by Tara Spears
“I have to get the keys. Don’t move, I think you tore some stitches.”
I looked at my side and sure enough I was bleeding. A single heavy drop was making a slow traversal towards the waistband of my PJs. There were little curly black hairs shooting out of my wound where the stitches had unraveled. How the fuck had I managed that with his shower toy? The thing didn’t have a sharp edge anywhere on it. Not that I had ever used it. I was just assuming, considering it was meant to go up a person’s ass.
Justin un-cuffed me, and my arm fell to my side. I rolled my wrist a few times then my shoulder, as he slid to the floor and inspected the damage.
“I guess the handcuffs worked,” I said, rubbing the tingle from my wrist.
His eyes met mine. “Yeah, they worked.” He shook his head. “I’m going to have to empty your nightstand, obviously.” His fingers quit prodding my wound, and he rocked back on his heels. “How the hell did you tear two stitches with a butt toy?”
“Talent. Isn’t it supposed to be in the bathroom?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Mine is. I forgot... with everything that happened. Since you spend so much time in your shower, I thought you needed a buddy.” He grinned salaciously through a brilliant blush. “It really is my favorite toy.” He looked so damn innocent when he blushed. It was becoming a major turn on for me.
I chuckled. “I thought I was your favorite toy?”
“Yeah, well, you’re not always here when I’m horny, and you keep fucking hurting yourself.”
Oh my God did he really say horny? I laughed, and his cheeks flushed deeper when he realized he had, indeed, used the word horny.
“I’ve never had anything but dicks and fingers up my ass, so I’m not sure I’ll ever use it, thank you anyway.” I glanced at my side, “Do I need to go back to the hospital?”
He shook his head. “No. I wish I had my stapler, but it’s at school.”
I cringed at the idea of staples making Justin’s eyes glitter mischievously.
“You’re a fast healer. I think some steri-strips should hold you together until it closes back up.” He stood up. “Provided you stay away from knives and butt toys for awhile.” His finger pointed at me. “Stay... right there.” He went into the bathroom.
“So, does that include your dick too?” I called.
He didn’t answer me.
I reached above my head, feeling around until I found the toy in question, and grabbed it. Sure enough there was a smear of blood on the egg end. Why I hadn’t used the suction cup end I didn’t know. It would have done more damage. I tossed the thing onto the nightstand and noticed the drawer cracked open just enough my hand could reach in. It was a good thing I hadn’t found a pen.
I rubbed my eyes with my palms. Why hadn’t I remembered that? I remembered finding my mother... that was in my head all the time. I had been suicidal, that I knew, but an actual attempt? I couldn’t remember ever going that far. However, I had dreamt and acted on it twice now, so obviously I had. Why hadn’t I remembered it the first time? I always remembered my dreams. Well, until my mind locked the memories back up anyway.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Justin brushed the hair off my forehead.
“Nothing, I’m fine.” I leaned my head back against the bed as I straightened my legs.
His hand dropped, and he sighed as he wiped alcohol across the cut. I hissed but otherwise stayed quiet. I had my elbow lifted so Justin could access my stab wound easily.
The wrist I had supposedly cut was right in front of my face. I turned it towards me and squinted. I’d never noticed a scar there, but if I turned it just right, I could see a paper thin line right in the crease of my wrist. It had been a terrible attempt based on the miniscule scar.
I turned my other wrist into the light. One of the creases was quite deep. I stretched the skin and turned it towards the lamp. A ruckled opaque line slashed through the indent.
“What are you looking at?” Justin asked, pulling his eyebrows together.
I shook my head, letting my hands fall into my lap. He grabbed my chin, forcing it up. His eyes narrowed and lips thinned before he let me go.
“Fine. If you want to lock me out...” He gathered up the tabs from the steri-strips and headed to the bathroom to put everything away.
“I tried to kill myself,” I said, stopping him at the end of the bed. “Twice, maybe more. I don’t remember. This,” I gestured to my side, “was Willie stopping me after my mom died.” I ran my fingers over my wrist then looked up at Justin. He was staring at me with a wrothful expression. I shook my head without meaning to.
He set everything on the bed then came over and fell to his knees. I lowered my blurring eyes from his piercing angry blues.
“I, um... couldn’t even do that right.” I hid my face in my hands. For some reason I was overcome with grief over my failure.
Justin shook me, all the while saying, “Don’t...” over and over. He hauled me against him. I shook with the knowledge I wished I wasn’t here, and sobbed over my own cowardice to end my living nightmare. It wasn’t like me to feel this way but I couldn’t seem to stop.
Justin was angry enough for us both. His body was tight, his heart pounding, as his pulse raced under my cheek and hand. I let him rage for me. Even though I needed to be furious with myself for thinking this way, I didn’t think I could handle another emotion right this minute.
He dragged the bedding down on top of us. Soon, he had us wrapped up together lying in the shadow cast by the bed. I glanced at the window high up on the wall, and saw a black rectangle. Still night.
I heard Justin whisper, “You gave him to me, please don’t take him away.”
Then my exhausted mind devoured my anguished self.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The moment my eyes opened, I knew I had been moved. I was on the bed and the artificial floral scent of Kelly enveloped me. I closed my eyes, and tried to feel the joy in knowing these things, these stupid little normalities others took for granted. But I couldn’t seem to find it among the mire of harsher emotions my mind still held me in.
Kelly’s soft body scootched against my back and she began combing her fingers through my hair. “I was about to wake you up, but you beat me to it.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know anymore. I’ve only ever wanted to be normal, you know?” I sighed dejectedly, hugging the pillow tighter.
“Trey, nobody’s normal. Even those that appear normal are messed up. Every person is cracked in one capacity or another. Your cracks just run deeper than some.”
It was sweet, what Kelly was saying, but I knew better. I wasn’t merely cracked, I was broken, and irrevocably so.
“Where’s Justin?”
“He went out to his studio before the sun came up.”
“And he asked you to baby-sit me,” I said flatly.
“He was worried about you.”
“And you’re not concerned about him?” I was being nasty and I needed to stop.
“No. He uses his studio... he paints when he needs to think. It’s his sanctuary.”
Sanctuary; somewhere you are safe from danger or hardship. What a crock. There was no refuge from that which lived inside you. I growled into the pillow. Self-pity had never gotten me anywhere, and I knew it. Even so, this morning I seemed to be on a crash course with my own suffer-ability. Self-pity be damned, Willie be damned, my mother be damned, and I was definitely damned. I just hoped after his little prayer, Justin wasn’t. That might imply I’m salvageable too. One can only hope. Now to remember where I put that mote of hope.
I climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom. “Thanks, Kelly,” I said over my shoulder, meaning for more than only this morning. Kelly seemed to be Justin’s glue, and he would need every drop if he chose to stick with me. And for some reason the stubborn sonofabitch loved me, so I knew he would.
“There’s coffee in th
e kitchen. Justin might like some.”
I stopped the door from closing and mustered a smile for her. She returned a knowing lopsided smile of her own. The girl was really quite smart.
I smoked on the back deck as I waited for another pot of coffee to brew. I glanced up at the silver-blue sky. The sun was already working on burning off the fog. The morning was quiet save for the birds flitting around happily. Well, except for those two who appeared quite pissed at each other. The jays dove at one another, screeching in their rough voices, before they finally broke apart and went their separate ways. Even if the weather hadn’t received the memo, it was spring, and I was sure they were arguing over a mate.
I took a deep breath, and caught the wet, mildewy scent of mushrooms. I loved Western Washington, where on any given day you could smell life. Right then I knew why my suicide attempts had failed. It was the same reason I stood here enjoying the cold morning.
I admired the unpredictability of life, I always had. And no matter how rough things had been, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss a moment of the time I had shared with Justin, both the beautiful, and the tragic.
I headed back inside.
Hampered down with raspberry toaster strudels, a thermos of coffee, travel mugs, oranges, and a fifth of Baileys, I made my way to Justin’s studio. I could hear The Counting Crows blaring before I even reached the door. I hesitated, nervous over what I might find inside. Kelly said this was his safe place. Even so, my hand trembled as it clicked the latch and pulled the door open.
My relief gushed out in a rush of air when I saw Justin standing at an easel, pallet balanced on one hand, paintbrush in the other. He glanced at me over his shoulder before bowing his head. His shoulders noticeably tensed for a moment, then he tapped his brush onto the pallet, and went back to the canvas before him. The music boomed, vibrating the windows.
I set the bag on his chair, and moved his sketch pad off to the side so I could doctor up our coffee. He had been drawing. Several sheets were rumpled beneath the sketch from the other night. Even though I wanted too, I refrained from prying. If he wanted me to see them, he would show them to me.
I busied myself making our coffee, and used more Bailey’s than coffee. I set the plastic container holding the strudels near the wall heater then sat down at his desk. The air surrounding me was tainted with the smell of thinner and alcohol, and I glanced over my shoulder noting the jars of muddy fluid on a shelf behind me. Next to them, on color splotched rags, rested thirty or more paintbrushes with assorted haired and shaped bristle heads.
The music diminished abruptly, drawing me back around. Justin had stopped painting, and was staring at the floor. I could see his shoulders rising and falling with every breath. His brush hung limply, from a hand at his side. He stood there for several minutes, as unmoving as a statue. I didn’t know what to say, or if I should say anything. So I sat quietly, afraid if I moved the tenuousness of us would snap.
“You promised me,” Justin finally said.
“I plan to keep that promise, Justin.”
His head lifted enough so that he could peer at me with one blue questing eye.
“Have I ever told you the story of kitten and why she is so important to me?” I knew I hadn’t, and he shook his head confirming it. I leaned my elbows on the desk and scrubbed a hand across my face. I downed a gulp of coffee then began kitten’s and my story of conversion.
“I was on my way home from school when I saw her at a wrecking yard. She was a hulk, nothing more, as much orange rust as red primer. Someone’s project that had been abandoned, and left to rot. She didn’t even have axles. She was resting on her frame on the ground. But she called to me, and I had to have her. They were firm at four hundred and I left utterly dejected. I didn’t have that kind of money, and I couldn’t ask Willie, he’d never let me have her, let alone give me the scratch.
“I won’t tell you how I finally earned it, but I did... every damn cent. On my way home from school I’d stop at the junkyard and talk to her.” I smiled at the memory. “She talked back, telling me she wanted to be mine, that she’d never let me down, and she’d always be there for me. I know, a bit Christiney, but I was thirteen and needed a friend.”
Justin came over, setting down his pallet and brush, and dropping something that looked like a cake keeper over it. Without a word, he took his coffee over to the daybed and sat down. He looked a bit like a downtrodden puppy, but at least he was paying attention to what I was saying. It might seem like rambling but I did have a point to this story. I took a sip from my mug then continued.
“I was only a few dollars away from rescuing her, and I was leaning against the chain-link telling her just than, when one of the guys yelled at me that the hulk was sold so I could quit dreaming. I was so upset. More than that. I felt betrayed.” I gulped down more coffee then looked at Justin. “Willie arrived home stressed, and when he came to me that night it wasn’t a good thing. I wasn’t in the mood, and he very much was. In the end I had a split lip, sore ass, welted back, and I was pretty bruised up.”
Justin’s hand clamped over his eyes as his head drooped. I ignored his reaction and went on, knowing the time had come for me to open up and be honest with both Justin and myself.
“I had to stay home from school the rest of the week. That Saturday I worked the Ave for Willie. I was pretty much on auto-pilot, still upset about kitten. I wasn’t paying attention and got hurt. I ended up home a few more days. The school office believed I was a sickly child thanks to Willie’s stories, so they never questioned. Anyway”— I took another swallow of coffee— “my first day back was a week later. A Wednesday. On my way home I passed the yard and kitten was still there. The sale hadn’t gone through because her cancer was spreading. I offered them three hundred delivered, and they laughed. Four hundred delivered and I had a deal. I earned the last eighty in half-an-hour, returned, and bought her.
“Willie was pissed, but he didn’t have her hauled away. Instead he used her to keep me in line, threatening me with her disposal if I became unruly or sullen. I did everything he wanted in order to keep her.” I glanced at Justin. “After a bad day I could go out and sit in her, talk to her, and I felt better. She never pitied me, or judged me. She kept me sane. She also gave me a reason to live. I wanted to see her as badass in real life as she was in my mind.” Justin smiled at that, and I smiled when he relaxed against the pillows.
“It took me two years to get her on her tires and another before she was running. I finally finished her a year ago.” I stood up, walked over, and sat down next to Justin. His eyes shifted to me, waiting. “I owe that car my life. She was what I needed at the time... but, right now, if it came down to my having to choose between her and you, I would choose you.” I touched his hand, and he glanced down then curled his fingers around mine. I felt my whole being relax with that small gesture. “I’d, um, really appreciate it if you don’t ever really ask me to choose though, okay?”
He stifled a snort of laughter then sniffed. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ tell me you wish you had died again.” He glared at me, but the tears catching in his lashes ruined the effectiveness.
“I promise, if you promise me you will stay alive as long as I’m breathing.”
He nodded, and I narrowed my eyes at him. “I promise,” he said.
“And I promise to stay with you through the good and the bad for the duration of the summer.”
He sniffled again as he wiped his eyes. “At which time we reserve the right to amend our agreement.”
I nodded, working down the lump in my throat as I leaned over and kissed his temple then his cheek. He turned and captured my mouth in a searingly tender manner.
I pulled back an inch. “I give you the right to smack some sense into me when the need arises,” I told him.
“And I give you the right to cling to me as much as you need to.”
I grinned against his lips. “I thought you were the clingy one?” I whispered.
“And I th
ought you were the strong one,” he returned softly.
We kissed for several minutes in a needful kind of way while touching each other reassuringly. It took my breath away. Justin took my breath away. How a caress down my neck could make me sigh, his hand clasped around my waist gave me strength, and a stroke along my thigh made me feel desired without feeling dirty. But when he caged me in his arms it was the most precious of all, because I felt safe.
After we ate our sticky breakfast, Justin went back to painting and I laid down on the daybed to watch. As the minutes passed into hours, Justin’s vision of me on my knees in a pool of my own blood came alive on the canvas. The depth with which Justin could paint was incredible. From my position it was as if I were peering through a window at myself.
He stepped back and stared at his work then cast a few strokes here and there; little nuances I knew made a difference even if I couldn’t tell. He finally moved back, lowering his pallet and brush. I rose rather stiffly from the daybed and walked up behind him. He looked pensively over his shoulder at me.
“Is the slack jaw a good thing, or a bad thing?” he asked.
“A good thing... I think. It looks so fucking real.” Up close you could tell it was an oil painting, but if I took a step back it came alive. “It’s ugly and perfect.”
He set his palette on the rug then turned me a quarter turn. I shucked in a breath at the painting perched against the wall. He had tucked it on the floor next to the daybed in an effort to hide it from me. More than likely until he could assess my mood after my sex toy debacle.
The image was from this morning, only he had changed a few things, and the result was painful to look at. I was twisted in a way that made me look hunched, while Justin was on his knees curled into me, with a hand clasped around my neck. My cheek rested against his shoulder, as my splayed fingers dug into his bicep. We were naked and cuffed together. You could see one of my eyes crunched tightly closed beneath a fringe of my hair, while tears cascaded down the side of my nose and over my tight lips. Even from where I stood gaping, I could see the torn stitches and the glob of blood traveling down my side.
