by L. M. Carr
He reaches for my cheek and caresses it lightly. “I am just fine and dandy.” Simon pulls the door open for me, his voice reeks of sarcasm. “Besides, I’m not the one with a bruise on my face. Maybe you need to take better care of yourself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Immediately I despise the pointed, knowing look in his eyes.
“Nothing.”
“Simon! You can’t just say something like that and drop it.”
“How’s your boyfriend?” he sneers. “I’ll beat the shit out of him if he touches you again.”
“What?” I gasp at his insinuation. “Shane would never hit me!”
“Then, who—”
I don’t answer.
“Motherfuckers! I’ll kill them.”
My eyes find the scar on his face as I recall the time he tried to help me.
“Simon, Shane is a great guy.”
“You sure? There’s something about him…”
“I’m sure.” I nod reassuringly.
We walk along the sidewalk until we reach the double doors.
“What were you thinking about?”
“What?”
“You were walking, staring off into space with this ridiculous, dreamy look on your face.”
“I was thinking.” About Shane. About last night. About this morning. About what he’s got planned for me.
“About what?” he asks as he lowers his hands to massage his sore groin. “You had this lustful look on your face.”
I blush.
“Were you thinking about sex?” He elbows me playfully.
My face reddens deeper as his becomes stern and he rolls his eyes. “Oh God! You slept with that asshole, didn’t you?”
“Don’t call him an asshole unless you want me to kick you in the balls again.” My lip curls upward and my eyebrows furrow into a V.
“Might as well. It’s not like I can use my dick for a few days. Fuck! I have a date tonight, too.”
“That’s nice.” I smirk. “What’s his name?”
He smirks back. “Wouldn’t you like to know!”
“Asshat.” I mumble as we walk into class and find a seat.
“Hey,” Simon leans over and whispers slowly, “I really am sorry about the other day. Forgive me?”
I search his eyes, hoping for a sliver of truth. When I finally see it, I nod my head. “Of course I forgive you. I’m just worried about you.”
“As I was saying a few moments ago, you have to make sure all your paperwork is current and handed in before the deadline.” My professor looks over the rim of his glasses and finds my eyes in roomful of other students. “For some of you, this might just be the break you need.”
I want to stand and salute him. “Yes, Sir. I’ll do as you say, Sir. Yes, Sir, that’s correct, Sir. I am an idiot incapable of making my own choices.” But the truth is I accept his words with a subtle nod.
For nearly two hours we watch video segments of patients diagnosed with a variety of mental health issues ranging from eating disorders, schizophrenia, PTSD to ADD being interviewed. Each case is different and the patients all unique. After an intense discussion which escalates to a debate on whether some of these are true mental disorders, David closes the class with chilling words that hit so close to home.
“Every one of us is affected by this. For some, you live with someone who has it. For others, you love someone with it. And yet there are others, possibly even some of you, who have it.”
When David hits the light switch, I yawn loudly and stretch my arms over my head, angling my head to talk to Simon.
“Hey! Did you see—”
“Fucking asshole. Who does he think he is?” Simon scoffs beneath his breath as his eyes are zeroed in at the person standing at the front of the class.
I glance up at him as he shoves papers then his laptop into the bag before storming out of the room, causing all eyes to turn toward the door and then to me.
“Simon! Come back here,” David yells as he runs out of the room. What the hell is going on? As the others vacate the room, I’m left to wonder how self-absorbed I’ve been that I’ve not noticed the deepening tension brewing between the two of them. The icy glares. The clipped responses. The rolling eyes. I need to get my head out of my ass for five minutes and pay attention to what’s going on around me. I need to be a friend to both of them.
Since I miss the train, I head into the convenient store and buy a pack of Twizzlers. I know I shouldn’t consume the extra calories, but I think my time in Shane’s bed might burn a few hundred calories. I send him a quick text but get no response.
I walk along the cracked concrete toward the place of destitution and despair. Everything is the same as it was a few days ago. I don’t know if I was expecting, by some small miracle, that things would be different today. Climbing the stairs and heading down the hall, I stop at the apartment and yank off the piece of paper taped to the door. It’s the second eviction notice. I don’t understand how there’s a notice to vacate the premises because I pay the rent every month. Sometimes I’m a little late, but it gets paid. I always pay my debts and more.
The food in my belly does a quick somersault as I wrack my brain wondering if my mother owes the landlord for a few quick fixes. I screw my eyes shut as I slide the key into the lock. Dread consumes me as I turn it slowly. I don’t want to walk in to see my mother compensating for yet another lofty debt.
I hear nothing but the soft sounds of my mother humming along to James Taylor.
As quietly as possible, I tiptoe to my room and close the door.
“Remy? Is that you?” she asks sweetly as if she cares about me.
My eyes fly to the window in panic as I think about making a run for it. I don’t need a confrontation with her. She’s as harmless as a kitten when she’s high, but as vicious as a tiger when she’s sober. “Yeah?”
“Where are you?” she asks as if we’re a normal happy family.
In misery. “In my room.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No.” I roll my eyes and shake my head. I can’t remember the last time my mother cooked for me.
“What are you doing?” she asks. I glance at my mother who is only wearing a T-shirt that barely covers her ass. She steps into my room, crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe. The bruises along her legs roll my stomach.
“Packing.” I mumble as I continue to open and close drawers, shoving items haphazardly into my bag.
“Why? Where are you going?” Her voice is loaded with panic. “How long will you be gone?”
I shrug, wondering how long I can extend my invitation to stay at Shane’s. I could always stay at Jenna’s place as I’ve done so many times before.
My mother must realize that I’m going to be gone for more than just a night or two based on the amount of things I’ve packed.
“Please, stop.” She steps in and stills my hand, preventing me from adding clothes to the already full bag.
I pull my hand away brusquely and tug at the strained zipper.
“You can’t leave me.”
Her words shock me, remembering how many times as a child I begged her not to leave me alone in the middle of the night. I pleaded with her. Never once did she heed my pleas of mercy.
“Sweet girl, I need you.”
I freeze at the term of endearment which I loathe. “Don’t.Call.Me.That.”
Suddenly, she grabs the bag away from me. “We’re a team, remember? And I need you.”
Fury races through me as I reach for her arm and extend it. “You don’t need me! You need this!” I drop my eyes to the many pinpricks in the crook of her elbow.
“Baby, don’t say that.”
With disgust, I shove her arm away, snatch the bag back and tug at the zipper until it’s closed completely.
“Where are you going?” she snaps, her chin rising in defiance, “To David’s? Is he filling your head again? There are “the Haves and the Have Nots.” You’re a have not!”
<
br /> I don’t answer; I know she’s trying to goad me into a fight.
“You think you’re so much better than me.” The derision drips from every word. “You’re just like me.”
I snap at her as I spit out angry words. “I’m nothing like you.” I grab the small black and white picture of two smiling children from the nightstand.
With firm hands, she yanks my shoulders and forces me to stand in front of the cracked mirror. We could almost pass for sisters if I hadn’t cut off and bleached my hair. Same height. Same figure. Same green eyes.
“You.Are.Exactly.Like.Me.” Her grip on my arms gets firmer with each word.
I turn to face her head on. “You are a drug addict. You need help.”
“What I need is for my daughter to stay here with me.”
“Why? So I can check on you to make sure you haven’t overdosed or to open the door so those animals can fuck you?”
A hard slap stings my face. “How dare you?”
I glare at her defiantly.
“I’m your goddamn mother!”
A humorless chuckle slips past my lips. “Now you want to be my mother? I needed a mother when I was a little girl.” As much as I want to reach out and soothe my burning cheek, I don’t want to give her the satisfaction.
I brush past her and ignore the vile words she hurls in my direction.
When I reach the bottom step, I hear the window open and look up to see her standing there running her hands all over her face as she wipes away the tears streaming down her face.
As if she were a distraught child, she wails, “I’m sorry, Remy. Come back. I’m sorry.”
I toss the bulky bag over my back and adjust the strap diagonally across my body. I straddle my bike and pedal away as I block out the familiar image mingled with her words of untruth. I pull into late afternoon traffic and hope the honking horns will drown out the voice of shame telling me to turn around and be a good daughter.
SWEAT BEADS AND drips on my forehead as I carry my bike onto the final landing. I slide down and bury my head on the bag that is still slung around me chest. Minute after minute, I sit and think. I think about “the Haves and the Have Nots.” I think about the beautiful man on the other side of the door. I think about David’s words.
My phone buzzes and reveals a lengthy text message and two missed calls from Shane. I sit there and read it in silence until the door opens abruptly and Shane notices me sitting there on the wooden planked floor.
“Remy, what are you doing?” he asks as he drops to a crouch. “Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?” he inquires as takes my face in his hands, searching for any sign of mistreatment.
I shake my head and mumble, “No.” I mentally chastise myself for lying straight to his face.
“Why are you on the floor?”
I blink quickly as I try to conjure up an excuse.
“And why is your face red? And why haven’t you answered any of my calls or texts?” He fires question after question before I have time to think of an answer.
I swallow nervously, unsure of what his reaction will be. “One, I’m tired and two, I stopped by the apartment to get some of my things.” Gazing into his blues, I hope he understands what I’m asking.
He eyes the overstuffed duffel bag. “You’re going to stay with me?”
“If you’ll have me.” I nod and smile crookedly.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time!” He leans forward and kisses my mouth, deepening the kiss as his tongue begins its duel with mine.
“Get a room!” an obnoxious voice states loudly.
With our lips millimeters apart, Shane and I both turn to see a young, good-looking guy standing there, carefully balancing two heavy boxes in his arms. He looks strangely familiar to me; I know I’ve seen him before. Confusion blankets my face as Shane pulls me to a standing position and pulls the strap over my head, relieving my sore shoulders.
“Hey Brandon. What’s going on?” Shane asks as he drops my bag and reaches for one of the boxes that is about to topple over. “I thought you were moving in over the weekend.”
Disappointment hits me like a ton of bricks. My eyes begin to flutter at the thought of staying here while this Brandon guy crashes here, too.
“I wanted to get settled in before the weekend. Yo, I’m going to have a party and invite some bangin’ girls.”
A party with bangin’ girls? I think spending some time at Jenna’s might be an option after all. I know she doesn’t mind, but I hate invading her space. While I’m usually comfortable in my own skin, Jenna has no problem walking around with nothing but her birthday suit on. Nothing at all. Nada. A muffled chuckle escapes at the memory of walking into the kitchen while Jenna made breakfast for her and her naked companion.
Shane glances at me oddly before offering words of advice or warning to Brandon. “You’re going to get evicted before the end of the month!”
I think about the notice I left on my bed. I’ve experienced it so many times before. Moving was never a big deal because we never had much. The move to another run-down apartment usually took one quick trip. I hate that I have to reach out to the landlord to see how much of a debt we owe.
“Brandon, this is my girlfriend Remy.”
After giving me a quick once over, staring at my boobs a moment too long, Brandon smirks. “Hey, what’s up?” He does a double take and narrows his eyes. “Do I know you?”
I shake my head. “Nope.” Internal sirens fire simultaneously when I realize that I have seen Brandon and some of his friends on Friday nights for several months. There are some guys you don’t forget.
I should open my mouth and offer to grab a box or something, but I don’t. I would much rather Brandon took his boxes, his party and himself elsewhere.
Just then both men turn and squeeze past my bike, continuing to walk down the hall until they reach the last door. Like a drink of cold water on a hot day, calm flows through me as a sense of relief releases with a quiet sigh.
“Hey, you coming?” Shane nods at me and then winks.
Not yet, but I sure hope to soon! God knows I’ve been distracted all day just thinking about it. I can’t wait to have Shane all to myself.
“Yep,” I suppress the laughter and offer a shy grin. I’m sure he detects the playful tone in my voice.
Brandon’s apartment mirrors Shane’s. I’m glad it’s at the end of the hall. I have no doubt there will be plenty of noise complaints from all the wall banging that will occur on a regular basis.
Within forty-five minutes, Brandon’s boxes are lugged. With subtle brushes of his hand against mine, Shane ignites a fire deep in the pit of my belly. When Brandon walks into another room, Shane pulls my body flush against his. Roaming hands and stolen kisses leave me wanton and desperate for him. We quickly say our goodbyes as Brandon stands in the doorway before turning back to unpack his belongings.
The door closes and reopens. “Yo, Shane. Thanks, bro.”
“No problem. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Shane calls back as he puts his phone to his ear and slings my duffel bag over his shoulder. Just as I begin to wheel my bike into the apartment, I catch Brandon’s eye and sly smile before he closes the door.
“Night, Remy. Nice tat.”
I look down and rub the small tattoo on my wrist and try to ward off the goose bumps along my skin. The sound of Shane’s voice as he ends his call pulls me away from the inexplicable feeling of dread.
“Did you carry this up here all by yourself?” he asks as he parks my bike behind the couch as I plop my weary body, kick off my sneakers and rest my feet on the coffee table.
“I did.”
“You should’ve called me. I would’ve gotten it for you.”
“From Southie, remember?” I smirk as I close my eyes, feeling physically, mentally and emotionally drained. When I reopen my eyes, I find Shane looking at me with a peculiar grin on his face, paired with raised eyebrows. Immediately, it dawns on me that he might not appreciate my feet
on the furniture. Some people don’t like that; some children get in trouble for that.
“Sorry,” I swallow nervously, and without delay, I remove my feet and lower them to the floor.
“You’re comfortable here… I like that.” Shane sits beside me and pulls my legs onto his lap. “I want you to feel at home.” With firm hands he begins to massage the soles of my feet causing me to hum with pleasure.
“You like that?”
I hum again.
“How about this?” he inquires as his hands move to my calf, slowly trailing around to my knee, pushing the material out of the way.
My legs fall open, accepting his offer as tiny circles make their way upward.
“What happened to your leg?” The brusque tone of his voice startles me. My eyes flash open and see the bruise that’s almost faded. The once purple mark is a shade of yellow.
“It’s nothing.”
His forehead creases. “It looks like it was pretty bad.”
“Eh…all part of the job I guess.” I smile tightly as I look away.
“Maybe you should find another job. Better yet, quit it! You’re always getting hurt.”
“I’m okay.” I didn’t think he ever noticed the small marks along my legs. He’s more perceptive than I thought. I just assumed that his beautiful blues focused on a different part of my body when we were naked in bed.
“Up you go!” In two seconds flat, Shane stands and pulls me with him.
“Where are we going?” I want to beg and plead to allow me a few more minutes of rest. I don’t think I could take another step.
“In the shower.” My head snaps up and my eyes meet his. As if I drank ten energy drinks, adrenaline surges in my veins and I stand, ready and willing to follow him. Long gone are thoughts of needing rest for my weary body.
Article for article, Shane and I remove each other’s clothes until my nipples are tight buds, my core drenched and his erection is stiff and firm. My need for him is indescribable.
The stark white bathroom begins to fill with steam as we step in and let the water rain down on us. I reach for the bar of soap, lather my hands and begin the torturous routine of running my hands all over his hard body. I pay attention to the thick bicep, lifting his arm to wash the solid black lines that sprawl across his ribcage. My thumb circles the rectangles of the inscribed dog tags. My shoulder rise and fall with a quick shudder.
