by L. M. Carr
As Remy counts the money, she looks up as if she’s thinking about something. Her lips move quickly before she slips the wad of cash into the back pocket of her pants, making her one cheek look much bigger than the other.
“Now girls, what about Shane? Don’t you think you should give him some of your tips?”
Jenna squawks, “No! He stared at Remy’s ass all freaking morning! And he steals all the mints! I’d say that’s tip enough.”
I exhale a low chuckle as my eyes and dick bulge at the same time. I’m glad the apron covers the growing hard-on in my pants. Jenna is one hundred percent right. I took full advantage of looking at that ass I love so much. I can’t wait to get my hands on it again.
Remy narrows those beautiful greens at me as Lenny heads back into the kitchen. “Were you staring at my ass all morning?”
“No,” I quip nonchalantly.
“Liar!”
“I’m not lying,” I close the gap between our bodies. My voice drops to a whisper. “I wasn’t just staring at your ass…I was staring at your tits, too.”
“Ugh! I told you I don’t like that word!” Out of nowhere, her small fist knocks into my arm and I’m surprised at the force behind it.
“Easy, tiger.”
She punches me harder, adding even more force.
“Ohhhhhh…I’m wounded!” I rub my bicep for effect.
“Don’t even try it! You’re not pulling that again!” The humor in her voice makes me grin. “Remember what happened last night?”
I couldn’t have planned this any better. I wait for her words to sink in. The moment of realization is picture perfect when her jaw drops open and she begins to stutter.
With my index finger, I silence her lips. “I remember.” Every second of tasting her has filled my mind since the second my eyes opened.
A slow blush covers her face as her eyes become glassy and dream-like as if they are filled with the memory.
Silence filled with tension crackles between us. Slowly, my eyes drop to her polo shirt where I can see her nipples harden and strain against her bra before I look up to meet her eyes. That’s right. Remember that. Remember what I did to you. Remember how I made you feel. Remember how I let you taste yourself.
She licks her lips and crosses her legs. I have no doubt she’s wet and would be willing to let me fuck her if we were alone.
But as she always does, she surprises me when, defiantly, she squares her shoulders, lifts her chin, and announces that she’s walking away now. She rolls her eyes and turns away but I reach out, taking her hands in mine, stopping her in her tracks.
“I’m sorry.” I can only hope that she understands what I’m apologizing for. It’s not just the use of the word I know she despises, but more importantly for my actions last night. She doesn’t need to know everything, but she does need to know that I regret it. If I could change it, I would. If I could control it, I would.
“Can we talk later?” she asks. I look at her and find understanding mingled with curiosity.
The only thing I can offer is a quick nod of my head. God knows I don’t have answers to give or at least, not the ones she would truly comprehend.
Lenny locks the back door and thanks me again for the umpteenth time, promising that my breakfast will be on the house since I refuse to take his money. Remy assures her boss that she doesn’t mind closing up; he’s exhausted and needs to get home to rest his hand. After several unsuccessful attempts to get Remy to join her in an afternoon of shopping since they both have a pocketful of cash, Jenna whispers something about not wasting the money stupidly, waves a quick goodbye and runs to catch the bus.
“What are we doing later?” I ask her. I notice she suddenly seems nervous as her eyes blink rapidly and look everywhere but at me. “You okay?”
She hums an affirmative and looks down at her sneakers.
“Why are you nervous, Remy?”
“I’m not.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Her dishonesty is evident. “Ever.”
“What happened to you last night? Why’d you flip out on me?”
She goes right for the jugular and I’m caught off guard. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me.” She pins me with those gorgeous, serious eyes. “Ever.” She spits my own words back in my face.
“I lose my temper sometimes. It doesn’t happen often.”
“Do I look stupid to you?” she sneers. “I’m getting a Master’s Degree in Mental Health. I study people. I read tons of case studies.”
A sick feeling of being caught runs through my veins and I use the only mechanism of defense I have right now. “I’m not a lab rat.”
Her chest rises and falls as her eyes turn into slits. “What’s wrong with you?”
I release a disbelieving chuckle, admiring her forthrightness and non-nonsense, blunt attitude; it’s actually refreshing compared to the many therapists and doctors I’ve dealt with over the years.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I scoop her up into my arms, forcing her legs to wrap around my waist. “The only wrong thing right now is that you have clothes on and we’re in a kitchen not a bed. If we were anywhere else, I’d finish what we started last night.” I swear I can feel the heat emanating from her as she grinds herself against me and brings her lips to my ear.
“This conversation isn’t over…just postponed.”
Our mouths crash into one another and our tongues join in. The taste of maple syrup on her tongue reminds me of devouring her last night and my dick stiffens immediately. It’s in painful and desperate need of release.
“Come home with me.” I squeeze her ass hard with one hand as the other grips her neck where her short hair touches the collar of her shirt.
“Oh, God I want to say yes… I really do,” she mumbles against my mouth as she brings our kiss to a close.
“Then what’s stopping you?” I nibble at her neck playfully, trying to change her mind.
“You,” she whispers so quietly that I almost miss it. I pull back to look at her face, trying to gauge the emotion on her face.
“You scare me.”
What the fuck? It feels as though an IED has exploded in my heart, shattering it into a million pieces. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I would never hurt you.”
With small strokes to my cheek, Remy softens the obvious blow of her words. “I’m not afraid of you. The thing is Shane, I’m on a one-way track and if I go home with you, we both know what’s going to happen. I can’t let you derail me.” Vulnerability seeps through her pleading eyes before she looks away.
In the time that I’ve gotten to know her, I’ve determined that she’s driven to succeed and to do better for herself. Every single one of those little comments disguised in humor were noted and tucked away. I know her life hasn’t been easy and I certainly don’t want to add my shit to her load, but I want her. It’s undeniable. It’s uncontrollable. It’s inevitable.
“Remington, look at me.”
Her eyes snap to mine as she stammers, “What did… you… call me—”
“Remington. That is your name, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but how did you know that? I hate that name.”
I offer a sly grin, “I know a lot more about you than you think I do.”
She gulps and mumbles. “I hope that’s not true.”
Another bit of information to stow away.
Reluctantly, I let Remy slip out of my hold as she moves to stand. The awkward lull is uncomfortable and unnecessary.
“Want another driving lesson?” I toss out and bite back the laughter threatening to erupt.
“One was more than enough.” She smirks.
“Is that so? I thought I was a good teacher. I’ve been told I know how to handle the road really well. I thought I knew all the ins and outs of it.”
Our phones buzz within seconds of one another. After glancing at the screen, I realize my sister really needs to find a hobby other than badgering me nearly every day. Several t
imes a day.
“Who’s that?” I ask as she types out a text message.
“None of your business,” she teases, slipping her phone back into her pocket.
“No secrets, Remington.” I stress her name as if implying that she purposefully kept it from me. It was never really a secret- just an omission. I’d never given it much thought before.
“I’ve got to go,” she announces as she swipes the screen of her phone and reads yet another message.
“I’ll go with you.”
She laughs as if I just told a great one-liner. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m picking you up at six.” I leave no room for discussion.
“No, I’ll text you where to meet me.”
“So tenacious.”
“That’s my middle name!” She wheels her bike over and straddles it.
“No, your middle name is Rose.”
“What the hell! Are you stalking me?”
I shrug my shoulders, implying perhaps she’s right. After receiving a loud huff, I turn and head down the alleyway as she trails a few feet behind.
“Goodbye, Stalker.”
“Goodbye, Remington Rose.”
With a smile on her face, she glances back and yells, “I hate that name!”
Until I can no longer see her light hair and bright blue bicycle weave in and out of traffic, I stand there watching her like a goddamn stalker. She seems to have no fear as she navigates the busy streets, but I know from experience, having a little fear is a good thing.
When I’m finally seated on the bus after finding the only vacant spot next to a young woman holding a sleeping infant, my thoughts drift to Mia. I wonder how she’s feeling. I wonder how he’s treating her. I hope she’s doing well. I send her a quick text; not that I expect a reply because she rarely ever does, but at least she’ll know I’m thinking about her. I press the number for my sister and regret it instantly when she drones on and on for the entire bus ride home. I listen to her complain about how her husband is contesting the divorce and how my mother driving her crazy with unsolicited opinions. Although I do miss small town living, I’m glad to be out of there. In a city like Boston, it’s easy to blend in and go unnoticed.
In the shower I finish what I started last night with Remy. Taking matters into my own hands, literally, isn’t what I’m used to doing. Getting laid used to be easy and I guess it still can be, but I’m not that guy anymore. The idea of fucking some random girl doesn’t do it for me; the only girl I want is keeping herself at arm’s length because I scare her. I have to give Remy credit for one thing; she should be scared of me.I will do everything in my power to hide the monster that lurks beneath the surface.
Remy
WHEN I SLIDE the key into the lock, the door creaks open without resistance. “Mom?” My defense goes on alert as my voice echoes off of the dirty walls. “Mom?” I follow the sounds of moaning coming from the far end of the apartment. I walk quickly past her room and stop at my door. Are you fucking kidding me? With both hands, I push the door wide open. The stench of body odor and dirty sex hits me like a freight train. My mother straddles one man while the other rocks into her from behind. I’ve seen a lot in my twenty six years, but seeing my mother like this is too much to bear.
“What the fuck!! Leave her alone! Get out of here!” I smash my fists into the obese man’s back, shoving hard to dismount him. “You bastard! Stop it!”
My stomach rolls at the horrible smell when he opens his mouth to speak.
“What’s the matter? You want some of this?” He grips my mother’s hips and pistons hard and fast. “I’ll give it to you good, sweet girl.”
I yank at my mother’s arms to get her away from these vile men, but she’s sandwiched in between them. I want to run away and leave her, but I can’t. She’s my mother. I search desperately for something. My eyes land on the bed side table. I pick up a thick textbook and swing it with all my strength until it connects with the fat man’s head. I don’t stop until he rolls to the side, leaving my mother’s ass in the air.
“You stupid bitch!” he bellows as he rubs the back of his head.
“Leave.Her.Alone.” I smack the book down on the second man’s face while my mother looks on with empty, vacant eyes. After several hard yanks, I finally manage to pull my mother off the bed and we crash into the closet door. A sharp pain stabs from my lower back to my head where I connected with the doorknob. Her thin, naked body slumps to the side; I’m pinned beneath her seemingly lifeless deadweight.
Panic sets in when one of the men rises. The fierce look in his eyes matches the hard and heavy steps as he stomps toward us.
“You stupid whore!” His loud voice thunders in my ears. “You worthless piece of shit.”
I struggle to take cover as the backside of a large, dirty hand comes toward me. With only a split second of warning, I raise my hand to shield my face, but it’s too late. I feel the heated sting when his knuckles assault my cheekbone and slap me hard. The blow was intended for my mother, but her head lolled forward, leaving me completely exposed to the crazed man.
“Your mother’s nothing but a two-bit whore, and I didn’t get what I paid for. I’ll be back.” My face is sprayed with his spit.
My breathing hitches and my chest feels heavy. A deep, angry growl builds in me until it explodes, causing me to scream bloody murder. “You bastards! Rot in hell!” I must look like a deranged animal, my green eyes wide, filled with hatred.
Mumbling to each other in another language, the men collect their filthy clothes and dress quickly before leaving the room. The slamming of the front door startles me and then relieves me.
“Mom? Mom? Wake up?” My heart pounds in my chest, my pulse races and I bite back the pain throbbing in my head. Angling her diagonally across my lap, I shift her body so I can see her face. It’s a battered mess, covered in dark purple and pink bruises. My body erupts into a state of convulsion as a howl, a deep painful cry escapes. The years of frustration, the years of suppressing emotions spew out like a volcano shooting lava. “Why, Mom? Why do you do this to yourself? Why do you let them do this to you?”
I can’t take it anymore. Every memory of my mother leaving me alone and hungry as a child, every memory of repulsive men who fucked her in front of me, every needle that she plunged into her arm surfaces and the anger in me rages until it boils over. I wrap my hands around her thin shoulders and shove with all my might, sending my mother away from me.She slumps over, wedged in between the old nightstand and the wall.Only a soft groan lets me know she’s still alive.
“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” I scream over and over until my voice is strained and my throat raw. I hate her. I hate who she is. I hate what she does. I hate being her daughter. I hate it all.
My eyes close of their own accord, unable to look any longer at the stark reality that is my life. If only my eyelids could shield the images etched deep in my mind.
I pull my legs into my chest and sit there, watching my mother as she comes to, finally realizing what’s happened. Too many times, I’ve rushed to her aid. Too many times, I run to get help. Too many times, I’ve watched as she opens the front door for yet another man.
I’m not heartless; I love my mother, but there’s nothing I can do anymore. She needs more help that I can provide. I struggle to comprehend the scene in front of me. I can’t understand who would willingly welcome this abuse into their life. Who begs for it just to feel the ecstasy of a drug-induced high? A metallic taste mixed with acid fills my mouth as I think about the abuse she’s suffered and the abuse I’ve witnessed.
Bending down, I reach around to lift her, but she swats me away. “Come on, Mom. Let’s get you cleaned up. You need a bath.” I haul her up by her slim waist and again she resists. For God’s sake, woman. I’m just trying to help you because you won’t help yourself!Our matching eyes meet and hers fill with tears. She cups my face with cold hands as her thumbs caress my tear-stained face. She wipes away the tears I swore and prom
ised I would never shed.
“My beautiful angel.” I stare at my mother, the woman who allows herself to be degraded and defiled for a quick fix. A single tear falls as her cracked lips move slowly, mouthing the words, “You are my sunshine, my only…”
I bathe her as if she were a child. Her fragile body cocoons as her thin arms wrap around her legs which are patterned and tainted by the definite signs of being manhandled. I towel dry her and walk by her side to put her in bed. She looks utterly broken; the dark circles and purple bruises hide her pretty face. The light in her green eyes is all but extinguished. Once again my eyes fill with tears at the sight of her when she winces in pain as I slip a spoonful of instant oatmeal into her mouth. She struggles to lick the spilled orange juice that dribbles down her swollen lip. After only four measly bites, she turns away and lies back on the rumpled sheets which are stained and smell of dirty sex and body odor.
“Where’d he go? Tell him to come back,” she mumbles as her eyes grow heavy. “I want him to come back. I need …” Her slurred words fade when they reach my ears. I stare at the woman who is supposed to love me. I stare at the woman who used to dress me up and parade me around for her friends to see. I stare at the woman who gave me life but then took it away when her choices became my consequence. She doesn’t love me. She loves heroin. The pounding in my chest hurts as the years of neglect surge forward and I become aware that no matter what I do, no matter what I say, it will never be enough. I will never be enough. She needs drugs, but I don’t need her or this hell hole of an apartment or even this life.
“Please, baby. I just need a little.” Weak fingers tug at the short sleeve and pull it up, exposing the track marks that dot her arm and are mingled among the bulging veins. What the hell? I’ve just been pushed to my breaking point. I refuse to stand here and listen to her go on and on about fucking these vile men and needing drugs.
I grab my backpack, open drawers and haphazardly toss clothes in. If she wants to kill herself, I won’t stand here and watch her do it. I can’t do it anymore. Racing to the bathroom, I grab my toothbrush, toothpaste and deodorant. I shut the front door without so much as a backward glance. This is a familiar scene; the only difference is that I’m the one leaving.
