by Kim Jones
“I’m sorry I lost it. Again,” I mumble, knowing that she will understand.
“You’re not sorry. And it’s my fault.” The voice that speaks to me is not Brooklyn’s. It belongs to Regg. My cheeks flush with embarrassment as I remember the things I said. Brooklyn must have called him at some point and told him to come home. He keeps rubbing my hair and I keep letting him do it. No point in trying to have any dignity now.
“I shouldn’t have left. I wasn’t expecting to stay gone so long. It won’t happen again.” And I believe him. If I didn’t know anything else about Regg, I know he was a man of his word.
“I’m hungry,” I say, more to change the subject than anything. I know I need to try and eat something. Food is the last thing on my mind, but I’m sure I’ve burned a thousand calories by pacing all morning. I can’t afford to lose any more weight. I’ve avoided a mirror like the plague, afraid of what I might find.
“What you feel like eating?”
“Anything, just as long as it ain’t fried.” I feel him shake with laughter before he kisses my head and moves out from behind me. The intimate gesture has butterflies floating in my belly. When Luke does it, it just feels natural...brotherly. With Regg, it’s so much more.
Without his hands on my hair or his body next to mine, I find myself becoming anxious and lonely. I yell out that I’m going to take a shower as I make my way upstairs for my fourth bath of the day. It is the only time, other than when I am asleep, that I don’t feel like my skin is crawling.
Brooklyn has washed, dried and put away all of my clothes. Luke must have cleaned out my entire closet and when I walk in the bathroom, I find that he cleaned out my vanity too. Brooklyn has also unpacked my cosmetics and lined the basket in the tub with my favorite body wash and shampoo. I pull the curtain around the tub and turn the water on as hot as I can stand it. By the time I’m finished, I smell like pomegranate and my skin is red and steaming.
I brush back my hair and wipe the steam from the full length mirror that hangs on the back of the door. I feel my eyes brim with tears at the sight of the woman staring back at me. My breasts are smaller, at least two full cup sizes smaller. My once curvy body is now a straight line of hip bones and ribs. My collar bone juts out of my chest and my eyes look dull and sunken. My knees are starting to scab over, as are my hands, and they are a reminder of the extreme measures I’ve taken to get back to the life that made me this way.
“Red? You okay?” Regg asks from the outside of the bathroom. I grab my towel and wrap it around me before opening the door to show him I’m okay. I would have answered, but I didn’t in fear of my voice cracking and sending into another sobbing hysteria.
He doesn’t pay attention to my body, only my face as I stand there shifting from one foot to the other.
“What’s wrong?” What isn’t wrong? But instead of telling him, I show him. I let the tears fall from my eyes as I open my towel up to reveal my body. He’s already seen it, of course, and he is well aware of the transition. He’s seen my body at its best over a year ago, and at its worst just yesterday. He turns his head for a moment and I fear it’s out of disgust. “Red,” he says, meeting my eyes with his that are full of compassion. “I don’t care what you think about yourself. You’re still beautiful to me, babe.” His words are sincere, but they do nothing to make me feel better.
“Look at me. Look at what I’ve done to myself.” Instead of looking at me, he pulls me into his arms. I’m not expecting the gesture, and I’m not expecting to enjoy it this much either.
“All that matters now is that you get better. Nobody is going to be looking at your body but me. And what I see is a beautiful woman that even at what she thinks is her worst, outshines most women’s best.” I hug him tighter as I let his words warm my heart. Nobody will see me but him. And he thinks I’m beautiful.
He holds me until I can’t stand still a moment longer without losing it. And my mood swings are so crazy that I don’t know what losing it entails. I might start crying, biting or laughing at any moment. So I pull away and move to my room. I take one look at the clothes in my closet, and then back over at the bathroom where Regg is still standing. He smirks knowingly and disappears for a moment before returning with another one of his t-shirts.
“I just like wearing it, ya know?” I ask, hoping he understands. He smiles and slips the shirt over my head. Leaning in, he kisses my cheek then pauses to say something that leaves me with a fluttering feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“I know, ‘cause I like you wearing it too.”
Chapter Thirteen
Chicken House Sleepover
Later that night, I can’t sit still. My mind is racing, my body is restless and nothing seems to be working anymore. I’ve taken showers, danced in the yard, repainted my nails just to pick off the polish-I’ve tried everything. Now, I’m back to pacing. My path starts in my room, around the upstairs den, down the stairs, through the kitchen, around the downstairs den, up the stairs and back to my room. Then, I start all over again. It’s after midnight and I’m pacing my room to avoid the stairs. I’ve almost fallen twice because my legs have become like jelly.
Regg eyed me every now and then when I would pass wherever he was, but he never said anything. He went to bed hours ago and I find myself putting my ear to the adjoining door of our rooms listening for him. I’ve made my circle and am pressing my ear next to his door before starting another round when it opens and I nearly fall on my face.
“What were you doin’?” he asks, looking at me like I’m the crazy one. I am, but that’s beside the point. I start to answer him, but my eyes are drawn to the half naked man standing before me.
Regg’s arms are muscular, as is his chest. He doesn’t have rippling abs or the infamous V leading down into his blue boxer briefs, and that’s fine by me. Because Regg is hot as hell, just like this. He is all man with calloused hands, strong arms, a powerful chest, a smooth stomach and a bulge in his underwear. It’s the first thing I’ve been able to concentrate on today.
Before I can stop myself, my hand flies out to rub the soft, smooth skin of his flat stomach. I move my fingers up to his chest and through the small patch of light brown hair in the center. He grabs my wrist, pulling it from his body then kisses my fingers before releasing my hand at my side.
“I have to go to the farm. One of my computers is down and my fans aren’t running. I have about an hour before I lose over twenty thousand birds. Get dressed.” Desperate for a distraction, I agree- not that he gave me an option. I watch as he goes back into his room and starts getting dressed. He’s on the bed pulling his boots over his jeans when he looks at me.
“Red. Today.” Right. I throw on a pair of pajama pants, swap out Regg’s shirt for a tank top of my own and put on a bra for the first time in two days. I sort through the endless pairs of shoes at the bottom of my closet. If they’re not heels, they’re flip flops and I only own a couple pairs of tennis shoes that I refuse to have covered in chicken shit. I’m still debating when Regg grabs my hand and starts pulling me through the house.
“I don’t have shoes,” I say in protest, but he just keeps walking. Well, jogging really.
“I got some boots in the truck.” Regg never lets go of my hand as he pulls me from room to room to get a gun, keys, his hat and my cigarettes. How thoughtful of him.
Instead of taking me to the passenger side, or letting go of my hand so I can walk over there on my own, he opens the driver’s door of the big truck, picks me up and all but throws me inside of it.
“Damn, Regg. Calm down,” I say, trying like hell to right myself in the seat. It’s a battle considering he is driving like a maniac. Who would have ever thought that I would be the one with the level head?
His bulky cell phone falls to the floorboard on a turn and he looks at me pleadingly. I roll my eyes before searching for the damn thing while trying to prevent a broken neck. My shaky fingers grab it and just as I’m passing it to him, we hit a bump in the road an
d I drop it again.
“Shit!” I yell in frustration. Now it’s in the floor on his side of the truck. I scramble between his legs, feeling around for it when another pothole sends my head flying into the dash. “Ouch! You asshole!”
“Damn, you okay?” His laughter overpowers the concern in his voice and I want to bite the calf I have my head pressed up against. I grab the phone, clutching it as if my life depends on it, then like an idiot, I hoist myself up using the steering wheel. The truck swerves hard to the right, then the left. I’m screaming on the floor, my body folded up like a pretzel while Regg fights to keep it between the ditches. When I hear him say, ‘hold on,’ I know we are about to crash. I feel the truck tilt forward as we barrel down a rough hill and the only thought going through my head is what in the hell am I supposed to hold on to? The truck spins in a complete three-sixty before it finally comes to a stop. I hear the door open and feel Regg get out, leaving me lying there with my head next to the gas pedal, one leg extended over my head near the steering wheel, and the other curled under my ass. My tits are in my neck and for the life of me I don’t know how in the hell I’m gonna get out.
“Red?” His voice is cautious and I start to pretend I’m dead just to freak him out. Instead, I stick my arm up and in my shaky hand, I hold the cause of our dilemma.
“Take this motherfucker and staple it to your head. Cause if it ever gets in my possession again, I’m gonna eat it.” Fighting to control his laughter, Regg takes the phone from my hand before helping me untangle myself from the truck. “I don’t like you,” I tell him, even though I can’t help but find the humor in this awkward situation myself.
“Well, allow me to redeem myself. Your boots, my lady.” Regg pulls a pair of zebra striped rubber boots from the back seat of the truck and slips them on my feet. It might not mean a lot to some people, but the act has my heart swelling in my chest. He bought me boots. My very own pair. And they’re cute too. So what if he bought them so I could slave on his farm? It’s the thought that counts.
Regg managed to not total the truck by taking us through another one of his shortcuts. We end up only a few feet from our final destination. He leads us into one of the chicken houses where the ammonia almost takes my breath.
“What is that smell?” I ask, dramatically holding my nose and fanning my face.
“Chicken shit. You get used to it.” I doubt anyone other than him could get used to something like this. “Red, I need your help.” Great.
I walk over to where he is standing in front of a wall filled with some kind of digital boxes that look like big calculators. He writes some numbers down and hands me the piece of paper.
“Now, I’m fixing to open this door. Inside are a whole lot of chickens. They won’t hurt you so don’t freak out. But, don’t do anything to scare them because if they start piling up, they’ll start dying.” I shake my head, not ready to be responsible for the death of all these innocent chickens.
“I can’t. I’ll freak out. I know it.” I start fidgeting with my hands and shuffling my feet, feeling the anxiety building inside of me.
“I know you can do this. If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t ask you. Have a little faith in yourself, Red.” He gives me a reassuring smile and opens the door without waiting for a reply. Shit, shit, shit.
I wipe my hands on my pants and follow him through the door. Inside the stinky, hot house, thousands of chickens stare back at me. Regg walks slowly through them and they get out of his way without him even having to shoo them. They must know him. I have a feeling that when I walk in, they’re gonna lose their shit.
“Come on, Red. Just follow behind me.” I take a deep breath, draw a cross across my chest and step into the house. The soft mulch gives under my feet as I follow the cleared path Regg has made. We walk all the way to the end where four big fans sit on either side of the house. “Call out that first set of numbers to me.” I unfold the paper in my hand that is now damp with sweat. I call out the number to Regg, and watch as the fan comes to life. “Okay, give me the next.” We repeat this process until all the numbers are called out and the fans are up and running.
“Can we go home now?” I ask, feeling as if the chickens are starting to close in on me.
Regg shakes his head, as he joins me in the middle of the house. “I can’t. Looks like I’ll be staying here tonight. My computers are down and if these fans go out, I have to manually reset them. I had to disconnect the alarm, so there’s no way for me to know unless I’m here.” We walk back through the house and to the small office space away from the chickens. My mind races with what to do. Do I go back to the house by myself? Or stay here in this place with Regg? “Stay with me. Look, I even have this amazingly uncomfortable cot for us to sleep on.” He rolls a twin size cot from a corner of the room and unfolds it. I scratch my head, unable to find the exact spot it’s itching.
“Will you rub my hair?” I don’t know why I ask him that, but now that I have, I hope he says yes. He gives me a smile and nods.
“Yeah, babe. I can do that.” I take off my boots and curl up on the cot, using my arm as a pillow. I feel Regg slip in behind me and grab my waist, tucking me into him. I like how he does that. He doesn’t make me ask for it, he just does it like he knows what I want. The moment he starts rubbing my hair, I feel myself relax. And with his hands in my hair, his body next to mine and his arms shielding me from harm, I drift off to sleep.
“You cold?” Regg asks, sometime during the early hours of the morning. I don’t know if it was my shaking or moaning that woke him. But, I do know that I don’t want him to let go of me. Every muscle in my body is cramping and all I can do is lie here. My bladder feels like it’s gonna bust, but I don’t think I have the strength to get up.
“I’m hurting,” I say, hoping like hell he can hear me. I feel him shift and I find the energy to beg him to stay. “Don’t let go of me.” He stops and pulls me back to him.
“I need ten minutes. I’ll be right back.” He doesn’t wait for me to say anything; he just kisses my head and leaves me. The absence of his body hurts worse than the cramps. I’m cold one minute and hot the next. The cot I’m lying on is wet from my sweat and my breaths are coming in short bursts that are barely enough to fill my lungs with oxygen.
The urge to go to the bathroom is so intense that I know if I don’t get up now, I’ll piss all over myself. I prop myself up on my elbow, letting my vision focus before standing. I’ve taken one step when I fall to my knees in pain. The charley horse in my leg hurts so bad I become nauseous. I sit on my ass, pulling my leg to me in an attempt to rub out the cramp. My hands are too weak to apply enough pressure for relief, and just before I scream, Regg comes into view.
He seems to know what’s wrong, and takes my leg into his hands, massaging the muscle. It hurts so good and I cry out in relief. I lay there, allowing him to continue to rub me until the ache is gone. If only it were that easy for the rest of me.
“I need something,” I tell him. Begging that he understands. “Just a little bit. Just one hit.”
“You know I can’t let you do that, Red.” He sounds helpless, looks worried and is torn between doing what’s right and giving me relief. He sits on the floor next to me then pulls me onto his lap. His phone is in his hand and I watch as he dials a number I know so well.
“Brooklyn, I need some help.”
Regg carries me to the truck, holding me close to him even when we are inside. Back at the house, he carries me up the stairs and deposits me just outside the bathroom door. I sigh in relief at not only finally draining my bladder, but at actually making it without peeing all over myself and Regg. I curl up on the floor of the bathroom, finding that same fetal position that offered me relief the last time. But it doesn’t work. My insides feel knotted and every beat of my heart causes another pain to shoot through some part of my body.
“What is it with you and the floor?” Brooklyn asks, squatting down to look at me.
“Nothing is working. Pl
ease tell me you have something.”
She opens her palm, revealing a small baggie and smiles. “I have pot.” Fuck, I love her.
Regg looks nervous as we make our way to my bedroom. I know this isn’t what he wants. I know Luke would disagree too, but nobody is gonna argue with Brooklyn. She knows what she’s doing. I watch her roll a joint from my position on the bed. My eyes drift between her and Regg. The look in his eyes tells me that he thinks he is a failure. The purpose of the marijuana is to help relax my muscles. It isn’t for any kind of recreational use, and will be the same as taking a narcotic. The problem is, I’m an addict.
When Brooklyn fires up the joint and passes it to me, I hesitate. Now, I’m torn. I know that in a matter of minutes my body will start to relax. I know that the pain I feel will soon disappear. But, the look on Regg’s face isn’t worth it. I will make it through this. And I will do it without the help of another drug.
“I can’t.” I look at Regg when I say this, but his face gives nothing away. I turn back to Brooklyn who is looking at me like I’m crazy. “I’ll be fine. It will go away soon enough. I just want to be alone.” My eyes shut in pain as another cramp hits right under my left breast. I concentrate on not breathing too deep, but the aroma of another potential guilty pleasure still haunts me. With more determination than I thought I had, I push myself out of bed. “I said I want to be alone. Now.” I hold my side and limp my way to the adjoining door in my room. On the other side, I’m greeted with the scent of Regg and fresh linen. I slam the door, blocking the smell of my only saving grace. I just closed the door on the one thing I craved, the one thing I thought I needed and the thing that can bring me instant relief. But even through the thick wood, I can feel the pride radiating off of Brooklyn and Regg. And that makes it worth it.
Chapter Fourteen
The Light at the End of the Tunnel
It’s been a few hours, but it only took me half that time to realize the mistake I made. Right now, I don’t give a shit about Regg, Brooklyn, Luke or anyone else. I don’t care what they think of me or how proud of me they are. I should have taken the pot. I would eat cat shit if I thought it could cure the pain. The only thing comforting is the huge quilt I’m wrapped in that smells just like Regg. His scent is masculine and clean with the faintest hint of cologne. He’s checked on me a few times, but I don’t answer him when he speaks. I just lay here and shake, sweat and occasionally groan.
