“Man, we are the counselors, the parents, the damn nurse and doctor… all of it. The streets were always calling me; I was looking for something, and thought I’d found it there. I was good at being bad, so I needed something that would give me that same high, if you will.”
Tomas nodded in understanding.
“Frederic helped me brainstorm, and he said, ‘Why don’t you become a police officer?’ I looked at the joker like he was out of his damn mind.”
Tomas burst out laughing again.
“You and I were different. I always wanted to be a police officer.”
“Shit.” Nick smirked and shook his head. “Not me. Frederic said there weren’t enough good cops around town because they were either indifferent due to being shit on by the community and underpaid for all the work they do, or they were bad people overdosing on control and power. Initially I thought, ‘hell no.’ That is like cheering for the enemy, you know? But then, after a few more discussions with him, I realized it could work, and I could be good at it after I found out what it involved. He said I’d need to go to school, to college, to get the best opportunities beyond entry level, but that I could get a loan or I’d probably qualify for some grants, too.
“He said I’d be able to support myself financially. That was important to me, to be self sufficient. I could help people like myself…just how I envisioned it.”
He drew quiet for a spell, replaying when the realization hit him that he could make a go of this.
“I could help my mom out with her bills, too. She could stop working so hard and she’d be proud of me because she’d have a son who was there to protect and serve her. I hated that she couldn’t even walk home at night after work; she had to waste money on a bus when it wasn’t even that far away, but it wasn’t a safe area. She needed a son she could respect. I wanted her to feel safe for once in her life. I don’t think my mother ever felt safe, Tomas.” He lowered his head and shook it. “She just pretended to because she didn’t want me to grow up being scared.”
“My dad was like that, Nick. He didn’t want me to be afraid so he never showed fear.” The man shrugged. “At least, that’s how he explained it.”
“Yeah, machismo.” They both looked at one another, sharing smirks and nods of understanding.
“You went to John Jay, right?”
“Yeah, that’s where I went for my criminal justice degree. By then, I knew I was there to be a cop, and then, hopefully, work in homicide.”
“Alright man, this is a bit off the topic, but how did you get the name Pretty-Boy Nick?! Captain likes to call you that.” Tomas chuckled. “You’re not prettier than me though.” He guffawed, enjoying his own joke.
“I told you a long time ago that I wasn’t telling you.” Nick scratched the back of his neck, growing more comfortable with the visit.
“Come on, man! It’ll be our little secret.”
“Yeah… like you can keep a secret.” Nick rolled his eyes. “Anyway, here’s what happened.” He picked up his breadstick, broke it in half. “One time, he caught me goofin’ off. We were doing our exercises one morning in the academy and he’d dropped in. He took a liking to me so I guess he used to watch me a bit more than I realized. Anyway, we were running the block and these girls walked past. A couple of them were looking at me, and I was looking back at them, and before I knew it, the guys had left me and I was talking to one of them, trying to get her number. Well, Captain O’Sullivan saw me and he was like, ‘Hey Niiiick!’ Real loud, right? ‘Pretty-Boy! If you don’t get your ass away from those girls, I’m going to pound that pretty face of yours into the ground.’ And then ‘Pretty-Boy Nick’ was the name that stuck with me during the academy. Some of the guys I graduated with still call me that to this day. I fucking hate it.”
Tomas said nothing, but he could see his smile from behind his cupped hand. And then, he burst out laughing.
“You piece of shit.” Nick laughed lightly. “Don’t ever call me that, man. I’m serious.”
“Pre—”
“I’ll knock your damn head off.” Nick jabbed a finger in his direction. “And then use it to go bowling.”
“Such violence!” Tomas taunted with a devilish grin. “What are they teaching you in here, huh? I thought you’d be more civilized.”
“What are they teaching me?” His lips twisted in a crooked grin. “How to be able to stand myself, man,” Nick popped a piece of bread into his mouth, rolled the salty softness around and around.
Light chatter filled the place along with the sound of a door swinging to and fro.
“You know, when Captain made that announcement to us, that you’d be gone, he called me into his office privately afterward. He told me you had a bit of a drinking problem….asked me if I’d noticed, knew anything. I told him of course not,” Tomas grimaced. “It’s strange, you know? I feel kinda like I never knew you, like you only showed me the part of you that you wanted me to see. I felt like…” he looked down into his hand, pressed his forefinger into his palm and contemplated the sight, “Like I no longer knew what part of you was real and what part was fake. Who am I talking to right now, Nick? Is this really you?”
They were quiet for a moment or two.
“All of it was me, Tomas. All of it. I promise you that. Wasn’t anything phony going on… but a lot of hiding was taking place, I give you that.” Nick swallowed his last bit of bread and ran his hand through his hair. “You saw everything. Everything except the part I hated about me…wasn’t any point in showing that off. Everything I’ve told you from the day we were assigned together until now has been the truth.”
Tomas nodded.
“You do look good. I meant that.” He sat a bit straighter. “You look healthy. I didn’t realize you were unhealthy before to know the difference.” He gave a slightly nervous chuckle.
“I look better. I feel better, too. Part of that isn’t just because of the treatment I’m receiving…”
“Oh really? What is it then?”
“I met somebody.” He didn’t know what caused him to say it, offer it up like a true confession. Maybe it was because his dear friend felt slighted in some way. He imagined he had every right. Maybe it was because he wanted to offer another piece of himself, a private selection, a personal slice of soul that no one else had—as an act of good faith.
For quite a while, Tomas simply glared at him. Forehead creased, he leaned back in his chair, teeter tottering back and forth.
“You met someone in rehab? In drug rehab?” The man’s lips curved in a curious grin. “Some things about you haven’t changed at all.” He chuckled.
Nick nodded then checked to see no one was within earshot.
“Yeah, I really like her though, Tomas. This isn’t my usual hit and run type of shit. She’s different; she’s special. Keep this to yourself, by the way. Don’t want anyone knowing right now.”
“But you said I can’t keep a secret.”
“I was just kidding. You’re the best…and I trust you. I hope that no matter what happens when I get outta here, we can start over, remain close. This time, in an open and honest way.”
“Yeah…I hadn’t planned on anything else. You are my boy ’til the day we die. So, tell me about this girl. What makes her so special?” He grinned.
“What makes her so special?” He looked down at his empty tray then back into Tomas’ eyes. “She’s everything I’m not. Everything I wish I were. And everything I am…”
…Friday evening…
The night sky was a rich amethyst dotted with happily dying silver stars. It reminded him of his carefree days in preschool when his soft-spoken kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Dowell, would pull out a cushiony felt board and place the white full moon high into the blackened Velcro sky for after-snack story time. Nick looked around in awe. Not only were his eyes blessed, but so were his ears. He enjoyed all sorts of music, but rarely heard much Hip Hop in the hallways of Firststone. He hadn’t heard rap music in so damn long it seemed, and here
she stood with a small white speaker attached to an mp3 player, playing, ‘Try Me’ by Montana of 300. His right leg twitched a bit; the song had a nice beat but he was a shower dancer, a solo performer. He couldn’t hold a move, bust a move, or save a move if his life depended upon it but, in his mind, he could smoke a dance floor better than some of the crack heads he broke bread with at lunch time. He felt it was downright shameful that his Puerto Rican blood hadn’t saved him from such a fate. Hell, maybe his father could dance too, and it was just him being gambol handicapped and all. He’d coined himself dance challenged, in need of a fundraiser or two.
The woman slid the speaker into her pocket, muffling the sound, but it remained discernable. Walking over a snowy tableau for two had never felt so welcoming, inviting, invigorating. In the distance, he could hear cars going by on a nearby road, but couldn’t see them, only the whisper of their engines. Their gloved fingers intertwined as the freshly fallen snow crunched beneath their sluggish strides.
“She stepped up my group therapy,” he said on a sigh.
“She was supposed to. You’re out of Phase I, now.” She paused to scratch the bulb of her nose. “Phase I is just the educational part. At first, you only get a few group sessions.”
“I like that because I get to see you more now.”
He didn’t miss her smile at his words. They hadn’t discussed his recent declarations, but when the woman reminded him about their Friday night saunter earlier that morning, he knew that she, in her own way, had accepted his terms…but more importantly, she was in agreement, and his sentiments were mutual. Their steps sounded in unison, matching up well with the tune dancing in her pocket. Alone, he had two left feet; together, they had rhythm…
“She wants to focus on my relapse prevention. I’m in jeopardy at this stage,” he stated, discussing what was directly on his mind.
“You are, it’s true. This is a dangerous time for you.”
She said it as if he were going off to war, as if once in the swampy trenches, rapid gunfire would spray.
He sighed, and mulled over what was at stake.
Everything.
“I’ve always wondered why I chose alcohol, you know?” He glanced at her then turned away, their hands linked a little tighter.
“Why not methamphetamine, pain pills…hell, even crack. And I think now I know why.” She turned and looked at him as he spoke, giving him her full attention. “I did it because it was legal and socially acceptable. I messed around with cocaine to try to increase the buzz, but I never consistently stuck with it, you know? It was a bit strange, I guess.” His brows gathered as he tried to dissect himself, use the woman as a captive audience to tear his sensibilities apart and then place them back together. “It didn’t always give me what I needed, you know, the feeling I was looking for.” He shrugged. “I didn’t even like how beer tasted when I was a kid; I was just trying to fit in. I only liked the flavor of my mom’s rum, but then, that all changed. After a while, I really liked it; I loved it, even.
“I was faithful to my drinking alright. I remember being at work and daydreaming about getting home and getting sloshed. I lived for the alcohol. That’s fucking pathetic.” He took notice of the way her black scarf was wrapped tightly around her chin and neck. All he could see were the bridge of her nose, those luscious lips, and her dark, incandescent eyes.
Even wrapped up like a mummy in mourning, she was a sight to behold.
Damn… just look at her.
“It’s not pathetic.” She broke into his dreams of her as swirls of smoke from the cool air curled from between her lips. “We do what calms us, what makes us feel normal. That’s what this is all about; just trying to feel okay, Nick. I don’t believe from what you’ve shared that you were trying to fuck up, be pathetic, or hurt yourself. You were just trying to forget.”
He swallowed down her veracity, consumed it, hoping it would stick to his ribs like thick raisin, walnut oatmeal, and chunky beef stew. He wanted to gain weight and insight from it, let it become a part of him, have that shit sink in and remain forever and a day.
“We need to address what I said to you the other day.” He cleared his throat, slicked his hands into his pockets.
She paused, took a long, hard look at him.
“Alright.”
“You’ve been quiet, but I am learning through my recovery to be more vocal and say what I feel, not keep it all bottled up like I’m accustomed to.”
She nodded in understanding.
“Now look, I meant what I said, okay?” His voice increased in volume. She looked down at her boots, but he caught the slight smile that brightened her face before she hid her expression from view.
“I have some pretty strong feelings for you.” He paused, turned her around towards him…made her look him in the eyes. They locked gazes. He took in the sight of her, his heart beating faster, intense. “I’m serious. My recovery and this experience with you is important to me.”
“I have feelings for you too, Nick. I meant what I said, too. You didn’t shock or upset me the other day. I just needed to think about what was really happening, process it all.” He squeezed her hand, and swallowed his delight at her confession. He looked to his left, then to his right, and noticed two people walking not too far in the distance. He hated them at that moment, hated them hard. He quickly released her hand as a precaution.
Hurry the hell up!—he shouted it in his mind, and it almost slipped out of his mouth.
“Taryn, you’re my new drug of choice,” he joked, a crooked grin on his face.
She looked away and laughed, and he liked it. Her voice sounded good, like the best song ever played, and so he stepped in a bit closer, to make sure he heard it in stereo. After a short time, the two people walked past, gave a head nod of acknowledgement, and kept on their rounds. As soon as they were out of sight, he pulled her scarf down, completely exposing her full, soft lips…
“Mmmmm!” Gripping the back of her head, he clutched her hard in the frigid temperatures as if she were a lavish, fur coat and he, a butt naked man in need of her unrelenting warmth. Then, he bent down and kissed her with all the passion he had inside, pushing his body into hers, and driving her back against a tall, barren tree to position her just how he wanted her.
“Ahhh!” She gasped.
Her back slammed sharply against the bark as he kneed her legs brusquely apart, knocking them open as if he was about to frisk her good and hard, make her show him the contraband. He settled against her warmth, situating between her thighs.
She feels so goddamn warm!
“Uhhh, God…” She sighed, her eyes rolled back, and she broke their kiss. Snatching her chin back towards him, he took her lower lip into his mouth and sucked it hard, then softly, as his fingers sprawled across the back of her head. Moving in slow, controlled thrusts, he grinded between her legs, rotating just so, back and forth… giving her a tiny taste of what he could do.
“Ohhhhh….shiiiit,” she slurred as she moved her pelvis against his timed rotations until they were moving to the same sensual, illicit rhythm. Before he knew it, they were in sync to the beat of her music, too…back…and forth…back…and forth… He anchored himself just so, ensuring that the length of his hardened cock rocked against her clit at each beautifully tortuous grind and rotation. Unable to resist a second longer, he slicked his tongue deep within her wet, hot mouth, indulging on the taste of her kiss…
Goddamn!
“Quiero tener sexo contigo!” (I want to have sex with you)
Yeah, he wanted to have sex with her—bad!
He draped his hands around her hips, twisting his groin faster and harder into her as his eyes flashed open, catching the woman staring at him. He could see it in her expression…
Yeah, she felt that, too…
His cock rose to the damn occasion, pushing into her zone, trying to tear away the material of her damn coat, burrow through her jeans, grind away her panties, and slide inside her damn pussy…
> “Uhhh!” They moaned in unison, falling apart in each other’s arms. With frantic fingers, she dug into his hair, pushing and pulling his strands as he dry fucked her against the big trunk, wishing he could in some way slip inside of her right then and there. “Mmmm! Quiero probarte!!!”
“Ahhh, what are you saying?”
“I said I want to taste you!”
“Mmmm! Oh…God…Ni…Nick…” She broke away, her eyes glassy, her breathing harsh as her chest frantically rose up and down under the layers of her clothing.
“What?” He didn’t stick around to keep looking at her. Instead, he buried his lips in the crevice of her neck, making her shudder and coo as he trailed his tongue along the side of her neck while, with his hand, he explored her shoulder, keeping her oh so near.
“We gotta…we gotta stop.” She panted, suddenly aware of her surroundings. He ceased his kissing and looked into her eyes once more. “We’ll get busted.” She added ‘no doubt’ for good measure. The woman could barely catch her breath as he maintained his position, still grinding against her, churning hard and slow, hoping she’d suddenly change her mind.
I bet her clit is swollen and her pussy’s raining… I want to touch it…
He felt her stiffen beneath him, and he paused, looked into her eyes… They danced with trepidation. At that, he abruptly ceased all movement.
“Alright, okay.” He carefully readjusted her scarf, then took her hand, and they began to walk forward, putting the sexually agonizing scene behind them. His dick strained and pulsed in his damn jeans, feeling betrayed, throbbing with need, wanting an explanation about this madness.
“You’ve got a little head, you know that? Felt like a crabapple in my hand.”
She burst out laughing and slapped him playfully on the shoulder.
“Shut up! You’re so rude!” She laughed a bit louder.
In the Nick of Time Page 21
