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

by Wright, Kenya

  “What happened to the store?”

  “Went out of business once CDs came out. Then Dad went to drinking. He might’ve spent more time in the bar than in our house. No bills got paid unless they were attached to liquor. Mom stopped being a housewife and went to work. I stayed in the basement for hours by myself, surrounded by thousands of albums that Dad couldn’t sell to save his life. A lot of these are the ones from my old house.”

  Like a skilled surgeon, he set the album on the player, moment by moment, as if not to scratch or ruin the surface. There was a delicacy to the movement. His fingertips didn’t touch, they tenderly brushed. His gaze never left the record like he was scared that if he looked away, something would be ruined.

  Was he like this with his painting? He’d done my image within hours, so fast I was shocked he’d captured me all in such a realistic way in so little time. He had skills in those hands, creativity dripping at his fingertips. But he also took his time. He was gentle and careful.

  I bet he’s a passionate lover. Not all romantic, but he’s not a rough lover. No way.

  He faced me and then laughed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “What?”

  “You’re just babysitting the blunt, man, and staring at me.”

  I rose and walked over to him. “I’m done. Take it.”

  “Not yet. Watch it for me.” He gestured for me to put it back to my mouth. “Give Mary Jane some love man. Give her a kiss.”

  “I’ve been kissing her all day, at some point I’m going to need to say fuck it—”

  “Naw. At some point, you’re going to need to fuck her. All that romancing must have your dick going crazy.”

  I shook my head. “Has anybody ever told you that your metaphors go out of the realm of proper use?”

  “Not many people are bold enough to say something like that.”

  “No?”

  “Nope. Just Saka.” He turned back around and turned a knob. Taking a small hit from the blunt, I stepped closer to check it out. The record began to spin. Its many lines formed a moving black circle of many that blurred as the rotating sped up.

  A low trumpet filled the air, so smooth and sexy I almost sat down and touched myself. I loved music, but this wasn’t just a song. It was a Crystal of sensual experiences. The notes rose and then lowered, sped up and then slowed down to a haunting place.

  “Supreme was all about experimentation in his jazz. You can never get the tempo the first time you hear him, but you damn sure can get into the song.”

  I picked up the album and checked out the cover. Supreme was a black man with graying around his huge afro. His skin wrinkled under his eyes. He wore no rings on his fingers but had several gold chains around his neck. He stood in front of a white background and played his trumpet.

  Kush’s voice shifted to sensual as if changing with the music around him. “Do you like women?”

  “Not really.” I set the album cover down and walked over to where he’d placed the painting of me.

  “Don’t touch it. The paint has to dry.”

  “I won’t, but I’m going to need you to not put this out to the public—”

  “We can talk about that later. What do you mean, not really?”

  “What?” I quirked my eyebrows.

  “I asked you if you liked women and you said not really.”

  “Well, I assumed you meant sexually.”

  “I do.”

  “Then, not really.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  I did my best to impersonation of his swaggerlicious style. “Hey, man. I like what I like.”

  “You can’t steal my answer.”

  “And yet, it fits me perfectly. I really do like what I like. It’s just that most of the time, no, almost all of the time, it’s men.”

  “And what about the time when it’s women.”

  “No.” I held up one finger and waved it away. “It’s not women. It’s woman. There’s one person that gets a little rise out of me from time to time, but that’s not strong enough to explore it.”

  “One woman?”

  “One.” I yawned and headed back over to the bean chair. “About that painting—”

  “Who’s the woman?”

  “She’s a childhood friend. Anyway, can we discuss this painting?”

  “It’s that Evie.”

  “Back to the painting—”

  “No, not now. We’re having a good time, and you won’t like the answer about the painting, and then you’ll storm out and leave. Then what will I do?”

  “Wait for Saka to come home, maybe.”

  “Who’s this childhood friend? Is it Evie?”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.” I got down on the bean bag and sighed. “Kush, I can’t let you put that image of me out. My father is...he’s pretty public. Not necessarily a famous person, but he has taken a lot of care and keeping his image up—”

  “Does he know about those scars?”

  “What?” I cringed. Every now and then, I forgot about them. I’d gotten used to the ache in my skin, the dread flowing inside of me. Malcolm’s darkness had seeped into my core. “No. I haven’t told my father yet.”

  “So he’s not in Miami, or you’re hiding from him?”

  “I’m not hiding from him. I’m healing.”

  “How?”

  “By...”

  “Smoking and lying on the floor of a dingy studio?”

  “Pretty much.” I stretched my legs out. “Look. All of that being said, I need you to give me the painting or destroy it or even—”

  “Chill.” He put his hand in front of him like a traffic cop stopping cars from moving forward. “Don’t even talk about destroying any of my art. I don’t get mad at a lot of things but fucking with my art is one of them.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “No, Pipe. We’re done with this conversation.”

  “You can’t just put that painting up. You need permission and—”

  “You gave me permission to paint you.”

  “I didn’t know you were famous.”

  He raised his eyebrows and laughed. “But, I’m Kush.”

  “You can’t make it public.” Another yawn fled my mouth. “And I don’t want to push this, but I can keep it off of a gallery wall. Why go that far?”

  “You mean you would make sure Daddy’s money kept it off the gallery wall?”

  “Maybe.”

  He laughed again. “Let’s say you did. It would pretty much be a contest of whose financial dick is bigger.”

  “My dad is packing.”

  “Kush is packing too.” He blew out three circles of smoke and then chased after them, chomping each away like Pac-Man. “Plus, you think that this is the first time my legal team would’ve had to address this?”

  Legal team?

  Even with his response, euphoria poured over me or maybe my brain finally got the message that I was high. A numbness lightened my flesh.

  I floated.

  “But,” Kush whispered, “you’re too goddamn beautiful to not show off. I would spend my lifetime battling anyone who wanted to keep that image quiet. You’re my muse.”

  I didn’t even have much fight in me to push the topic more. It had been a long day full of marijuana, beer, and Kush. One at a time wouldn’t have exhausted me. Altogether, and I was drained.

  At least I didn’t sit around the whole day feeling bad for myself.

  I leaned back and rested my head against the wall.

  They’ll be plenty time to pout tomorrow.

  As if Kush heard my thoughts, he corrected my schedule. “Tomorrow, I will paint Saka and you in a full nude embrace.”

  Taking a page from Evie’s book, I closed my eyes and muttered, “I’m going to ignore you right now.”

  “You have an amazing body, all curves and perfect angles. Carved muscle in the right places. And that face. Your lips. I saw you move in. When you first stumbled into that studio with t
hat dreary hood, all I could do was make out your lips. So full and kissable. I might’ve just lain in bed that night, painting them in my head.”

  More yawns came. I couldn’t control them. It was hard not to drown in sleep. In my head, I knew I had to get up and go. There would be no more discussion on the painting. Kush wouldn’t give up the idea, and I didn’t feel like battling it out now.

  Get up. Get...up…

  Kush’s words rode the trumpets tempo and began to rock me to sleep. “I made you an angel today, an injured one.”

  I’m no angel.

  I struggled with opening my eyes and gave up after several lackluster attempts.

  “What is more beautiful than a scarred angel?” Kush asked.

  “An angel that isn’t scarred,” I whispered.

  “Even if I hadn’t painted the thick mass of wings, people would’ve guessed that you were an angel.”

  I slumped into the bean chair and gave up on the idea of rising.

  I’ll just let the high go down, and then get up.

  “Those cuts are what make you unique,” Kush continued. “They separate you from the rest. I’m sure you were an embodied beauty before. Now, you’re an enchanting creature that can’t be ignored. Own it. You elevated my art by just standing in front of me.”

  No. That image is only beautiful because you painted it, not because it’s real.

  “What happened to the poor angel? That’s what they will ask when they stand in front of the canvas. They’ll want to find the person and kill them. They should too.”

  They’ll have to stand in line. Fuck. I’ll have to plan how I kill Malcolm tomorrow too. That’s right. Plan murder, pout, and smoke.

  A sigh left me. Really, it was more of an exhausted yawn.

  “Who wouldn’t want to hold an injured angel? Thousands would stand in line just to hug the enchanting being. After I reveal your painting, thousands will want to hold you. They’ll get on their knees and worship you, as they should. Those scars are not a memory of some fucked up person. They’ll be what triggered your passion in life. That’s what I want for my Pipe.”

  Your Pipe?

  I thought I’d asked the question out loud, but I drifted off into darkness.

  It was an odd dream. I sat at a white table. A large pound of marijuana rested at the center. Black walls surrounded us. None of them had windows. Naked, Kush was in the chair right across from me.

  “Why you just looking at me like that?” he asked.

  For whatever reason, I found it hard to move. “I’m looking at you because you’re naked.”

  “I’m always naked.”

  “You are?”

  “Always, my Pipe. Always.” He reached down to the floor and lifted up a huge clear pitcher filled with red bubbling liquid. “Dude, are you going to roll that joint or not, mon?”

  “What the fuck is that?”

  “Angel blood, man.”

  “Where did you get it from?”

  “From an angel.” He roared with laughter while I sat in confusion.

  “But...”

  “Never mind. I’ll roll it.” He poured all of the liquid onto the pile of marijuana. Steam rose from the stream of blood. A rank scent filled the air. The crimson stuff splashed onto the table, sprinkling drops onto Kush and me.

  I touched my face where I felt the warm drops and then studied the liquid on my hand. “You got this from an angel?”

  “Yes.”

  “He or she just offered?”

  “No way.” He slung the pitcher behind him and began mixing the marijuana leaves with the blood. The rank stuff smeared all over his hands and painted his fingers red.

  “Then how did you get it?”

  “I took it like I always do.” Kush licked the tips of his fingers and groaned. “I’m a taker. A thief, My Pipe. I steal and drain, injure and maim.”

  “You haven’t stolen from me,” I countered.

  “I have.” He reached down to the ground and pulled out a small hand mirror. “See. I stole you away.”

  I gazed in the mirror and screamed. What stood back at me was horror in the purest sense. I no longer had two eyes, a nose, and mouth. Instead, red and black worms moved continuously in the shape of what my head would’ve been.

  “I stole your face, without you even knowing it.” Kush laughed.

  “No!” I screamed.

  “Look at it this way.” He shrugged. “At least I didn’t cut you away like the other.”

  Sweating, I woke up in a dark room. Thankfully, I didn’t yell or scream. Jazz music played softly in the air.

  I’m fine. I’m okay. It was just a stupid weed dream.

  I blinked a few times to focus on the space.

  Where am I? This isn’t my bed. Where did I fall asleep?

  As much as I partied, waking up in a strange place wasn’t that big of a deal. I kept good people around me, ones that did their best to look after me when I couldn’t do it for myself.

  And then Malcolm came.

  I rubbed my eyes. Three lit candles lay in front of a record player. It was the only glow in the room.

  Kush’s studio.

  I scanned the space.

  But I thought I fell asleep on the beanbag.

  I looked down at the bed I lay in and frowned. Kush lay bare-chested in jogging pants and delicious on my right. That wasn’t exactly why I held my grimace. He had an amazing body—slim and strong, sculpted and a rich color of smooth skin. My cock reacted as it should, throbbing at the tip and hoping to be stroked. No. Kush’s semi-nudity wasn’t the problem. It had been a welcoming vision, after that nightmare.

  However, something else had shoved me off of the edge.

  What the hell?

  Saka lay nude on my left.

  When did she get here? How long have I slept?

  They’d put me in the middle of them but didn’t take off my clothes or anything else.

  Why not keep me on the floor, and why are they naked? I have to get out of here.

  Inch by inch, I scooted off of the bed and checked that I didn’t wake them. Once I got my feet on the floor, I hurried off to the door and paused.

  Should I take the painting? Yes. When could I do it again?

  I glanced over my shoulder and went with it, scurrying across the floor on the tiptoes like a devious mouse prowling the kitchen when the humans fell asleep.

  Take it. You’ve got it. Don’t wake him. Just go with it.

  It took no time. I lifted the big thing in my hands and got back to the door, all with the help of the jazz music to silence my footsteps.

  Where will I hide it? Can’t be my house that’s the obvious choice.

  Somehow, I opened the door without disturbing either one of them and hauled the painting out into the darkness, right as the sun rose.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jay

  In my dream, lights flashed all around me. People crowded my space. Their faces were distortions. Dull shades of brown blurred their eyes, noses, and mouths, no matter what race. They mumbled things and snapped cameras.

  “No pictures!” I waved my hands in front of my face. “Leave me alone!”

  They just laughed and crept closer.

  Buzzing sounded off in the distance. Footsteps boomed later. More distortions came, but these were larger, and their bodies leaned to the side. Some stumbled toward me, hooded in blackness. They didn’t have cameras like the first group, but they kept grabbing for my hands and pockets.

  “Get off of me! Stop!” I slapped them away and shoved others. “Leave me alone! Leave me alone!”

  A third pack of creatures prowled forward. They came in different colors of flesh and hair. Their long strands waved above their heads like snakes. Nude, huge breasts bounced on their chest. Things slithered under their skin. Ants crawled out of their mouths and nipples. Perfume lingered in the air, but there was an undertone of funk. Decay. Uncleanliness in a sense that the item had never been pure to begin with.

  My
arms grew tired as I pushed and batted at them all. They tried to get at me. Devour me. Take everything that I had. I wasn’t even sure of what most of them wanted, just that it was some part of me.

  My money.

  My face.

  My life.

  My talent.

  My soul.

  Sweat dripped down my face. I couldn’t move my legs. I stared down at them. My words dragged from my lips.

  “Please, just leave me alone.”

  They laughed and snapped more pictures as the big-breasted women drooled from their candy-red painted lips.

  “Get away from me.” I swatted the air in front of them. They didn’t do what I hoped. Instead, they giggled in unison and tip toed further.

  “Leave me alone!” I searched for an escape. On both my sides, a scary mob headed my way. From the front to the back, more muttered garbled words and took pictures.

  Above me, storm clouds represented an upside-down whirlpool. Swarms of gray cycled into the center of the sky’s abyss.

  As if on the football field, I revved up my energy, got into a running stance, and charged through the whole group. Several of them jumped out of the way. Others got slammed. When I stomped forward, a few fell to the ground, and I crushed their heads with my feet.

  “Get away from me!” I roared and continued to kick and march all over them.

  Lightning crackled in the swirling sky. Something buzzed around me. All the people I’d slammed and got on the ground, jumped up. Every crushed head blew back up to a regular, distorted one.

  “No!” I slowed down. “No.”

  The mumbling rose into the air, lots of jibber jabber over ramblings.

  Something told me to yell for my friends. “Pipe! Evie! Help me!”

  I twisted around. More creepy things closed the distance. No! No! Most had even bigger cameras. With each snap of their flash, I went blind for half a second and blinked through it all, so much that my eyes stayed closed more than open.

  And then things got worse. Those beasts with the breasts bit at my arms and legs. My clothes tore under their teeth. Why are you hurting me? Blood trickled from my skin. They lapped at those crimson beads, chewed and gnawed even more. Pain ground into my whole body.

  Screaming, I fell to my knees. I tried to guard my face, but it didn’t work.