Beautiful Liar

by J. Jakee

  ***

  I couldn’t sleep that night. Maybe I had too much sugar in my tea. I kept having nightmares about Dominic, a train, and his bloody hands that were gory compared to the other night. In the dreams, Dominic was running and sometimes skipping through a meadow. He was laughing and pointing towards a train in the distance. While he pointed, his hands got bloodier and bloodier. Eventually, large chunks of his hands began to fall off.

  I shuddered as I jerked from my sleep for the third time. My room was pitch black aside from the little bit of light that peeked beneath my door. A nightlight we plugged in the hallway for Dominic. This time I tiptoed down the down hall to check on my baby brother. He was sleeping peacefully. The cuts on his hands still healed. I kissed him on the forehead and climbed back into my bed. The dream returned. Dominic was running through a meadow laughing and singing my name. He sang my name in a blissful baritone key as large chunks of his hands, once again began falling off. With each chunk fallen his voice got higher, and higher. When he hit a soprano note, I jerked from my sleep.

  “Nola! Damnit!”

  When my eyes got into focus, I saw Alicia standing over me with her arms folded. Saturday’s sun was up and birds were chirping.

  “What? Are you dead already?”

  I pulled back my comforter and jetted down the hall to Dominic’s room. It was empty and his bed was made. I walked back into my room. Alicia had her hands on her hip. Her lips were pressed together tightly and her eyes were like daggers. I returned the exact look and asked where my baby was.

  “They were leaving as I was coming. Nobody’s here but me and you.” She rolled her neck as she spoke. “We need to talk.”

  I ran my hands through my hair and stretched. My eyes felt heavy, my voice was groggy, and I was still shaken up by my eerie dreams. The last thing I wanted to do was have a conversation with Alicia, who was already pissed off, by most likely Derrick again. I pointed my thumb to my door.

  “Well, you need to wait for me downstairs so I could at least brush my teeth and get outta this t-shirt.” I was wearing one of Trav’s old tees. It fit me like a sloppy dress designed for the morbidly obese. It was a V-neck, so if I wasn’t careful, a boob would surely pop-out. There were a few tiny holes in the sleeves, but I loved the shirt. It was comfy.

  Alicia wasn’t having it. “You think I care about your t-shirt?”

  She had been dropping hints the entire time, but it wasn’t until I heard of her tone of voice that I realized her wrath wasn’t for Derrick. It was for me. “You think I care about your teeth? You’re about to get bust between your teeth.”

  At first, I just stood there, trying to make sense of what I had just heard. Then, I laughed. I couldn’t help it. When did little good-wife Alicia become thugged out? Fueled by my laughter, she pointed her finger to my face. “I could have knocked you out stone cold while you slept, but I told myself, ‘I’ll be a woman about it and let her speak her piece.’ So, Im’ma ask you one question and one question only.” Alicia stepped forward. “Did you pay Villain to go out with me?”

  Not only did the woman have the audacity to confront me in my home in my bedroom, while I wore nothing but a beat-up T-shirt, she questioned me like she was a boss. Maybe I would have responded differently if she hadn’t done that, but because she did, I let my words slice her.

  “Yeah I paid him, and I had to beg him. Why are you mad? Nobody told you to smash Villain. And it’s not my fault that my brother got bored with your washed-up vagina.”

  CLOCK! Alicia’s fist connected with my face.

  My neck snapped back as I fell backwards against my dresser. My vision was blurry, but I had enough sense to swing with one hand and use the other one to reach for something to hit her across the head with. She managed to grip me by my hair and I felt myself being yanked from one side of the room to the other side like a rag doll.

  Seemed like the more I scratched her hands and punched on her arms, the tighter she locked onto my hair. She was on top of me on the floor of my bedroom entryway when I saw a pair of tan A.P.C. shoes and navy slacks approach. Alicia’s weight was lifted off me. I sat up just in time to see my father guiding her downstairs. She was crying and yelling, “She tried to sell me like a prostitute! She treated me like a prostitute! … Your son is a cheater and your daughter sold me like a prostitute!”

  My bedroom was a wreck, and my favorite t-shirt was blood stained. I was in my mirror examining the cut on the side of my swollen eye and dabbing it with toilet tissue, when I felt my father’s presence at my door. “Dad, I think I need you to go to Walgreen’s for first aid. I used the last of it on Dom.”

  “Take yourself.”

  I looked at him. His chest was puffed up, and he was red with fury like he was the one involved in the fight. “What? How? I can barely see.”

  “You’re that bitter of a person. You ruined your life and now want to ruin marriages? Take yourself.” He seethed, “and you deserve every bit of what was given to you.”

  My father turned away, but I followed him down the hall and into his office. “No, I didn’t ruin my life. You ruined my life.”

  “Get out,” he commanded with his back turned.

  “You ruined my life when I was four and you pushed my head into the toilet bowl, remember?”

  My father swung around and pointed his wrinkled finger in my face. “Lies!”

  “I was trying to lift my head back up, and you made me knock my tooth out when you forced my head back down against the porcelain. You made me lie to the doctors and lie to the family. You made me tell them that I tripped. You think I was too young to remember?”

  My father’s wrinkled face and flabby jaw trembled. “I said get outta my office!”

  “You ruined me at age five when you left me at the gas station in the middle of that snowstorm.”

  “You snuck outta the car.”

  “That’s what you told mom, but we know the truth. I remember the truth. You left me. You sent me in the store to buy a bag of chips, and I watched you from the window. You left me!”

  My voice cracked. I felt myself about cry, but I held it together. “And then, when you picked me up, you told me not to cry because I was a ‘Victor, not a victim.’ You ruined me at age six, when you made me wipe Derrick’s piss with a paper towel every time he had a bad aim. You ruined me with the constant name-calling and limitless confusion with the ‘I love you, but I can’t stand you’ comments.”

  “Who’s gonna believe that? No one will believe that.”

  “Then, after the mental torture, you always showered me with gifts and money just to keep me quiet. Or, maybe you were paying me to forget? Your money definitely can’t erase the multiple times you almost killed me but failed.”

  My father’s voice boomed throughout the house as he yelled, “I SAID GET THE HELL OUT!”

  CHAPTER 30

  Less than thirty minutes later, I was on Silas’s bed. He was the only one who picked up my call. I only had enough time to slip on a plain white T-shirt and jeggings before he arrived. My hair didn't stand a chance, and at that point, I didn't care. He ran to a pharmacy by his home, scooped me up, got us some Thai take-out, and drove us to his laidback, regular house out in the Mt. Airy section of Philly. I was surprised that he came. Thought he was still mad at me. Instead, he spoke to me as if our altercation never happened. He was only concerned with my fight with Alicia and the following details.

  When I got in the car, he touched my cut and kissed it. Kind of like a father would do. I smiled. The frustration and boiling anger I felt for Walter Victor lifted from my spirit and evaporated above our heads. That's when I knew that Silas and I were good. I didn't know what to expect when I hopped in his Infinity, but I was desperate and prepared for an argument. Nothing was worse than being trapped inside the house with my father. When Silas pressed his lips against my bruised eye, I knew he wasn’t going to bring up Wednesday. Not a drop of grudge tainted this man’s tall muscular body. Then again, how could it
when his mother is wickeder than Maleficent? He has forgiven even her.

  He had two dozen fully bloomed white carnations waiting for me in his bedroom. He split the flowers into two vases on each side of his bed, where we sat directly in front of each other while he aided me.

  "It looks like she got you with her wedding ring. You gonna press charges?" Silas asked while he dapped me with peroxide.

  "Yeah, right. Walter Victor is her key witness."

  "I'll make it better." I watched Silas’s mouth moved and his jaw flexed as he pressed down on the gauze.

  He was taking good care of me, but it was hard for me to feel completely appreciative; I wanted Ronnie. I wanted his hands. I wanted to be with him on his bed not Silas’s. The only reason we were up there was because his downstairs area was being renovated. Otherwise, we'd be on his couch where it would be less tempting... I suppose.

  He wadded up the bandage wrappers, tossed them in his trash basket, left me in his room for a few minutes, and returned with a light pink boa and an easel. He also brought with him that familiar slanted sinister grin from Hightower’s Diner. "I want your body. I want it raw."

  I nearly choked, "You are THE raunchiest Christian I know!"

  He set up his easel and canvas and opened a large kit that looked like rolling luggage. It was filled with pastels, colored pencils, paints, and all other kinds of art junk.

  "Not in a sexual way," Silas reassured as he aligned his supplies onto his tray. "…yet."

  He tossed me the boa. “Take off your shirt.”

  Something about the look in his eyes and the command in his tone turned me all the way on. Still, it wasn't enough to get me to be his artistic subject - not with a bruise between my lid and brow the size and shape of Madagascar. I resisted.

  "Is this what you say to get up a girl's skirt? ‘Let me paint you a portrait?'"

  Silas raised his eyebrow and looked serious when he said, "Usually I don't have to say anything."

  "I don't want you to draw a picture of me. Look at me. My hair isn't fixed. Plus, I look like Spot the pup."

  Silas laughed. The sound of it tickled me. Once he got ahold of himself he said, "Nah... You look... real. I like you better this way."

  I stood up, turned my back towards him, slid off my shirt and bra, and wrapped the boa around my bare shoulders and breast.

  "Turn around," he commanded softly.

  I started towards him. As got I closer, I could hear him breathe. I felt him watching me as I ran my fingers along his kit, closely admiring the hundreds of colors. An unopened bottle of metallic silver body paint attracted me the most. It stood out from all the pastels and all the dull colors. It was desperate for attention and longing for appreciation and respect. Unlike the rest, it couldn't blend in even if it tried. It was surrounded by so many hues, yet alone. I pulled it out and dipped my fingers in it. It was smooth, exotic, soft, yet bold. It was dark yet bright, and it shined as it coated every one of my fingertips, wrapping itself around fluidly dependent on my touch.

  Silas took my wrist, and wedged his fingers between mine. Now the metallic silver coated him too. He wrapped my arms around his neck and gently kissed them as he guided me to straddle his lap. With my breast pressed against his chest, I could feel his rapid heartbeat through his shirt. He sucked in my bottom lip, then slid his tongue in with ease like liquid. Our body heat rose, and so did self-control. There was metallic silver on his face, my waist, my tights, his pants, his bare chest, and my bare thighs. Then it transferred to his sheets as I laid with his pillowcase gathered between my teeth. There was a metallic silver mess all over our sweaty naked bodies all afternoon and into the evening. We only rested to catch our breath and start again.

  ***

  The jarring ringtone I used for Ronnie caught my attention while I was on top of Silas. My phone vibrated against the vase of carnations and when I reached for it, Silas locked his hands on my waist.

  “Yo... Whoever it is…they can wait.”

  I looked down at him and tried so hard to regain focus, but I couldn’t - not when Ronnie was ringing my phone. It was as if something clicked and I didn’t even want to be there anymore. I felt ashamed, dirty, and guilty. I released Silas’s grip and climbed off. I grabbed my clothes, my phone, rushed into his bathroom and answered just in time.

  “Ronnie.”

  “Nola, sorry I missed your call earlier. It got hectic for me all day. You won’t believe I’m checking my phone for the first time since this morning.”

  I smiled at the sound of his voice. “You’re fine.”

  “You good?”

  I looked at my naked self in the mirror. I had a bruised eye, matted hair, paint and sweat on my body, and moist passion between my legs. No, I’m not alright. “I had a little situation earlier. I’m cool now.”

  “Alright cool. By the way, I’m in your neck of the woods.”

  I almost rose my voice, “Are you??”

  “The God’s Tabernacle Worship Center.”

  “Oh. Never heard of it,” I said while slipping on my jeggings.

  “I’m guest speaking tonight. Come out. It starts at six. And, anyway, you owe me for forcing me in that wing joint.”

  I glanced at the time on the phone. I had only about 1 hour and 30 minutes to get decent and cute. That was not enough time.

  “I really wish I could I’m just tied up. How about we grab a bite to eat afterwards? Your pick and my treat...”

  Ronnie took a moment before he responded. “I don’t think I can handle a late night. I have Sunday worship service in the morning.”

  His rejection burned me. “Right… I understand.”

  Silas was sitting on the edge of his bed with just his boxers on, and his face was buried in his hands. He picked his head up when he felt my presence. “I feel bad…”

  “Me too.” I feel like I cheated.

  “God’s conviction… It’s real isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, sure is.” Whatever that means.

  CHAPTER 31

  “I’m sorry, what? Who did you say this was?”

  I took the phone off my ear and looked at the phone number on the screen. It didn’t look familiar, and it didn’t help that the hooded dryer I was sitting under made it difficult for me to hear.

  “Can you hear me now, Sister Nola? I said this is Deaconess Michelle Camper from Worship Way Baptist Church. You joined over a month ago in April. And well, it’s June now. We haven’t seen you in any of the new members’ classes. I don’t believe I’ve seen you at church in the mornings either. I was just checking to see how you were doing, if you had any concerns, or if there’s anything you may need help with.”

  Although the deaconess’s tone was very warm and affectionate, sounding as if she did genuinely care where I’ve been, I was pretty sure that she was simply list checking for the books. I’ve had to do the same for our chapter when members would take a hiatus. Nine times out of ten, I could care less about the soror’s absence. Surely, they had a pretty good reason for why they’ve been m.i.a. It wasn’t my business to care nor was it to pry. I only wanted the numbers.

  Delilah walked over and patted my perm rods. My hair must have been dry, because she invited me back to her station.

  “You know what Ms. Deaconess Michelle Camper, I’ve been so busy with work that the classes slipped my mind. I do apologize,” I explained while I gathered my purse and magazine and sat in Delilah’s chair. “Are those classes really required? I just don’t see how I could fit something like that into my crazy schedule.”

  I needed my weekends free. Pursuing Ronnie while keeping Silas busy was beginning to feel like a full-time gig plus overtime. It had been two and a half weeks since that day Silas and I were intimate. Since then, avoiding him became more difficult than dodging the credit card bill collectors who just recently figured out my parents mailing address and telephone number. Lucky enough they hadn’t done any pop-ups, unlike Silas who had become infamous for that. So far, his gestures had been sw
eet, though, which made it increasingly difficult to snap on him for his random house runs. I couldn’t turn down a man who doted tickets to the zoo for Dominic and me or reservations to a paint and wine class. Unfortunately, a few days ago, he popped up and I was with Ronnie at a cigar lounge in Philly. My lips were cuffing a Bolivar, and Silas’s lips were probably poked out and pouting as he read my text message: “I’m out. Not coming home anytime soon.”

  “Well, Sister Nola, to be an official member of Worship Way, the classes are required. Afterwards you will receive the right hand of fellowship, and then move right into joining a ministry. I can’t force you to take these classes. I can only recommend them.” The Deaconess’s voice was still warm and friendly. “How about this... You’re paperwork reads that you live in Wilmington. So do I. If you would like, we could meet and do this one on one and get you caught up. I really want you to experience the full fellowship with the Lord, Nola. It’s nothing like allowing God to use you and guide you. You don’t want to be a person who only shows up to church. Be a part of the family.”

  Deaconess Michelle’s persuasion crept over my shoulders and hugged me from behind as Dominic would when he wanted to whisper his appreciations for me in my ear. The word “family” made my heart smile, reminding me that if I wanted Ronnie to be my husband, he would become my family along with his entire church. I would be their Leading Lady - representative of all the Worship Way women. I would be their go-to. Deaconess Michelle didn’t know it yet, but I didn’t need those classes to be officially a part of the family. What I needed was a certain signed document and a shiny 3.5 ct. diamond ring. I turned down the offer, and the deaconess gracefully ended the call.