by Tara Oakes
“They’re starting,” she points over the hedges to the patch of bare sky that holds a million twinkling little stars.
The first firework sets off, launching high, with a stream of sparks following it, arching at an angle and then finally bursting. The multicolored little explosions set off pretty regularly, dancing and whirling high above.
It gives her something to pay attention to, something to focus on.
The last three days have been tense, been different around here. We haven’t talked about the comment she slipped out when telling Dawson what to do and what not to do with Angel… the things I couldn’t do for her when she needed them.
Instead, we’ve tiptoed around it, pretended it hadn’t happen, pretended it meant nothing. But, clearly, it did.
When you’ve got a closeness with someone, something that’s been there for years, you know how to read it. This shit don’t read right and we’re both just skating around it rather than having to be the one to bring it up.
I know she’s not bringing it up because she probably feels guilty for letting it slip out. I haven’t brought it up because I’m afraid what else will come spilling out once the floodgates are open.
Even our sex life is starting to suffer from it.
I may not be able to stick my dick in her yet until the doc gives the all clear from the birth, but that don’t mean we haven’t made up for lost time in every other way we could think of.
When you’re locked up, without your woman for so long, your body changes. It’s kind of like wanting the one thing you can’t have, just to fucking torture yourself some more.
I had three pictures of her in my cell, and I used them the best way I could. Every single day I’d hold one and stare at it, studying it, thinking about her. I swear I can close my eyes and see each one of those pictures as if they were right here in my hand. I’ve got them memorized. Every little freckle. Every single eyelash.
The way her one tooth is pointier than the rest.
The little dimple near the one corner of her lip.
At night, the photos served an entirely different purpose.
Those were the times when I missed her in ways only a man can miss his woman. Those were the moments when my body felt like it was gonna fuckin’ break, like it was missing a limb of its own without her next to me.
Sex had always been a huge part of our relationship. I’ve always wanted her, always needed her, always had her.
Until I was thrown into a cement cell and couldn’t have her.
That’s when I’d stare at her picture in the little bit of moonlight that would shine into my cell from one of the wire covered windows and imagine she was there with me. I’d trick my body, trick my dick into thinking she was doin’ things to it.
A guy learns to jerk off pretty young, figuring out what makes his body feel what it needs to quickly get the release it wants. When you’ve got nothin’ but time though, time where you’re hurting and missing the one person you never want to be without, you learn to find ways to cope.
Getting my body to come was never an issue. I could do that with my eyes closed and just a little spit since lotion was hard to come by in the pen. Getting my mind to think it was something other than what it was, that took some practice.
I’d stare at her picture, and, before long, I could see her begin to move in it. She’d be laughing, or smiling, avoiding the camera lens just like she would always avoid looking right at me when she thought I was watching her.
My hand would then suddenly start to feel like hers, touching and moving, making my dick come to life.
I’d tighten my grip and convince myself it was because I was slipping into her, feeling the tight wetness that was a substitute for what I really wanted. I relived every single time I’d every fucked her, replaying the details in my mind.
There was the first time, that was my favorite to relive, in her small bed with the stuffed animals thrown to the floor that weekend her parents went up to the lake and left her home to study for her midterm.
Then, there was the time right after our first big fight, the time she told me to go to hell and never call her again, when she thought I was fuckin’ around on her because I’d broken some plans to hang out at the last minute. Turns out, I was just doing a job for the club to earn some extra cash to buy her a birthday present and didn’t want to tell her why I was bailing.
Once I did, though, she took back all the evil things she’d said and called me by letting me have her for the first time bareback. That was the beginning of the end for me. The second I felt her sweet pussy, skin on skin, without some stupid piece of latex in between, I was done for.
It was like heaven and hell all mixed together.
Heaven, because I still know to this day that nothing will ever feel as good as she does. It was also hell, because now that I’d had it, I knew what I’d be missing when I didn’t.
Those pictures were some of the only things that got me through the nights without her. The second I saw her for the first time in the hospital the night I was released, even though she was all covered in sweat and she was more exhausted than I’d ever seen, it was still the most beautiful sight I could ever imagine.
Because she was real.
She was more than just a picture.
Haven’t been able to keep my hands off her since. Maybe that’s my way of reminding myself that it isn’t a fantasy, that it isn’t one of those dreams I had to use as a substitute for her for all those months.
Every single night since, I’ve been holding on to her tight. I needed to feel her skin, to smell her hair, to feel the heat of her body. As long as I could feel those things, I knew it wasn’t just my mind playing tricks on me, and that I wouldn’t wake up in a cold sweat still in my dark cell, having tortured myself with a dream.
She’d cling to me, too, as if needing the same reassurance.
That was, until two nights ago.
I’m not even sure she realizes it, but she inches back now, as if she’s pulling away. Or pushing me away. I’m not sure which is worse, which of the two would destroy me more.
“They’re pretty good this year,” I comment on the firework show.
Her chin is angled high, watching the chandeliers of falling lights fade in the sky. Every time one of them bursts open, the light brightens up her face, making her skin look all warm and alive.
Her eyes sparkle like a mirror for the intense array of colors falling down.
It’s breathtaking.
“Yeah. I wonder if they’re gonna do the same big finale at the end as last year? Remember it was like a—” She stops herself mid-sentence and her jaw drops open.
No. I don’t remember. Because I wasn’t here. She watched them alone.
Her mouth snaps shut and I can feel her body tense. “I should go check on Lu. The noise might be upsetting her.”
Before I have a chance to grab around her waist and hold her close, she jumps up and marches toward the house.
There’s a huge cluster of light and loud booms in the night sky as a collection of fireworks are set off at the same time, a sign that the show is coming to an end.
Doesn’t matter. I’m not watching anymore. I’m watching my lady walk away from me. She climbs the three cement steps to the back kitchen entrance, and I can see through the light streaming out of the windows that she lifts her left sleeve to wipe along her face.
And it kills me.
Literally kills me as my heart squeezes tight and stops beating knowing she’s crying. Baby doesn’t cry. Not even when she was in the throes of labor, pushing, and cursing at me for knockin’ her up and makin’ her have to feel the pain she was in. Not even when she sat in the courtroom listening to the charges, or when she stood up with me when it was time to hear the judge give the sentence I’d taken a plea deal for. She didn’t cry then, but she’s crying now.
She didn’t ask me to follow and I’m positive she doesn’t want me to, but I have to. This shit can’t fester any more than
it already is. This is the kind of toxic crap that can ruin a marriage, that can taint it to the point it can’t ever recover.
I leave the fire pit to burn itself out and toss my empty beer bottle into the garbage can on the side of the house near the kitchen door.
She’s standing at the sink with her back turned to me, scrubbing furiously at something. The baby monitor is quiet and the little screen shows that Lu is keeping still, sleeping, unaware of the firework show that would probably wake any other person up.
My boots make thick sounds on the wooden floor, and I know she hears me, that I’m behind her. She doesn’t say anything, though. The whooshing from the water coming out of the faucet is heavy, masking any sounds she’s making and I can’t tell if she’s still crying or not.
I don’t know what to do, how to make this right.
I don’t know if there’s even a way to make this right.
I just know I have to try.
“We gotta talk about this, Baby. You know it’s true.” I tower above her, standing behind her hips, but not touching.
Her shoulders rise and falls as she shakes the water free from the pot she’s just cleaned and sets it down on the drying mat.
“Baby. Stop.” I still her arms and turn her around to face me. “Talk to me.”
Her beautiful brown eyes roll. “What are you talking about? I talk to you all the time.”
Baby’s not the mushy type. She’s more of the “I’ll just deal with it” kind. Still, there’re things that can’t be dealt with if they’re not said.
“Yeah? Then talk to me about shit that really matters. Not about stupid crap like what you’re making for dinner, or what time you’re going out and coming home, or what bill needs to be paid.”
Her eyes turn hard. “Stupid shit? You think that’s all stupid shit?” She’s revving up and not in the way I like. “That shit is called real life, not like you’d know.”
Here we go.
I don’t say anything. I know better not to. She needs to get this out.
“I’m the one that was left here to worry about making dinner. I’m the one who had to worry about making sure the bills got paid. Me. Not you. So, I’m sorry that all this “stupid shit” is inconveniencing you. Try living with it for a year by yourself and then tell me how you feel about it.” She pushes me away, hard, and stalks away.
Now, most men would know better than to follow their woman at a time like this. Especially one like mine. But, I can tell she’s not done, and if the least I can do for her right now is be a punching bag for her to get it all out, then that’s what I’m gonna do.
Her small body turns sharply at the wooden railing to the foot of the stairs and she steps up but turns with her finger pointing, having thought of something else to say. “You know, it’s not like I expect a “thank-you” or anything, oh, I don’t know, for carrying around your child, or having to go to every single one of those appointments to sit in the waiting room and watch everyone else there with their husband. I’m not even asking for a damn “thank-you” for bearing that little girl so you can hold her and smile at her and have her look up at you the way she does when I was the one who did everything for her this past year. All by myself. Alone. And it doesn’t seem to fucking matter! It doesn’t count!”
The rage in her voice is causing it to shake.
“You come home and it’s supposed to be like nothing happened? Well guess what? Something did happen! I fucking manned up and did everything that needed to be done while you were gone. So, no, don’t bother to “thank” me, but don’t you dare call it “stupid shit” again! You hear me, Stitch? ‘Cause I swear if you do, you’re gonna be runnin’ back to that jail cell looking for protection from me.”
The baby wails and I can’t help but wonder what took her so long. Baby’s been hollering like a banshee for minutes now.
“And you can take care of her tonight. While you’re there you might as well sleep in the nursery too, because you’re not sleeping in our bed, I can promise you that. You even try it and I’ll cut your damn balls off myself. Then I’ll be the one thrown in the pen and you can see what’s it’s like on your own.” Her footsteps are heavy, stomping on each stair until she’s reached the top.
I wait until I know she’s rounded the corner and hear our bedroom door slam shut until I know it’s safe to proceed.
In all fairness, that wasn’t even half as bad as I thought it’d be, as I’d been imagining it would be, this last year being away from her. I know I deserved it. Hell, I deserve more, but that don’t mean I’m gonna go lookin’ for it right now.
Baby’s a tough chick. If she says she’ll cut my balls off she means it. I’m gonna give her some space tonight and feel it out in the morning. Hopefully my balls will still be intact.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DAWSON
I’m a good liar.
I keep telling myself that, over and over again.
If I have to, I can lie my way out of this, although I’ve never even told Angel a lie.
“You don’t get within a hundred feet of them, you hear me?” I make sure both Tina and Gryff understand.
They nod in unison.
This is gonna backfire, I just know it.
“You got it, D. After we see them, I’ll drive Tina back to Canyon Ridge myself,” my V.P. tries to reassure me.
It doesn’t work. “You make sure you text me first so I can get the papers signed before you take off.”
These are very simple instructions. Even a fucking monkey would be able to get this right. Unfortunately, I’m not dealing with a monkey even though I wish I were. I’m dealing with Gryff, who’s got his dick in a tizzy over the very chick he’s supposed to keep an eye on.
The screen of my phone lights up again with another text from Angel wondering where I am. “I gotta go. Text me if you have any problems. But… don’t have any problems, you feel me?”
Gryff silently agrees.
The carnival is packed, with barely enough room to squeeze through the large groups bustling between attractions.
This is the time of day when this place sees the most action, right before the fireworks are set to start. The whole town comes out for that part.
“Dawson!” I hear my name being called and search to find the person responsible. I’m at least a head taller than most of the crowd so it isn’t difficult to spot Lillian, Angel’s mom, waving me down.
She’s standing next to Earl, the guy she’s been dating, sharing a huge stick of pink cotton candy between them.
“Hey, Lillian. Earl. You guys seen Molly?” I always use Angel’s given name when around her mom. Just out of respect although the woman doesn’t seem to mind her daughter’s new nickname.
A pink candy covered finger points over toward the Ferris wheel. “Over there. Sasha’s getting her face painted.”
I nod when I see the two of them giggling as whiskers are painted on Sash’s plump little cheeks, finishing off a cat theme.
“She looks just like Molly at that age. There was one Halloween where I dressed both the girls up as cats. Brings back memories…” The woman’s voice trails off and I’m sure that although the little trip down memory lane started off all well and fine, it’s left her with a pang when she realized she was also talking about the one daughter who isn’t here.
Well, actually, she is, but Lillian can’t know that.
A sudden sense of paranoia sets in and I decide I should probably corral Lillian together with my girls to keep from any of them bumping into Tina on their own.
“Hey,” I pretend I’ve just had an idea. “Let’s get some pictures of you guys all together. Come on.”
I look back over my shoulder as we head toward the face painting station, eager to make sure Tina is far enough away not to blow her cover.
Other than Lillian and Angel, I’m not worried about anyone else here recognizing the woman. Their small family isn’t originally from Riverdale, with Angel and her mom only having moved here for a
fresh start and to get away from the douchebag drug addict that Tina decided to have a kid with so he wouldn’t try and take Sasha.
“Dawson!” Sasha jumps up in her seat and nearly causes the woman painting her face to mess the last whisker.
Angel moves to my side and wraps an arm around my waist. “Where ya been? I thought you’d be here hours ago?”
Yeah. I thought so too.
“Business,” I kiss her sticky lips. Apparently, everyone’s eating cotton candy today. Tastes good though, so I help myself to another kiss. “You guys eat supper yet?”
“All. Done.” The artist exclaims as Sasha impatiently leaves.
“We had hot dogs! And popcorn!” The little kitten reports.
I look to Angel and she shrugs her shoulders. “How could I say no?” She looks past me to the woman cleaning her paint brushes. “How much?”
“That’ll be ten dollars.”
I peel off a twenty and tell the girl to keep the change.
“Come on, let’s go ride the slide now!” Sasha takes my palm in one hand and Angel’s in the other, leading us to the tall ride with a growing line.
I wink over at Angel as Sasha struggles to try and pull us along faster.
“One.” I begin the count.
“Two,” Angel adds.
“Three!!” Sasha nearly yodels her scream, and we lift her high from each side, swinging her up off the ground. She giggles and begs for us to do it again. So we do, all the way over to the slide, higher each time until her feet are nearly dangling above her head.
“Yipee!” She calls.
I see light flashing.
“That was a good one!” Lillian calls while holding up her phone as a camera. “We’ll have to make sure we frame this one.”
I’m sure they will. My once bare walls are now covered in framed candid pictures of the three of us.
“You two go ahead. I’m gonna sit this one out,” Angel decides once we reach the front of the quick moving line.
