women had always been replaceable, to me, as I’m sure I was to them. But now...I hadn’t picked up a woman since that day I’d shared the elevator with Louise. I hadn’t wanted to. The women in those bars I used to go to just seemed…plastic, somehow. Faded and almost translucent, next to the Technicolor reality of Louise.
I wanted her. And yet I knew I couldn’t have her, not unless I wanted to fuck her life up the way I fucked up everything else. Getting involved with her would drag her down into my world, and that would be like seeing a priceless marble statue sink into a swamp. One time wouldn’t be enough and yet more would destroy us both. Because a girl like her would want more—deserved more—than just sex. But more—even if I could offer that—would mean her getting much closer than I could let her. I rubbed my back, where the scars were. What the hell am I going to do? I’d gone from barely feeling to being a mess of emotions whenever I was around her. This was a world I just plain didn’t understand.
I realized the car had stopped. Lennie was looking at me expectantly. We’d arrived outside the biker bar—some hapless motorcycle club who’d been dealing coke in Lennie’s territory. A message needs to be sent, he’d said. Already, the bikers had seen the car pull up and they probably recognized it as Lennie’s. Five or six of them were gathering outside the bar.
I climbed out.
“Oh fuck,” one biker said, his face going pale beneath his beard. “He brought the Irish.”
This, I understood. This was my world, the one I didn’t want Louise anywhere near. I lifted the hammer almost lazily, spun in a circle and smashed it into the rear wheel of one of the Harleys parked outside. The first blow is always the most important. This one caved in the wheel and sent the bike toppling onto the one next to it, setting off a domino effect. The bikers jumped back, cursing, mad as hell but too scared to approach.
I could feel the anger unwinding in my chest, coming to life like a waking dragon. I slammed the hammer down into the next bike and the front forks crumpled. A biker howled as he saw his baby ruined. I’ve smashed a lot of things in my time and I’ve learned the fastest ways to cause the most expensive damage.
I swung the hammer down on a bike’s fuel tank and it felt fantastic. One swing dented it. The second brought the stench of gasoline and a rapidly-spreading dark puddle on the concrete. I was in my element now, the adrenaline flooding my veins, the anger burning bright.
“Jesus!” yelled one of the bikers. “Enough!” He and another guy finally ran at me. I swung the handle of the hammer into the stomach of one, hard enough to leave him doubled-over and winded. The other guy I dodged and then pushed backward, using the head of the hammer against his chest, so that he was out in the middle of the street. The other bikers followed, snarling and cursing but not brave enough to try rushing me again.
“You stop dealing,” I growled at them. “Or you keep it off Lennie’s turf.”
“Alright!” snapped one of them. He had a President patch on his jacket. “We get it!”
I stepped back towards the bikes. And took out a lighter.
“Aw, come on!” pleaded the President. “We got it!”
I looked from his agonized eyes to the pile of gasoline-soaked bikes...and something happened: I saw the scene as Louise would. And suddenly, the anger slunk away, an animal forced back to its cave, and I just felt disgusted at myself.
“It’s your lucky day,
” I muttered, and put the lighter back in my pocket. Then I stalked back to the car, where Lennie was grinning at the devastation I’d caused and the blonde was wiping her mouth.
The car moved off with me sitting brooding in the back. I couldn’t even enjoy the one thing I did well, anymore. Staying away from Louise wasn’t working.
I had to see her.
Louise
The grow house had changed. With summer properly underway, it was stifling inside. It wasn’t so much the raw heat—we couldn’t let it get too hot, or the plants would die—but the lack of windows. Combined with the thriving plants, the whole place was starting to feel like a jungle: a few howler monkeys and a leopard prowling around and the picture would be complete. I knew the conditions were ideal for the plants...but that didn’t make them comfortable to work in. I’d stripped down to a spaghetti-strap pink top and an old pair of shorts. I didn’t normally like baring that much skin, both because I’m shy and because with my skin I burn in about thirty seconds flat. But I figured it was okay since I was out of the sun...and there was no one there to see me.
Since that day when I’d seen his scars, Sean had virtually disappeared. He put his head around the door once a week or so to check on me, but that was it. Every time I thought back to what had happened, I winced. I knew better than to try to ask him about it—his reaction had made it pretty clear it was private. All I could do was wait for him to open up, but I had a feeling that was never going to happen. And if he kept me shut out, that was going to come between us.
There is no “us,” I reminded myself. We’d nearly kissed, once, because we’d let things get out of control. That’s all it was.
Except...on those rare days I did see him, I couldn’t stop looking at him. He’d barely be there, just a minute or maybe two, but I’d drink in every smooth, tanned inch of him.
My gaze would start at his shoulders—I didn’t dare make eye contact—and trickle down his whole upper body like a drop of water on a glacier. It would hug the broad swells of his shoulders, following the delicious in-and-out as his arms narrowed and then flared again at his biceps. It would dance along the veined hardness of his forearms, picking up speed as it neared those big, powerful hands, the ones that could so easily grab me. And then, at his waist, where the hem of his tank top flapped in the breeze from the air conditioning, it would reverse course and go up.
Growing and Kissing Page 11
