The COMPLETE Coventon Campus Series: Books I, II, & III

by Wright, Kenya

  “Are you ready to show me that place down the road?” Evie kept her eyes on him, although throwing her question my way.

  “What place?” I asked.

  “The one far from here,” she said as if we’d really had that conversation. “Remember? Are you ready to leave?”

  “S-sure. I'm ready.”

  “Why don't you go to the car,” she said. “I'll grab the keys from Jay.”

  “Where are you two ladies going?” Uncle Kevin made a last attempt at being cordial.

  “Cynthia, are you ready?” Evie asked through clenched teeth.

  “Yes.” I checked the half-poured glass. “Let me just finish my mother's water and take it out to her.”

  “Naw.” Evie waved the butcher knife in front of her. “With all of your family here, I'm sure someone could make her another one, but definitely bring that bottle with you.”

  I clasped tighter to the vodka, darted around my uncle, and hurried by her. It wasn't until I departed from the dark hallway and passed the dead cats that my nerves stopped jumping in my skin. And when Evie captured my hand and pulled me into her warm embrace, that was when I actually breathed again.

  Chapter Eight

  Evie

  We drove, Cynthia and me, speeding by farms boasting rows of citrus fruit. Dirt kicked up behind the Cadillac wheels. When I returned the car to Pipe, I was sure he would kill me. Until then, I didn't care. I just had to get us out of that crazy house where uncles prowled after their nieces, mothers performed melodramatic breakouts, and dead cats with haunting eyes watched people come and leave.

  I checked Cynthia in my peripheral view. She leaned back on her side with a blank expression and stared off in the distance somewhere. I had no idea how to broach the subject. Should I even ask about what went down in the kitchen? So many thoughts littered my skull. I had tons of things to say, many words that most wouldn't even think to say inside a church. None of the ill things were directed at her, of course. They all targeted dear Uncle Kevin, the sick bastard that raped Cynthia when she was a little girl and had the nerve to try and convince her that she wanted it just as much as him.

  I should’ve gutted that motherfucker, just spilled his insides in that kitchen. How dare he? And what about her mom? Did she not think for a few seconds that that freak wasn’t a good person to be around her little girl? Did her mother even care? My mom would’ve put a bullet in his behind the first time he looked at me odd.

  My bottom lip quivered at the image of them earlier. I'd gaped at them both for a good minute without their realizing it. Tension thickened the area, and under it resided hot sex. Although she looked scared, Cynthia also seemed like she yearned to jump his bones right in that kitchen. I did my best to push that horror out of my chest.

  She damn sure isn’t asexual. Sexually misguided, maybe. Messed up in the head, definitely. But the girl does get aroused. I couldn’t deal with it, so I yanked the butcher knife from the counter. Why did I grab the damn knife again? Oh yeah, when the sick bastard said Cynthia had been mature for her age. Yeah. That's when I wanted to cut his dick off.

  I switched on the radio to get rid of the car's silence and hopefully crowd my brain with something else.

  They stood in that kitchen so close to each other just like long-time lovers.

  If I hadn't known the back story, I would've figured they were in some sort of relationship and were so serious I could hear wedding bells.

  Oh God, Cynthia's head must be so messed up.

  She didn't even move away from him when he came near her. She looked like a deer caught in someone's headlights as they raced down an old dark road. Fear radiated from her, fear and something else, something I couldn't even think about too long.

  Desire.

  In the kitchen, she displayed all the signs of an aroused woman—stiff nipples that pressed against her pink shirt, parted lips open in an oval shape as if the person yearned to moan out loud, and the worst part of it all, as soon as Uncle Kevin got close to her, she slipped her leg between his legs as if it was more of a habit than an odd reaction.

  How many times have they had sex? Goodness! Do I even want to know? No. Absolutely not. There is no reason for me to put more of this stuff into my mental computer.

  “Where are we going?” Cynthia faced me.

  “Far away from him.”

  She tossed me a weak smile. “We're about ten miles west of my house. Do you think that is far enough?”

  “Maybe. Hand me that bottle of vodka, please.”

  “Do you think you should drink and drive?”

  Do you think I can drive anymore after seeing that craziness?

  Of course, I kept my mouth closed. If she could deal with that uncle and walk around each day like nothing traumatizing ever happened, I could drive a damn car without whining from seeing them together.

  All this time I pegged Cynthia as weak and whiny, when she might be the strongest one of us all.

  A sign read, Harvest Park. I turned the car in. Lightning struck off in the distance. Thunder cracked around us. Rain drops glittered against the windshield as they dropped on its smooth surface. No one existed in the area but us. I parked in the first space on my left, shut off the car, snatched the bottle from her, and swallowed down the bitter liquid. Ugh. It burned my tongue and set my throat on fire, but it was just what I needed.

  I handed the bottle to her. “Here.”

  “I don't drink.”

  “Trust me.” I placed it between her thighs. “You drink now.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “Why do I drink now?”

  “Because you're dealing with some fucked up shit, and you're not doing anything about it.”

  “What should I be doing? What do normal people do after that?”

  “Drink, scream, cry, curse, plot his death. I don’t know. Fuck being normal. Just let it out.”

  She leaned back into her chair and stared forward. “I’m fine.”

  Well, I’m not.

  “Take a sip.” I gestured to the bottle.

  “But—”

  “We’re going to talk about this Cyn. I’m no trained head doctor, but we’re going to discuss this. And trust me, this conversation is going to make you wish you were drunk, so you might as well get a head start. Take a drink.”

  She picked up the bottle. “Who's going to drive us back if we both get drunk?”

  “Cynthia.” I looked her dead in her eyes. “We may never go back. Now drink up.”

  She gave me a sort of odd grin, brought the bottle to her lips, and swallowed. Her coughing ensued next. “This stuff sucks.”

  “Oh yes.” I took it from her and took an extra-long swallow. “But, it gets the job done.”

  “Okay. Wait. We can't both drink.”

  “We'll get a cab back.” I handed it back to her. “Or—”

  “We never go back?” She chugged some more and grunted.

  “Exactly.”

  “What about Jay?”

  My heart twisted in my chest at the sound of his name. “Fuck, Jay. He'll make it. Heisman Pimps always come out on top. It's the Heisman Whores that people should look after.”

  She laughed. It sounded strange coming out of her lips or maybe I’d just never really heard her truly laugh before. Maybe all the other times, she was faking it. The rain picked up, drumming an interesting beat on the hood of the car. Both of our phones vibrated at the same time. It had to be Jay and Pipe trying to contact us.

  “Shut them off.”

  Cynthia opened her mouth in shock. “What?”

  “Turn the phones off so we can talk.”

  Blinking, she gave the bottle back to me. “Will this be about my uncle because I would rather not talk about him right now?”

  “No.” The fact that a buzz was already coming down on me told me two things: I really didn't have any alcohol tolerance, and the last thing I'd eaten was Pipe's Ecstatic Treats. “Yeah, we're going to need someone to pick us up later.”

  She laug
hed again. It rushed out of her loud and with no restraint. She coughed into her hand and chuckled some more. Here was someone who didn't laugh as much as they should have. Her cheeks lit up. Her eyes beamed. Her body shook with joy as she covered her mouth with both hands and shifted her hysterical giggling into tears.

  Shit.

  “Cynthia?”

  She waved me away and wiped the tears from her eyes. “No. I'm fine. It's just…of all the people to come to my rescue in my life, it was you. I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “I didn't rescue you. I fronted. I put on a hard face as if I was going to do something if he wouldn't let you leave, but inside I had no idea what I would do. Probably drop that big knife and scream for Pipe, who probably would’ve rushed in and screamed for Jay.”

  “No.” She giggled. “You would've punched him in his gut. You have a good arm on you. Why aren't you boxing or something?”

  “Because I would rather be at a chalkboard going over a mathematical calculation than in somebody's sweaty ring full of disease and bacteria as I smack some poor female around so people can bet money and cheer.”

  “It doesn't sound like you have much respect for the sport.”

  “None at all.” I rested the back of my head against my chair. “We have to talk about what happened.”

  “Why?”

  “Don't you think we should?”

  “No.”

  “Cynthia, you have to tell somebody, and you can't just let him take control of the situation like that. At the bare minimum let me show you how to punch and promise me that you'll knock him square in his balls.”

  “It's not that easy.”

  “Then we do whatever it takes to make it easy for you.”

  She laughed to herself. “That simple?”

  “Yes.”

  “I'm not you, Evie. We're two different people. Opposites. You're strong and sure of yourself and so intelligent that you can think through things so fast that Jay and I can never keep up.”

  “Okay, give me that bottle. Now I know you're beyond fucked up. I’m not that strong at all.” I tried to take it from her. She moved it out of my reach. Sighing, I shook my head. “I'm none of those things.”

  “You're all of them and so much more. That’s why Jay is so crazy for you.” She didn't look my way. Instead, she returned to drinking and studying the rain. The storm encased Pipe's Cadillac in a blanket of wind and wetness. The vehicle rocked back and forth a little.

  “I hate the rain,” she said. “What about you?”

  “I love it.”

  She twisted my way. “Really? Why?”

  “When I was a little girl and it would rain, I would run outside and dance in front of my house, jumping in puddles and rolling all over the ground. My mom would run out of the house, stand on the edge of our porch, and curse me out.”

  “Why?”

  “Usually she would've just recently pressed my hair. Since I didn't have a relaxer, once the rain hit my strands they would thicken back into this massive afro.”

  “Does your hair still do that?”

  “It does. I still don't have my hair permed and couldn’t care less how kinky it got from the rain. But it will get kinky real quick from the water.”

  “When you were a kid, how many times did you dance in the rain?”

  “So many times I can't even give you a number. Pretty much anytime it rained, I did it. By the tenth time, my mother ignored my wet prancing in the front yard and slung a few towels by the door so I wouldn't track any muddy puddles into the house. I remember one Sunday after church, our neighbor asked my mom why her little girl would run out and tap dance during a thunder shower. Mom simply replied, 'Girl, sometimes my baby needs to dance in the rain to clear her mind.'”

  “Did it clear your mind?”

  I considered her question. “Yeah. I think so. It's been so long since I've done it.”

  Nodding, she set the bottle down on the floor next to her. “Okay. Let's do it.”

  “Do what?”

  She opened the door and ran out. “Let's dance in the rain!”

  Shit.

  “That was not the point of the story!” I ran after her.

  Icy drops slipped against my skin and saturated me. I could barely see where the hell she was. The storm’s noise was an orchestra of drums battering away, this intoxicating melody of nature and the power of God. It scared and thrilled me all at the same time. Wiping water out of my eyes, I spotted her dashing up a small hill.

  Really? I should let her crazy behind run up there and bust her ass. That’ll show her.

  But I didn’t because I was glutton for punishment. This is all karma from me messing with Mom when I was a kid.

  I raced up there after her. Cynthia’s laughs helped me track her with ease. The closer I got to her, the more her image became clearer—a slender shape of femininity within sheets of rain. She was beautiful, even when wet and stricken from her uncle’s twisted affection. She captivated even me. It was why I always remained on edge when Jay looked at her, why I never felt safe in our relationship.

  Surely Jay saw what I did.

  She turned over and over into this wacky circle. “Dance with me!”

  “Cynthia, I liked it better when you were emotionless and just sitting in the car.”

  “Too late. I’m drunk and high and… ”

  “Crazy. I think you were looking for the word, crazy.”

  She captured my hands and turned me around. “You’re pretty when you’re wet. Of course, you are pretty when you’re dry. You’re always so freaking pretty.”

  “Yep. You’re drunk.”

  Giggling, she held me closer to her. “What type of dances can you do?”

  “The kind that involve being dry and warm.”

  “Boo!” She had to yell over the storm. The rain had picked up. Our clothes stuck to our bodies. Wind pulled and pushed our hair around our faces. I tried to let go of her hands to push my hair off of my cheeks. Cynthia wouldn’t release me. “Can you salsa?”

  “I can follow.”

  “That’s shocking. I thought you only led.” She wound her hips and guided us back and forth into this crazy rhythm that should have made me feel ridiculous for being on a hill in the middle of a storm doing a drunken salsa. Surely, we were breaking some sort of law. At the bare minimum, we disrespected the beauty of the dance because I’d definitely stumbled a few times and Cynthia was all over the place. Mud sloshed around us and sank into my sneakers. Wind whipped around my hair.

  “Okay. We’re done dancing.” I climbed out of her grip.

  “No.”

  “Goodness, you are worse than Pipe.”

  “Never.” She ran off.

  “Cynthia, I will leave you out here!” I screamed into the darkness.

  “No, you won’t!”

  “Jackass!”

  “Dickhead!” She giggled.

  “This is the last time I ever get you fucked up.”

  After I chased her around the car for five minutes to try and get her back in, slipped, and busted my behind in a ditch that just so happened to be near where I parked, I gave up. She ran to me and helped me back up.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Really? I’m wet. My butt hurts. My hair, clothes, and sneakers are ruined, and you ask me if I’m okay.”

  “Are you?” Her eyes widened.

  “When I sober up, I’m going to punch the shit out of you.”

  “That sounds like a big yes to me.”

  “Okay.” I rose from the ground. “Let’s get back in the car, party girl.”

  “No way. I like your idea about letting loose in the rain.”

  This must be what Jay deals with when it comes to Pipe and me doing crazy things.

  “Evie! Let’s enjoy this!” Cynthia screamed and rocked her hips from side to side.

  Standing in front of her, I shielded my eyes with my hands to get a better look. “Let's get back in the car.”

  “I think
I'm still high and maybe drunk.”

  “You're dancing in the middle of probably a severe tropical storm. You're definitely high and drunk!”

  She clapped her hands over and over to some beat that she must've thought sounded outstanding in her head. “Okay. I'm going to rap.”

  “Oh, fuck no! See, that's when we call the guys. This is one of those signs that you may have alcohol poisoning or something.”

  “Rapping in the rain may indicate I have alcohol poisoning?” She twirled around. “I missed that part on those lovely pamphlets in the clinic's waiting room.”

  “Yep, it's right there between dancing off-rhythm in the rain and listening to any of Pipe’s advice.”

  “Then we're both damned.” She embraced me in a tight hug. “Evie? What’s wrong? You’re so tense and stiff right now.”

  It felt weird for her to be so close to me without Jay around. Without him, we never really interacted. With him, we remained on the other side of his body, sharing what we could and hoping to not overstep the other. I’d experienced the same odd sensation in the rain but couldn’t put my finger on it. Now I could. Her touching me was difficult to get used to on so many levels that I didn’t want to analyze or think on.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “What are you thinking about? It looks serious.”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re lying. Do you regret coming out here with me?”

  Her drenched blond strands glued to her face. I wiped them away as the rain decreased into more of a pitter patter, reminding me of when I turned off the shower, yet still some water still dripped away. “No. I don’t regret it.”

  “Thanks, Evie.” She tightened her hold on me and rested her chin on my shoulder. “Thanks for everything.”

  “I didn't really do anything.”

  “You gave me normalcy. You tried to make it work.”

  “Not for you. For Jay,” I blurted out. “Wait. I'm sorry.”

  “No. That's fine.” She ran her fingers through my soaked hair. “Your hair is so curly right now. Your head is covered in all of these pretty little curls.”

  “Yeah. It'll be puffy and curly until I blow dry it out.”

  She gazed into my eyes. “You're beautiful.”