Keep Me: A HERO Novella

by Del Mia, Leighton

  “We’re on the same side,” I whisper.

  He combs hair from my face. “What?”

  “There’s no space between us. For me, being away from you was being away from myself. I became disconnected. Or maybe I was never connected at all, just a bunch of parts working. You know me to my core, and you’ve taught me things about myself.”

  “That you’re also a depraved pervert?”

  I elbow him gently in his ribs, and he huffs. “I’m being serious.”

  “So am I,” he says.

  I suppress a smile. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe what? I’d like to hear you say it.”

  “Maybe I’m a depraved pervert.”

  He chuckles deeply, but then says softly into my ear, “You said earlier you want all pieces of me. But you didn’t say you liked what I did to you tonight.”

  Did I? Could I admit it if I did? I don’t dare compare Calvin to Grant aloud, but he’s my only other sexual experience. I only orgasmed with him sometimes, and the sex was almost formulaic for me. I didn’t get the impression it was for him, which makes me think that normal people have sex that way. It was nice, and he was attentive, but I never felt . . . consumed.

  I’m afraid of admitting that I like what he did because of what it could do to us. I’m equally afraid of what denying it could do. I remain quiet, happy in Calvin’s protective embrace.

  I drift in and out of sleep, dreaming about taking photographs of my photographs and hanging them in a new bedroom around a new bed. I stir somewhere in the middle of the night. Calvin is still pressed up against me, but his arm is gone. I slip easily from the covers and sneak into the kitchen. I sit at the table, draw my knees to my naked chest, and light a joint. Grant’s cherry blossom painting is within reach, so I pull it close and study it. With my other hand, I flick my lighter on and off mindlessly, staring so hard at the paint that I see brushstrokes. I flip it over and find words I didn’t see before.

  “caresses of pink, petal by petal,

  one drops, two floats, all settle,

  at my feet, what once was alive,

  browns at the edges, struggles to survive

  alone, delicate, womanly pink,

  together, riotous, blooming, lips synch,

  for a ghost of a kiss

  you are my bliss

  beautiful suffering to stay what cannot,

  ripped, stolen, a wretched lot,

  you came into my life, flooding and thick,

  an explosion of pink that left just as quick.”

  I read it over and over, trying to make sense of each word, understand its meaning. I lean in closer to inspect the faint scrawling. Did Grant see this when he bought it? Is that why it reminded him of me?

  Calvin shuffles into the kitchen in his underwear, hair adorably mussed and eyes barely open. “What’s up, beautiful?”

  I can’t help smiling at the new endearment. I slide the painting away and lift my joint. “Can’t sleep.”

  He rubs his ridged stomach and yawns. “What can I do to get you to quit that?”

  “I cut back a lot,” I say, “since you got here.”

  “Will you come back to bed? And let me hold you until the sun comes up and I have to let you go?”

  I like sleepy, romantic Calvin, especially because his slumbery voice is even deeper and raspier than normal. It’s as if his opposites are the only parts operating tonight. I take his extended hand and let him lift me out of the chair. I follow him to the bed, and we’re both asleep within minutes.

  The color red is made for Cataline. Her long, brown hair sprawls in every direction on the scarlet plaid picnic blanket, eyes closed and hands resting atop her chest. Sometimes I see nothing but her, no matter how many times I look away. Even in the sunlight she’s pale, almost ghostly in her utter stillness. There is truth in her pose, my tortured girl.

  “Nature brings me peace,” she says.

  “I can see that.”

  “What brings you peace?”

  “Not much,” I admit. “There’s always something at stake.”

  “Maybe you need to have something taken away in order to understand how important it is. Then you can appreciate it.”

  “I have. You were taken away.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” she says, opening her eyes. “I left willingly.”

  “Not when the Cartel took you.”

  “They didn’t take me from you. You’d already freed me when they took me. I was just a pawn in a game.”

  I don’t understand the hostility in her voice; the only thing I’m starting to understand is that her latent feelings sometimes come out in unusual ways. If she means to punish me, it works. “You were never a pawn to me. I took you to protect you.”

  “You didn’t get any satisfaction in controlling another human being? I know you did. In that sense, I was a pawn.”

  I don’t like these clipped moments when her tone is closed. It’s as if I can sense her pulling back. My reaction to that is tightening my grip. “Maybe you like being a pawn,” I tell her. “All your life, people have moved you around, making decisions for you.”

  “That’s not true. I was on my own two years before I met Grant. Do you think I built my own business by letting other people make decisions for me?”

  “When’s the last time you were happy?”

  “Now.”

  “Before I came to the gallery.”

  She shields her eyes with her hand and glares at me.

  “I’m not trying to make a point,” I say. “If I make you happy, then that’s all I care about.”

  Her lips thin into a straight line and she looks away, focusing on something in the distance. “I am happy. I’ve never been happy before, and it’s terrifying.”

  Her words could’ve come from my mouth. I take her hand in mine, and she looks back at me with a smile. Christ, women are mercurial.

  “Are you staying tonight?” she asks.

  “Actually, that couple is coming by again to see the place in the morning. I should be there.”

  “Ah, such is life without a butler.”

  I laugh. “Yeah. Come stay with me.”

  “I can’t. I’m going into work early tomorrow. I’ve fallen behind.”

  I wink. “Why’s that?”

  “Lately, other matters have been more . . . pressing.”

  I shift so I’m lying next to her. “Pressing matters?” I ask, pushing my hips into her side. “Like pussynaps?”

  She giggles and turns for a kiss. “There are families here.”

  I nudge my nose under her jaw and nip it gently. “Public fondling isn’t allowed?”

  “I didn’t say that,” she says. “It was just an observation.”

  I chuckle as I continue my assault.

  “You’re turning me on,” she whines.

  “I can’t very well do anything about it here.”

  “Then tell me what you’d do if you could.”

  I lift my head to look her in the eye. “Seriously?”

  She nods, her expression drowsy. “This morning when I went to the market for picnic stuff . . .”

  “What?” I ask. “What happened at the market?”

  “Butter,” she says. “I saw it, and I couldn’t stop thinking about that time on the dinner table.”

  I mean to laugh, but it comes out gritty and disjointed. I pull her head closer by her hair. “There’s butter in the basket. Want me to do it again?”

  She shakes her head hard, almost knocking my mouth with her nose.

  “No?” I glance down at her legs, crossed because she’s wearing a dress. “Even if I promise to be gentle this time? I’d just pull your dress up a little bit, touch you through your panties. What color are they?”

  “White.”

  “How virginal.”

  “What would you do next?”

  I raise an eyebrow at her. “You want me to keep going?”

  “No. But if I did?”

  I smile. “If I were t
o take you in the park in front of everyone, next I’d put my hand in your underwear and finger you. I’d need you nice and wet for my cock,” I inhale a breath as she moans at the word, “so I’d do it hard. Probably two fingers—”

  “More,” she says.

  “Don’t get greedy. Two fingers are enough to loosen you up. You’d get all hot and slippery in my hand.”

  She nods.

  “Tell me, Sparrow.”

  “I’d want you.”

  “How much?”

  “I’d be wet. So wet, I’d ruin the picnic blanket.”

  My lascivious smile falls, because with only a few words, she’s turned my twitching dick into a full-on boner. “Very good. You’d like it, wouldn’t you? Everyone watching while I finger-fuck you?”

  “No,” she moans.

  “You can be such a dirty little bird. When I’d squeeze your tits and thrust inside you, you’d come hard and sloppy all over my dick while everyone watched.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” she yells.

  I’m seconds away from getting arrested for whatever fucking in the park gets you. Just the thought of Cataline’s heat sucking at me, getting what it wants, makes me groan in her ear. “Christ, I want inside your pussy right now.”

  “I—I want you there. Inside my pussy.”

  I drop my forehead into the curve of her shoulder. “You saying ‘pussy’ is not helping. I’m about to come in my pants.”

  She blinks, wide-eyed. “Really?”

  I laugh. “If you keep talking dirty, I won’t have a say in the matter.”

  “You started it,” she whispers. “But will you finish it?”

  “Do you even have to ask?” I decide I’ve hit my good-guy quota, so I angle over her for a hard kiss. Her palms push at my chest, but I persist until her protests soften like her mouth. It’s when her fingers curl into my sweater that I have to tear myself away. Truthfully, I don’t want to permanently damage any children—or adults for that matter—and melting Cataline’s resistance quickly chips at my self-restraint.

  “This picnic is over,” I say.

  “But we haven’t eaten yet.” Her bottom lip protrudes, and her eyes beg with me.

  “Shit. Fine. We’ll eat, but the longer I wait, the hornier I’ll get.”

  She grins. “I believe it.”

  Calvin behaves only as long as he has to. We’re a few feet into the apartment before he gets me on the couch and screws me so hard I’m afraid we’ll fall into the apartment below.

  Afterward, we lie in a tight embrace, watching TV and whispering to each other as the sun sets through the window. Neither one of us is paying attention to the news until suddenly, we are.

  “Coming up after the break: tomorrow will mark day one of the seventh week since Hero has been spotted. Has he abandoned us? Is he finally heeding the force’s wishes? Or worse—after almost two decades, has he been quietly defeated? Stay with us for a special report.”

  I flip off the TV and drop the remote on the floor.

  Calvin squeezes me from behind. “I can see the headlines now. ‘Defeated at last: mysterious, pint-sized brunette brings Hero to his knees.’”

  I giggle. “You on your knees? It’d be a cold day in hell.”

  “Mmm.”

  “And I’m not pint-sized.”

  “You are to me.”

  I roll my eyes but smile. Neither of us speaks for a few minutes, enjoying the last moments of sunlight. “Did you want to watch?” I ask finally.

  “No.” He sighs into my hair. “I was thinking about my parents.”

  “Oh.”

  “When was the last time you went to Fenndale’s cemetery?”

  Sweat trickled down the back of my neck as I stared at their tombstones. It was hardly my first time there, but visiting their graves was never easy. I crossed myself and whispered a prayer. I told them it didn’t matter where I went, they’d always be with me. “The day before I moved here,” I say.

  “Zero.”

  “Zero what?”

  “The number of times I’ve been there.”

  “Why would you . . . ?” I swallow and stare at the blank TV screen. “Your parents are there too?”

  “Their headstones, like yours. Would you come with me, Cataline? We could go for a weekend.”

  “A weekend?” I turn in his embrace so I’m facing him. “I never thought I’d go back there.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t—I have no desire to reconnect with my foster family. Just in case that’s what you’re thinking.”

  He snorts. “It’s not. Anyway, the Andersons don’t live there anymore.”

  My eyes narrow. “How do you know?”

  “Heard they were run out of town.” He shrugs. “Least that’s what I heard.”

  I purse my lips. “Sure.”

  “So you’ll come with me? That’s the only way I could do it.”

  I search his eyes. “Why? What are you afraid of?”

  “Would they be proud of the choices I’ve made? Or would they regret giving me that formula?”

  “I know what you sacrificed by taking off the mask,” I say. “I also know it hasn’t been easy.”

  “You missed the worst of it. The weeks right after I stopped were hell on my body. There are still moments where I think I need to inject, where I can’t imagine another moment without it.”

  “But you’re better now, Calvin.”

  “Am I? What about how I handled you the other night?”

  “I was wrong before when I said the K-36 made you bad. It only fed what was already there.” I push my palm into his chest. “You have a darkness not even I can deny. Now I think I have it too.”

  He catches my hand in his. His Adam’s apple jumps when he swallows. “Why doesn’t that scare you?”

  Truthfully, I don’t think I’ll ever know how to exist around Calvin without some level of fear. But it’s not enough to keep me away. “Even though it’s hard for you, one day you’ll see how you’re better without it. Do I make you happy?”

  “Very.”

  “Then what more could they have wanted for you?” I ask, and he nods lightly.

  Later, I walk him out, but we both linger in the doorway. We wear the same smile when I tell him I’ll miss him and eventually, we kiss goodnight.

  My sleep is halting, and the next day, work drags. I take my camera outside when the sun is highest. I bloom under its subtle warmth since there was a time I watched it rise and descend each day without ever feeling it.

  My storefront is well maintained by the building’s owner; it’s clean and welcoming, shiny to attract passersby. Behind the building are dumpsters, a half-full parking lot, and piles of brown-orange leaves. That’s where I go to take pictures. Its ugliness attracts me, especially today.

  After half an hour, when the sky turns grey for a few moments, I lower my camera and look around the deserted lot. I wonder what Calvin’s doing—if he’s at work, and if he’s thinking of me.

  When my stomach alerts me that it’s lunchtime, I walk back around to the front of the building. A police car out front kicks my heartbeat up a few notches. There are other businesses up and down the block, but it’s parked directly in front of mine. And, I think to myself, it’s not all that unlikely they’d be paying me a visit.

  That my legs won’t move fast enough is just another reminder I’m not who I used to be. As I stride to the gallery, I replay Melinda’s phone call to my office again, searching for hints.

  “Is this Calvin?”

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Melinda, Cat’s co-worker.”

  “What happened?”

  “I hope it’s okay to call here. I remember she said you own a media company so I looked up the number, and—”

  “Melinda,” I snap. “Why are you calling?”

  “Oh, I was wondering if she’s there with you? The police are here asking for her.”

  “The police?” I repeat. “And she isn’t there?”

/>   “She was earlier, but she disappeared around lunch. I thought maybe she was meeting you.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  My brain works in overdrive, considering all the possible reasons they’d be there. Our past, full of wrongs and sordid details, is at the front of my mind. I should’ve pressed her for the exact story she told about her months-long disappearance.

  I’m jogging by the time I reach the gallery, noting the squad car out front before I fling open the glass door. “Where are they?” I ask the woman at the front desk.

  “She returned right after I called you,” she says. “They took her in the back, but she looked pretty nervous. Maybe you should—”

  I don’t wait to hear her suggestion but go directly to the gallery’s office. I enter the room without knocking, causing everyone to jump and one cop to reach for his gun.

  Cataline bolts out of her chair. “What are you doing here?”

  “Melinda called me.” I look past her to see files and papers spread out on the table’s surface. “What’s this about?”

  “Nothing, Cal—”

  “I’m her boyfriend,” I tell the officers.

  “Calvin Parish?”

  I clear my throat. The way he says it is as though he’s going to follow it up with, “You’re under arrest for . . .”

  “Yes. That’s me.”

  Cataline throws herself into my body suddenly, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Please let me handle this. Please, Calvin.”

  I grip her upper arms and pull her off to step around her. “What’s going on?”

  “There’s no reason to be alarmed, Mr. Parish. We just needed to review Miss Ford’s statement.”

  “Statement?”

  “After the Cartel released me, I had to give a statement,” Cataline says. “You know this.”

  I nod that I do, even though I didn’t. “Why is it necessary to review it now?”

  “Well, Mr. Parish, I don’t know how familiar you are with the situation, but back when Cataline was, er, abducted, Hero took out quite a few members of the Cartel—including their leader.”

  “Right,” I say.

  “Basically, he hit them where it hurt and knocked them off their feet. However—”

  “They’re back,” Cataline says.