by K. S. Adkins
“From where I’m standing, I don’t owe you shit.”
“Forget something?” he asks smugly like he knows some big secret that I don’t. “Nope,” I say, patting my pockets. “Got everything I need.”
Reaching in and palming my flash drive, he smiles. “Sure about that?”
“Keep it.” I offer, opening the door. “Maybe you’ll learn something.”
I step out into the sunshine and make a right to head back to prepare for another long day. Part of me wants to cabbage patch for getting a leg up on the guy, but the other part, the sane part, (or at least what’s left of it), knows I’ll be seeing him again.
So my vagina did the cabbage patch instead.
“Vera!” Pops yelled coming into living room. “What happened?” When he pulls her into her arms, she wipes her tears and says, “I’m fine, love. Junior saved me.” Looking relieved, he pulled me to him as well. “I’m so proud of you, Junior, thank you for keeping her safe for me.”
My chest puffed out with pride at the compliment. “No problem Pops,” I tell him. “I don’t think it’s broken, but she should probably see a doctor,” I offer checking my mother’s knee.
“Bah,” she says, messing up my hair I spent all morning getting just right. “I slipped on the ice. I’ll be fine.”
“I can’t stand the thought of you hurt,” my father says, kissing her cheek.
“With you two around I’ll never be hurt,” she smiles at us.
“We’ll protect you, Mom,” I tell her, walking to the fridge to get more ice.
“A good man always protects his woman Junior. A man isn’t whole until he finds her, but when he does…”
“Then what happens, Pops?”
Looking over at her on the couch then back at me, he says, “She keeps him that way.”
It has been three days since she made a fool of me at that restaurant. Three days of not being able to find her, either. Of course she checked out and hasn’t been back to any of her usual hang outs. Now I’m not only pissed off she can lose me so easily, I’m also running out of time. I’ve got Max calling, texting and threatening to kill me, claiming he needs my help. Then I’ve got Rogan calling, (because he hates to text, claiming his fingers are too big), that Venessa is worried, and then there’s the spit fire, Red, Max’s wife. No doubt she’s got him chasing his tail figuring out how to keep her around this time. This is one problem he’s going to have to fix himself, considering it’s his own fault he’s in it.
In the meantime, I roam the streets looking for her H2. How many people in Detroit drive a black on black Hummer? The answer surprisingly is, too many.
Spotting a matching truck, I slow down and check the plate and see it’s hers. I park my own car a few spots up, try to figure out where she is. Walking past a tattoo parlor, I see a woman getting ready to be inked, but I disregard her because that wouldn’t be… I back up and look again. It is her. She did something different with her hair today. It’s ratted on top and blends into a pony tail high on her head. But it isn’t the hair style that upset me. It is the man who is about to brand her. Suddenly angry at the thought of her marking her skin, I walk into the lobby, let the guy there know my woman is getting inked and he decides to show me the way instead of putting up a fight.
Smart man.
Opening the door, he gestures, letting me in. She’s facing the artist and the he’s working on his desk, but I can pick up the gist of their conversation and I don’t care for it, at all.
“Good girl, you didn’t wear a bra, so shirt off, on your stomach and show me that sexy fucking back that I love.”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever had their hands on it as much as you have.” She laughs, a fake laugh if I ever heard one, then notices me. “Oh,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s you.”
“Sup’ man,” the artist says, pouring ink into little caps. “You don’t usually bring in company, sexy.”
“No,” she says, glaring at me with her makeup back in place. “I don’t.”
“You stayin’ or goin,’ man? I’m not trying to give the guys in the lobby a show.”
Pulling up a chair and crossing my ankles, I give her a look that lets her know that I’m getting comfortable. I’m pissed at her running from me and if I find out this guy has fucked her, I’ll mentally kill him with a pipe while I’m here too.
“Staying.”
Ignoring me, she peels her shirt all the way off and folds it up to use it as a pillow. I don’t even hear the machine buzzing because I’m too busy staring at her back. If it wasn’t for what was facing me, I’d be covering her back up so no man could see any of her skin. I don’t, though, because I’m in shock. It’s a fucking canvas. It begins at the back of her neck, spreads out to both of her shoulders and ends at her sides. The art covers three-fourths of her back so far, and judging by the outline, she intends to keep going. Clinching my jaw, I stay seated while he begins the task of wiping her skin slowly before he starts the tattoo. Watching this guy touch her skin is killing me. Don’t ask me why because I don’t have a plausible answer other than I haven’t had sex since… Fuck, I can’t even remember. When the needle meets her skin and the noise level changes, I cringe. It’s obvious the needle is in there deep which causes me to tighten my fists. She may have come willingly but this stranger is hurting my woman.
Every few minutes he asks how she’s doing and she says “Dandy,” so he keeps going. She doesn’t speak to me and I try not to speak to her because I imagine she’s in pain and if I open up my mouth it’s not going to end well. About an hour later, he smacks her ass and helps her sit up. He applies a bandage and she pulls her shirt over her head, hands him money. The tattooer attempts a hug she doesn’t return, and he spanks her ass again before she’s out the door. Snapping out of it, I decide to let the guy live for now so I can follow her instead. Just as she’s preparing to step up into the truck, I’m there putting myself between her and the seat.
“Your back, what does it all mean?”
“Hello, Anthony. Long time no see,” she says, smiling up at me. “Dare I say you’re slipping?”
“Answer me.”
“A person’s art is their own, therefore, Namaste.”
“Namaste?” I ask, confused.
“I’m trying to say ‘fuck’ less, so instead of the big ‘F’ I’m saying that. It channels my Zen and it’s like my own private joke only it’s funny to me and well now, you I guess.” She shrugs. “Whatever, you’re welcome.”
Having no idea what she’s talking about, I get back to the subject at hand. “Why do that to your skin?”
“Why do you care?”
“I’m curious, is all. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Then she leans in and whispers, “Then you’re fucking the wrong women.” Speechless, it doesn’t even register that she pushed me away so she could jump in and drive off, until she did. When she does a U-turn and approaches, she rolls down her window and yells “Namaste!” with her middle finger in the air, then floors it. Unlocking my own doors, I keep sight of her as she navigates the streets at warp speed, but I don’t lose her. I refuse to lose her again. Instead, I ride her ass all the way to the other side of town totally shocked we both weren’t pulled over. She drives like a bat out of hell.
When she parks, grabs her duffel and walks into the Masonic Temple, I realize I have no fucking clue who I’m dealing with, but I do know for the first time in a long time, I’m enjoying finding out.
I love the chase.
As women of various ages and sizes come through the doors, I follow the crowd. The Masonic is a place of history, an icon in the city and right now its home to a roller derby match.
Laughing to myself, I take a seat and check my messages. Then I watch as women start to skate around the track. Looking for her in every face that passes by frustrates me because I can’t find her and given her stature, I should be able to. It doesn’t help that these women are dressed as clowns either. All of a sudden a wh
istle blows, the skaters pick up their speed and within seconds there’s pushing; elbows flying and women are whipping their teammates ahead of themselves. I’ve heard of roller derby yes, seen it? No. But, I’m on the edge of seat because it’s fast paced, violent and quite frankly knowing she’s out there, it’s extremely hot knowing she can hold her own with women twice her size. Although, personally I don’t consider this more than a comedy act, it’s actually fun to watch.
During a break some women continue to skate while others check their phones or grab ice packs. When a woman is within speaking distance, I get up and tap her on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” I say, getting her attention, “I’m here to watch a friend, Lina Tomek?”
“Oh!” she says, spitting her mouth guard into her hand which I find disgustingly inappropriate. “You’re here to see Happy?”
“Lina,” I correct, wondering if she took a blow to the head. “Lina Tomek.”
Ignoring me, she yells over to the group on the bench. “Paging Happy Killmore, Happy Killmore!”
“What?” I hear and look over to see her take off her helmet and see she’s sporting pig tails, a bloody lip and a scowl. The scowl is for me, I’m sure because it’s obvious I bring out the best in her.
“You got a visitor!”
Rolling her eyes, she skates over to my side of the rink and stops short of plowing me over. Even with skates on she doesn’t meet my shoulders. “You need friends, Anthony.”
“I have friends.”
“They busy tonight?”
“Probably,” I answer vaguely seeing my opportunity. “It’s funny how small the world is. I bet we even know the same people.”
“Look, I’m not an interesting person. I work, I skate sometimes and when I’m not doing that, I’m drinking, chain smoking and causing minor amounts of chaos. Detroit’s a big place. There are plenty of other women who probably get off on this sort of thing. A few are even affordable if you catch them on an off day. Hint hint, I am not one of them.”
“Venessa, Macy and Jules,” I say, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Friends of yours?”
When her eyes narrow and her nostrils flare, she turns and yells to the group. “I’m out! Hold my calls.” Then turns to me and says, “Meet me out front in ten minutes and if I were you, I’d keep my distance.”
Nodding, I watch her skate off. I make my way back out to her truck to wait for her. Let the record show, she was out in seven minutes. Yeah, I’m that good.
Sitting in the principal’s office with a bloody nose and skinned knees, I wasn’t worried about the pain. The pain was nothing compared to how I would feel once my father showed up. Mary was a mean girl, plain and simple. When she went around telling anyone who would listen that she kissed Mikey, I told everyone she was lying. Because she was! I knew it, Mikey knew it, and now everyone else did too. Mary didn’t like to be called a liar so she punched me in the nose really hard. I wasn’t lying. She was, so after I got the gravel out of my knees, I beat her up good.
Now I’m trouble even though she hit me first. Keeping the tissue up there hurt, but taking it away got blood on my clothes so, I sucked it up. When he walks in he looks at me and yells, “Now what did you do?” Knowing better than to say anything, I kept my head down and my mouth closed. After he visited with the principal he stomped out, grabbed my arm really hard and dragged me from school then shoved me into the minivan.
“Your mother is going to be furious!” he shouts.
“Mary punched me in the nose, Daddy,” I tried to tell him.
“Why would she do that, Halina?” he asks me in a calm voice. His calm voice scares me.
“Because I called her a liar,” I whisper then he slapped me so hard my nose opened up and the tissue couldn’t stop it from getting blood all over my clothes. Pulling me into the house, my mother looks at me after he explains what I’d done and how he lost two hours of work because of me. She throws me into my room and locks the door.
“You can wear those fucking clothes to school again tomorrow too!” she screams from outside of my door. Crawling into my bed, I wanted to cry because my nose hurt really bad, but I knew crying would only make it worse. I don’t care what they say. Mary shouldn’t have lied and I don’t feel bad about making her cry.
My life isn’t better than anyone else’s. I work hard, play hard and if I’m lucky, I even get fucked hard once in a while too. I am not prepared for Anthony mentally, physically or emotionally. I keep to myself as a rule, not seeing my friends nearly as much as I’d like to because when we’re together, we either end up in jail, a fight, or a combination of both.
Those girls are my best friends and my only real family and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for them. They are also extremely honest, but even they throw a lie out sometimes and I get it, it’s human nature and it’s not easy being around someone who knows you’re doing it. To make our lives easier, I keep my distance. It’s hard enough when strangers lie to you, but when it’s people you love, it actually hurts worse. Even if they lie in an effort to spare you the truth. My friends, like me, aren’t perfect. They are fighting battles just like I am. They don’t want to burden me anymore than I want to burden them. They don’t understand that by sparing me the truth, it physically pains me. They don’t need to know that. That’s another burden I won’t put on them. They each have enough.
When Venessa lost her family, we essentially lost Venessa. After a while, we were introduced to Kharma, but it was clearly her defense mechanism. Every time I’d ask her how she was her answer would be “fine” and I knew she was lying. That girl refused to burden anyone. Instead, Kharma took her anger out on criminals. Personally, I still think it’s fucking awesome, but I wanted to be her back up every one and a while. Macy is all beauty and brains and the girl excels at everything. Almost everything. Brigg was a bad call. Word is when Rafe is around she can’t walk straight either because she’s too busy staring at his ass.
Macy and Venessa are tight like Jules and I are. Jules though, she’s my world. Smart, funny, forgiving, protective and notoriously vicious. She keeps me in line when I start to float. Which with me happens, a lot. Venessa does this weird screaming thing when she’s reached her limit. Macy gets quiet and studies. Jules blows shit up, and I float away. It works for us. I don’t give a fuck what any professional thinks about us either. If I have to hide out in my head for a bit to calm the fuck down, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.
The second Anthony says their names, I need to know more. How does he know them? Are they in trouble? Jules hasn’t said anything more than what I already know. My friends were finally happy, dammit. I can’t stand the thought of something being wrong now. Jules and Max may be having a tough time, but those two have the real deal and I know it will work out. So I panicked and agreed to meet him out front because he was telling the truth. He was also really smug about it and I’ll admit I want to know what he knows. Yes, I want to be near him but, I won’t be disclosing that nugget anytime soon. This guy is an opportunist. He’s just waiting for my game to slip.
Throwing on my Chuck’s, I don’t bother changing. The guy has already witnessed me being accosted, naked, and as of a few hours ago, sans shirt. Grabbing my bag, I make my way out and see him leaning against my truck. Unlocking the doors I toss my bag in, grab my smokes and wait for him to speak up.
“May I?”
“Knock yourself out,” I tell him, handing him my pack and a lighter. Watching him inhale, close his eyes and exhale, has me following suit. He’s sexy when he smokes. Hell, he’s sexy regardless. He probably makes taking a shit look sexy too. Let’s face it, some people are just blessed like that.
“Are you fucking your artist?”
“The girls, explain how you know them and stop staring at my tits. That’s why I’m out here instead of in there working on my mojo.”
“After you answer my question.”
“No,” I say,rolling my eyes. “Happy now?”
“Have you ever fucked him?
”
“Is this a joke? Get me out here by dangling them in front of me then play twenty questions?” Leaning in, I notice he smells good, like Tom Ford good. “I don’t play games, Anthony.”
“Neither do I.”
Seeing that he’s dead serious, I decide to cease with the threats, give the man what he wants to get what I want in return. “I’m not now, in the past or in the immediate future, fucking him. Notice I didn’t say it wasn’t a possibility someday but, I wouldn’t want him doing revenge ink on me if things didn’t pan out either. But if you’re looking for honesty, the truth is the only man I need in my life is a bartender. Now, answer my fucking question or I’m gone.”
“I met them at Lush,” he says, annoyed with my response. “I’ve been present for each threat, all the dramatics, and every hospital visit. I’ve heard about you a lot over the years, which made me wonder why you weren’t there when your friends needed you. Your ability could have spared them a lot of pain, Lina.”
Throwing my butt down and putting it out with my foot, I push him away from my door in an effort to leave, but not before I run him over with my truck first. He puts his arm around my waist and pulls my back to his front, then whispers in my ear. “Have I struck a truth that upsets you?”
“You struck a nerve,” I growl. “There’s a difference.”
“Your friends still need you,” he whispers. “I need you.”
“My friends do not need me,” I mumble. “And you need counseling.” I slam the door shut but Anthony knocks on my window refusing to take the hint.
Reluctantly, I roll it down when he says, “Here’s my number, when you’re ready to act like an adult, use it.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Presumes A Lot,” I throw out at him. “You may know them now, but you sure as fuck didn’t know them then. I have always been around when they needed me. Quit trying to guilt me. I’ll do you one better. When you’re ready to act like an adult, fuck yourself.”
