8 Mile & Rion

by K. S. Adkins

  Sipping my coffee, I have the privilege of hearing Peter’s message with an audience.

  Dumped via answering machine, oh how perfect. Resting my head on my hand I had to admit I wasn’t surprised by it, knew it was a matter of time, even. In fact, when I offered Mr. mean and bitchy my place, I was heading to Ann Arbor to dump Peter in person, like a grown up.

  “I was gonna erase that,” he says, leaning against the refrigerator looking uncomfortably sexy. “None of my business, though.”

  “So you heard,” I mumble. “That’s not humiliating.”

  “Sounds like a bitch.”

  “Pretty much,” I say smiling into my cup at feeling the same way. “Not my problem anymore, though. Plus he saved me the money in gas, the dick.”

  “Fixed the lock I broke.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him. “Since I’ve been dumped electronically, I’m home this weekend and that makes you a lucky guy. Since you’re stuck with me unless you’ve made other plans, I need a name to go with the scowl.”

  “Scowl?”

  “Yeah it’s what you do when you look at me.”

  “Name’s Loyal.”

  “Loyal what?”

  “Is my first name,” he says rolling his eyes.

  “What’s your last name Loyal?”

  “Hart.”

  “Loyal Hart,” I say testing it out and found that I really liked it. It was unique, like the person. Walking over and grabbing him a cup to have coffee with me I say, “I’m Rion Reynolds but my friends call me Junior.”

  “I’m not your friend,” he says totally ignoring the cup I’m holding out for him.

  “If we aren’t friends then what are we?”

  “Temporary,” was all he said as he grabbed his bag and left me standing in my kitchen looking like a fool twice in one morning.

  Speaking to the ceiling, I try calling on my patience. “What have I gotten myself into this time, Senior?” When I don’t get an answer, I look at the door he just walked through wondering why the place felt smaller all of a sudden and if I was offering a second chance, would he even be willing to take it? God, hot and cold much? He breaks into my office, acquaints my face to my desk, fixes my lock, helps me through my headache, bruises my arm then snuffs me.

  And here I thought I had problems…

  ‘You don't know what people are really like until they're under a lot of stress.’

  ~Tim Allen

  Not having a car is problematic. I have a truck back in Missouri but when all the shit went down, grabbing it was the least of my concerns. Now I find myself on foot and I’m pissed off about it. Walking a half mile to a party store, I try getting cash out but my account was empty. Of fucking course it was. It’s not enough that over the years she bled me dry, she had to kick me while I was down too.

  All these years of serving my country for God and man, I’ve got jack to show for it. Now I’m stuck in hell with a gorgeous woman who’s too fucking nice for her own god damn good and I put my hands on her in thanks. Watching her listen to that message was painful. Shouldn’t be, I don’t know her, but I didn’t like that someone did her wrong. She didn’t deserve that. The female was dealing with enough shit as it was, now my bullshit and that asshole. Not letting it affect her, she made me a cup of coffee and that simple act bothered me so much, I left her standing there looking stupid.

  She’ll need to get over it because I have no time for a woman wearing a false face. Because she was, they all do. I’ve seen it play out like a movie on repeat with the guys in my unit. They fall for the chick, give her everything while they’re away trying to do good, because they also feel like shit for not being there. Only to come home to a cheating whore who blames you for everything, then leaves you with nothing. Rion is no different than any other chick. They’re all lying whores. She just started off nice.

  I don’t want to be stuck at her place any longer than necessary. Grabbing a paper, I knew I needed a job. Getting my own coffee from the gas station then heading back, I’m disappointed she wasn’t there but got the hell over it. Sitting down on the couch I open the paper and begin to look for work. About ten minutes in, I crumble it and throw it across the room. No car, no job.

  Fuck.

  I hear her door open and close across the hall, which tempts me to go and talk to her, but I don’t. I’m not apologizing for what I said. She needs to know that outside of crashing here for a few days, I don’t want to know her and I especially don’t want to like her. Looking at my hands I realize they’re shaking again. That is if they ever stopped shaking in the first place. Fuck, but I could have seriously hurt her. I may not want to like her, but I did, in fact hurt her and if I do anything, it’s to make sure that it doesn’t happen again. When I hear yelling, I jump up, throw the door open prepared to protect her when I hear her voice though, I stop.

  “What was I supposed to do, Rio?” she asks.

  “Walk away,” he says in a booming voice. “You have enough problems, Junior, taking in strays was Senior’s thing. You can’t afford to do this, not to mention he’s a fucking stranger. Since you were a kid you did shit like this. Dogs, cats, that guy over on Porter that stole your bike as a thank you and now a squatter? The fuck is the matter with you?”

  “Do you or do you not like working here?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” she says, then he’s silent for a second before lowering his voice to her. “This place is my life, you know that Junior. I can’t worry about you? I get it, you’re stressed but think for a second! Your old man was huge into charity cases and look where that got him, he put you in debt.”

  “First,” she says, while I listen with my ear to the door, “he is not a charity case. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Second, he took a chance on you and I was raised to do the same. The man across the hall needs my help whether he wants it or not. If he doesn’t, fine, but I can say that I tried. But he needs a break, Rio and I’m offering it to him. If anyone gets that, it should be you.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” he says. “That man beat the shit out of two of your newest employees.”

  “True,” she says in agreement. “But they were also cops once and should have fucking known better than to let their guard down. Lesson learned, now move on.”

  “This is a huge fucking mistake, write that down so I can remind you later. I gotta go collect, Junior,” he says, so I move away from the door to go back across the hall. “He’s a stranger, he hurts you, I kill him, remember that.”

  From behind the safety of her apartment door now, I listen as he exits stomping down the hall. When it’s clear, I make my way over to her then knock on the door.

  “It’s open,” she calls out and even before I enter, I note that she sounds exhausted.

  Seeing her today, behind that desk was a kick straight in the balls. How does she keep getting better looking? I do not fucking get it. If I thought she was gorgeous yesterday I had to have been looking at her with blinders on. Today she all but fucking glows. No way can I try and get me some of that shine. I won’t when I know I’ll only shroud her in darkness.

  “Got a minute?”

  “Got two,” she says, gesturing for me to sit, but I don’t. “What’s up?”

  “I’ll be gone the second I have a job. I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here. You need me gone sooner, say so. You ain’t got to tell me twice,” I tell her bluntly, but then I see her pinching her nose. “Head hurt again?”

  “What?” she asks looking shocked. “No, I’m fine.”

  “You’re a liar, then?”

  “Did you need something, Loyal?” Hearing her say my name did funny things to me, like asking her to repeat it. I didn’t like it one bit. “What’s wrong with you that you get these headaches?”

  “That’s easy, I need to collect. I can’t do that with one enforcer. Three quit and the other two are indisposed thanks to you. Now I’ll have to collect myself, because again, I’m broke. I
f I’m collecting, then I’m not taking bets. See where this is going?”

  “You got no business out there getting money from people. No place for a woman, especially you.”

  “Especially me? Care to explain that?”

  “No,” I tell her crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t.”

  “I started taking bets in elementary school. I did it in high school, through college and even at work. That’s probably frowned upon, but whatever. I made more money betting than I did at the job anyway. Betting is my life, Loyal. Save the ‘you have a vagina so you’re not my equal’ speech for someone else. Beep… The vagina you’re trying to reach is no longer in service. Get it? It was like we were on the phone. Okay, I thought it was hilarious.”

  “We ain’t equals and making books ain’t a job. Least not for you. You said your old man raised you to place bets? Can’t say that’s a good old man.” That may have been the wrong thing to say. Without blinking, she reaches under her desk, produces that 9mm and aims it right at me with a look of pure fury. It didn’t go unnoticed by me that while my hands won’t stop shaking hers weren’t shaking at all.

  “Get out,” she growls, never lowering her arm, even while her eyes pinch in pain. “Get your shit and get the fuck out. Now.”

  Backing away, I turn and leave without a word. What was there to say? Her life was not my business. I knew that, but I opened my mouth anyway. Closing her apartment door, I grabbed my bag to leave as she ordered when she burst through the door looking for vengeance.

  She was scary beautiful when she was pissed. It was a shame I had to leave like this, I wouldn’t mind seeing her like this more often. But I had to wonder if I provoked her any further would she shoot me? Part of me wanted her to do it because the second she let it fly, she’d feel like shit about it then she’d take care of me.

  No lie, the thought held appeal.

  ‘When I see something unjust, I have to intervene - it's hard for me to watch the underdog suffer.’

  ~Kristen Bell

  Senior was not a perfect man. He was a human man, he made mistakes and he was my dad. The guy who taught me how to do everything, including wearing makeup. Granted, I don’t wear make-up now but I remember him taking me to the mall and sitting with an artist so we could learn together. Fact: no matter how hard I tried, he did make-up better than I did.

  He also taught me to fight, shoot, cook, to believe in myself and to bet.

  But Mr. I’m better than you doesn’t know that because in his eyes, my dad was just a bookie. He stood in my office blasting a man he’s never even met. I would not stand for anyone, especially a stranger, talking shit about the man who sacrificed everything for me. A rage took over and though I’m not normally a violent person unless provoked, I grabbed my H&K P30 ready to shoot him in the mouth for his transgressions. When he left without a word, I dropped the gun immediately. How it got into my hands I’ll never know, but one more word from his lips about my dad and I would have let a bullet fly. First, the terror over knowing I would have harmed him came over me, followed by remorse for thinking it. The few hours I’ve known this guy had me feeling all sorts of shit I didn’t like.

  Then the anger really came. I did this asshole a favor and this is how he repays me? I do not fucking think so. Putting the gun back in the drawer, I whip the office door open and then do the same with my apartment. He was packing up to go, good. But he wasn’t leaving until I said my piece.

  Turns out, I have a lot of pieces.

  “My Dad was a Marine,” I say the moment I barge through the door. “A damn good one too. He met my mom young and when his time was up, he came state side to start his life. Only to find out all his time serving his country was for nothing. He had no education, but he had three skills. Battle, loving my mom and taking bets. My dad wasn’t always law-abiding, but when I was born he turned that around, for me. He went to the hospital a married man waiting to meet his first born daughter and came home a widow with said daughter. That man dedicated his life to me. He may be a lowly bookie to you,” I growl up at him, followed by poking him in the chest, “but he was my dad!”

  “I---”

  “Shut up!” I scream at him. “I offer you a place to stay and you repay me by insulting the only man who’s ever loved me in my own fucking home? You look at me like I’m the piece of shit in this scene? Look in the mirror asshole; you’re the star of this shit show.”

  “Look---”

  “No, you look! One week ago I had everything! My dad, a decent job and a few bucks in the bank. Today I have nothing. I have to start over without my dad. I just got dumped by my god damned answering machine. You remember that, right? Was that as fun for you as it was for me? You’re mean, I don’t do mean.”

  “Rion---”

  Just then my temples started to squeeze and my mouth got salty. I couldn’t even finish my rant because I was going to puke now, perfect. “Excuse me,” I whimper knowing he’ll see himself out. I need the dark, I need the quiet and I needed it right now.

  Crawling into bed, I don’t even bother with covers or a pillow. I curl up in the fetal position and pray this passed quickly because I had shit to do. Trying to focus on anything but the pain, some time goes by when my door opens slowly and wouldn’t you know it, he hadn’t left.

  Fuck, he was more persistent than this damn headache.

  ‘War is good when good survives and evil is crushed. If you don't crush evil then evil will get you.’

  ~Ted Nugent

  I sat outside her door feeling all kinds of shitty. She was right. I had no business commenting on her old man. Problem is, if I have something on my mind I say it. Tends to piss people off too. Just when I think she’s out, she moans in agony and it makes me grab my own head in misery hearing it. I don’t know what to do for her, but I know she wants me to leave and I will, after I know she’s okay.

  Recalling her every word I almost smile at how fired up she was. I may be Loyal by name, but that woman was loyal to her fucking core. Hell, she drew a fucking gun on me over an insult to her old man. Her loss was fresh, raw even. Fuck, the poor woman was probably trying to mourn him proper but can’t because she’s running a business that’s broke, got dumped, took on a charity case and gets blinded by headaches to boot.

  Yeah, I feel like shit. I may be homeless, but she’s just fucking wrecked.

  Grabbing a cloth from the bathroom, I wet it with cool water like my mom used to do and crack her door open slowly. Entering her room as quietly as possible, I walk over to her side of the bed, kneel down and press it to her forehead. She whimpers again which causes my stomach to tighten. “Can you hold this?” I whisper.

  “No,” she whispers back so low had I not been so close, I wouldn’t have heard it.

  “I’ll do it,” I tell her and she doesn’t object. Sitting on the floor next to her bed with my arm extended, I hold the cloth to her head until I hear her breathing even out. With a small amount of light coming through the window, I study her. Long light blonde hair, long eye lashes, freckles across her nose and pink lips. Most women spend time painting their faces to look pretty, but not her. This woman has the girl next door vibe working for her. Size wise she’s tiny next to me, but then again most are. She looks like a little sprite from a kid’s movie she’s so dainty. But she wasn’t a sprite. She was a grown woman and damn near flawless because she oblivious to it. Not that I have much to go on when it comes to females. I think of that bitch back in Missouri. I used to think she was attractive too. Looks are fucking deceiving but I’m beginning to think this female was the real deal. Turning away from her, I switch arms so I can lean against her bed while still keeping the cloth on her. Focusing on the music in the background, I listen to the guy sing. Who was he? The guy knew shit, I ain’t never heard anyone sing a story like this before. Picking up on the chorus, I decided this guy was legit and that I needed to hear every song he’s ever written. Relaxing into my spot it hit me I never let my guard down for anyone but for some reason
today, with this woman, I did. I even let myself close my eyes because being near her felt so damn good. Rion may be a spitfire, but she was also a calming person. In my life, I ain’t ever met anyone like her and it was such a good feeling, I fell asleep immediately.

  I hear my name being called from a distance. I don’t trust my dreams because they always morph into a nightmare; it’s just a matter of time. I hear it again and I wait for that moment when the image of Jill smiling for me turns to hatred and then her on all fours getting fucked like a whore.

  “Loyal,” she says to me. “Wake up.”

  God I hate that bitch. I hate everything about her. Somewhere between sleep and consciousness, I feel her touch me and I snap. Anytime the whore touched me it set me off, ‘cause she only did it when she wanted something. Jolting awake I come to my feet quickly, seeing her on our bed like that pisses me off. The bitch never got on her knees for me, that’s for damn sure. Seeing her on them now has me wanting to teach her a lesson.

  Slamming her onto her back, I don’t care that I knocked the wind out of her. I hope she fucking suffocates. I hope this ugly face is the last thing she sees when she takes her last--

  Pain.

  My fucking balls, the bitch kicked me in the balls. She breaks away quickly and hits the floor while I try and recover. Jesus, where did she learn how to do that shit? Then there’s a click followed by blinding light. Letting my eyes adjust I realize right away it’s not Jill. It’s Rion… with another gun.

  Once again, her hands were steady.

  ‘It's pretty sad when you have to choose between the lesser of two evils.’

  ~Meg White of the White Stripes

  When the pain subsided enough to let him off the hook, I tried waking him because he looked extremely uncomfortable holding the cloth with his arm bent. In between calling his name, I may have also checked him out too. He was bigger than Rio, but his skin wasn’t as dark. He had the bald look working for him, a crooked nose and full, fat lips. His face had thin scars zig zagging all over making him look indestructible. He looked like a fighter or maybe a cop, I couldn’t decide which, but each scenario held appeal. His forearm tattoo was a crest of some kind, if I had to guess, but it was the ink peeking out from beneath the collar of his t-shirt that was just…damn.