by Kim Jones
Word spread across our small town that the most eligible bachelor in Collins finally found a woman, but was now available once again. I shit you not, I had bitches bringin’ me casseroles and cookies like I am a widower or something. It was nice not having to cook though. I’d be eating spaghetti for my fourth night in a row very soon.
“Why don’t you just go out on a date or something? Ain’t that what you told me to do when my girlfriend dumped me?” I smile at Todd’s advice. Smart little shit. It wouldn’t be hard to find a date, that’s for sure.
I call Luke, and find that him and some of the guys are at the only nightclub in Hattiesburg- The Library. The place is probably already crawling with pussy, which is exactly what I need to get my mind off of Red. Besides, the best way to get over one bitch is to get under another.
Sure enough, there’s enough half-naked girls running around in here to give the Playboy Mansion a run for its money. They leave little to the imagination wearing skimpy dresses and shorts so tight you can see the outline of their pussy lips. I’m not complaining, I love trashy bitches.
It takes me a minute to realize the redhead approaching is not the redhead I want- it’s Taylor. Maybe she bugged my bike with a tracking device or some shit. She always seems to pop up wherever I am. I give her a smile, and I imagine her panties melting from beneath her tight shorts as she flushes red. Her head dips self-consciously. She lacks the same confidence Red has, and it’s somewhat of a turnoff for me. I like girls who like themselves. But, a change is what I need and change is what I’ll get with Taylor.
“Hey, Regg,” she says, leaning in close so I can hear her over the booming music. “I’m sorry about…you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, cutting her off and motioning for the bartender to bring us a round. I’m sure Taylor will drink whatever I buy her. She’s submissive like that. Red would have told me to go fuck myself if I ordered her a beer. She didn’t settle.
Fuck.
I have to quit comparing everything to Red. I pass Taylor a beer, and just like I thought, she takes it with an appreciative smile and a ‘thank-you.’ When the one country song that plays every two hours comes on, I lead her out on the dance floor without question. She fits good in my arms, almost too good. I move her around the floor to the tune of one of George Strait’s classics, then usher her back to the bar before the crowd takes over when some hip hop line dancing song comes on.
She likes when I put my hand on the small of her back, something Red once said she wanted to try, and then told me she felt like an idiot when I did it. Her exact words were, ‘This is fucking ridiculous. Why do girls go crazy over this shit? I’m capable of walking on my own. I can live the rest of my life not having you usher me around.’ I smile at the memory. It was her idea, not mine, yet she chewed my ass out like I forced her to do it.
“What’s so funny?” Taylor asks, smiling up at me.
“Nothing. Let’s get outta here.” Out of spite, I place my hand on the small of her back again, guiding her outside to my bike.
“Where’re we going?” she asks innocently, looking up at me with excited eyes. I’ll regret this tomorrow. I’ll hate myself for a little while, but I’ll get over it. Everybody has their way of coping, this is mine. I answer her question, noticing how she seems to melt a little bit into the concrete at my words. She is the perfect one to use to get over Red.
“My place.”
Taylor either really loves my house, or she’s really good at acting. I learn that she’s an interior designer, which makes sense from the disgusted look she gives my den. She tries to recover, but it’s too late.
“I take it you don’t like my collection of dead animals?” I give her a smirk and watch her die a little of embarrassment. Red would say it served her right for judging my home in the first place. At the thought of her, I clear my throat and continue, “The house has never really had a woman’s touch.” The only woman that has ever lived in my house is Red, and Lord knows she sucked at everything domesticated. Except for cooking. She could fry a damn good pork chop.
“You know, I’d be happy to help you out. I have some really nice pieces that would look great in here.” Damn, is she always this sweet? I already have a toothache. Does the girl not have any grit?
“That would be great.” I picture Red’s face when she sees what Taylor’s done and smile again. Even if she’s living her dream with another man, it’d still light a fire under her ass to know another woman was here. That’s the kind of jealous, territorial woman Red was. She wanted shit that didn’t even belong to her.
“Come here,” I say to Taylor, ready to move this along and get my mind off of her-the girl who’s name I refuse to say from now on. At the sound of my voice, I see the need in her eyes grow. She walks towards me, ready to abide by whatever demand I give her. I take her face between my hands, noticing that her red hair is almost identical to hers. Taylor’s features are softer; her smile nothing in comparison and when I kiss her, her taste is bland- like eating peas without salt.
I kiss her harder, catching her moans with my mouth. I pick her up and carry her to the couch. When she’s beneath me, I know this is what I want. It’s what I need to get over… she breaks the kiss, searching my eyes with big, green ones full of hurt. I hadn’t even noticed how beautiful they are. I prefer hazel eyes though.
“You’re thinking about her,” she says, tracing my lips with her finger.
“I’m thinkin’ about you,” I lie, leaning back down to kiss her. She pushes me away, forcing me to sit across from her on the couch.
“My name’s not Red, Regg. It’s Taylor.” Shit. I run my hands through my hair, already feeling the regret I thought would stay away until tomorrow.
“I really like you, Taylor. It’s just gonna take some time. But I don’t want to stop seeing you.” I need her around. It might takes weeks, months or even years, but eventually, Taylor would be the one to help me get over her.
“Don’t worry, Regg.” She grabs my hand in hers, giving me a promising smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter Thirty-One
When Devil’s Fly
Regg
Taylor and I are…friends. Close friends. I can’t bring myself to fuck her, even though it’s been over a month since her and I started talking. Nothing about her turns me on. She’s more like a sister…that I kiss. It’s fucking weird.
My man cave now looks like something out a of Southern Living magazine. She’s trying to encourage me to start remodeling the rest of the house, but I’m not ready to become a complete douche, yet. My manly shit now sits in the upstairs den- a place I hate going because it reminds me of her. But, the newly renovated living room holds no memories of my time with her so that’s where I spend every minute that I’m home.
Luke bought the bar he’s been planning on building for years. He took her advice and set up shop near the university and got a liquor license and karaoke equipment. Most of my time is spent there when I ‘m not at home or with Taylor. I finally broke down and hired some help at the farm, so I can devote more time to the club.
It took all of us in the club to convince Brooklyn not to go to Vegas and hunt her down. She eventually caved and respected my decision to just leave it alone. The club hasn’t taken too well to Taylor. They claim she doesn’t have the balls to be a part of the life. I could have said a few things about that, but I haven’t. Luke and Ronnie helped persuade them though, and because she is with me, they are at least nice to her. It is all I can ask.
Todd tried like hell to like Taylor, too. But, she hates video games, doesn’t give a shit about world history, has no knowledge of guns and thinks hunting is done inhumanely. He stopped coming around when she is over after that last one. Unless of course he is in camo and wants to brag about his latest kill. I love that kid.
I spent all day at the bar, getting ready for the grand opening in a couple of weeks. We’ve been going balls to the wall getting everything ready, and I am dead tired when I
finally get home. I’ve been in bed for all of two minutes when my phone rings- Taylor. I go back and forth about whether or not to answer it, but I finally give in.
“Hey babe,” I say into the phone, trying like hell to sound really fucking tired.
“Regg…I need to talk to you. Can I come over?” She sounds almost desperate. Because I’m too fucking nice of a guy, I agree.
“Yeah darlin’, be careful.” I hang up and throw on some pajama pants before stomping downstairs. She doesn’t live far from here, only about ten minutes.
I put on a pot of coffee, and I hear her pull up as it’s brewing. She must have already been on her way before calling. Am I that predictable? I need to work on being a better asshole.
I open the door, letting a very sad Taylor inside. Immediately my heart hurts for her. I don’t love this girl, but I do care about her, and when she hurts- I hurt.
“What’s the matter, babe?” I ask, ready to take her in my arms. She avoids me and walks to the kitchen. I watch as she pulls down the bottle of Jack from the cabinet and takes a pull straight from the bottle. This shit must be serious. I’ve never seen Taylor drink hard liquor. She pats her chest, urging the burn to hurry up and pass.
“I know you’re going to hate me, but I couldn’t keep this from you any longer. I just need you to hear me out first. Okay?” Uneasiness churns my gut and I nod my head. Hell, I don’t have a choice but to listen, obviously.
“I love you, Regg. I’ve loved you since we were kids in high school.” Oh shit. She’s dumping me. How fucking shitty can my luck be? I can’t keep a real girlfriend or a fake one. I knew I should have fucked her. “I thought that finally, we would be together. I didn’t want you with Red and I was more than happy to see her gone from your life. I know that’s awful, but it’s the truth.” She takes a deep breath, and I’m already anticipating her next words. This just isn’t working out. I’ve found somebody else. You’ve called me her name one too many times.
“Just spit it out, Taylor. I’m a big boy. I can handle it.” Tears fall from her eyes as she nods her head at me. Damn, this is really tearing her up. At least she feels guilty over it. The other one smiled the last time I saw her. I watch as she pulls a small, familiar box from her oversized purse.
“I found this hidden in the hollow neck of the wild hog in the living room. When I found out what it was, I kept it from you because I wanted you and I to have a chance at happiness. My guilt won’t let me keep it from you one more second.” I take the box from her hands, contemplating slapping her or kissing her. The key to why she left is in this box- one that I just assumed she took with her.
“I’m really sorry, Regg.” She leans up to kiss my cheek before turning to leave. Apparently, She doesn’t want to stick around to see my reaction to whatever is inside the box.
I sit down at the table, spilling the contents of the box in front of me. I pick up the pictures first. One is of Todd at football practice. The other is of him and that little bitch that left him for his best friend. Flipping them over, I don’t see anything written on the back. I look down at the crumpled up letter that looks like it’s been read a hundred times.
Red,
I asked you nicely and you refused. Did you really think I’d let you do that? You have two days to make your decision. If you aren’t at Café Du Monde by noon on Wednesday, I’ll break the boy’s legs.
-Me
P.S. If you tell anyone about this, I’ll do more than break his legs. I’ll kill him.
Just like Red must have done, I read the letter over and over until everything around me becomes dark, and the only thing in my line of sight is the white piece of paper and the words scribbled on it. Fighting to keep my composure, I pick up my phone.
“Luke. We have a problem.”
Luke assures me that he can have everything handled and Red back home by the end of the day with just one phone call. I don’t need his assurance. I don’t need his mob buddy either. Hell, I don’t need Luke, but I would be a fool if I thought he would let me do this alone. An emergency meeting is called and it doesn’t take long for a unanimous vote. Devil’s Renegades will be flying out tonight to bring home what belongs to us- what belongs to me.
We have enough club connections in the southwest to let other charters handle it, but this is a personal problem that is gonna be dealt with by the original charters that have been a part of Red’s life for years. This goes far beyond mine and her relationship.
People seem to move out of our way as we walk through the Louis Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans. We’re not wearing leather cuts, but our soft cuts- t-shirts emblazoned with our patch- are worn with pride and leave no question as to who we are. The Devil’s are going to Vegas, and we are bringing hell with us.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dammit, Red
Red
Sometimes when I wake up, I eat oatmeal instead of cereal. Some days, I only watch infomercials on T.V. On Tuesdays, I shower. Sometimes I do it on Fridays too. It just depends on how I feel that day. That’s about the extent of my life right now. It’s been this way for over a month.
Chip comes to visit me every day. And every day he comes, he brings a bottle of orange juice and a syringe filled with heroin with him. I guess the orange juice is my treat for taking my medicine. I was able to fight him for the first week, but now, I anticipate him coming.
I need the drugs because it helps me forget that I’m alive. I’ve even asked him to up the dose, and he so kindly obliged. I thought for a while that I could find some way to escape. But, every time I tried I was caught. And every time I was caught, I was punished. Punishments consist of Chip using me as his punching bag because he is too big of a pussy to fight a man. Instead, he takes his anger out on a junkie. Me.
I noticed one time that one of the bouncers turned his back on the beating. I thought that he might be my saving grace. But I haven’t seen him again after that night. I’ve given up on life again and I’ve stopped running. It took a couple of weeks for my ribs to heal from the last beating I took. After that one, I decided it was better to just stay fucked up than to spend days feeling like I was breathing through a straw.
Chip’s nice enough to buy me cigarettes and allow me to have cable T.V. He kept my apartment too. At least he hasn’t stopped low enough to force me to do anything with him. Although, I’m not holding my breath that things won’t change. He often shows up just to sit and look at me. He takes that time to tell me what a pathetic waste I am, and how disappointed in me he is over my wasting all of my god-given talent.
He likes to watch me squirm, waiting for the needle that will take me to a place in the clouds. He wants me to ask for it, but I’ve yet to give in to that demand. I would rather shake, sweat and hurt than ask him for what I know is destroying my life- one injection at a time. Even if what he has to offer is the only form of coping with this life that I have left.
The only joy I have in life is pulled from my memories. I think of Ronnie’s laugh, Brooklyn’s scent, Possum’s smile, Punkin’s comments, Big Al’s playfulness, Mary’s accent, Kyle’s favorite song, Katina’s craziness, Pop’s temper and Luke’s brotherly love. But most of all, I think of Regg. Everything about our time together is it at the forefront of my thoughts. I think it’s what’s keeping me sane.
I think about the smile he gave me the first time I saw him. I think about his body and the way it seemed to be created just for my pleasure. I remember his laugh, and find myself trying to imitate it. I think of the way he made love to me, how I’d begged him to tell me he loved me and how he’d showed me in every way possible that love was something I would never do without, not when it came to him.
He is probably dating now. He more than likely has already moved someone in just to spite me. I’m sure he thinks of me often, but the memory fades when he looks into the eyes of the woman he now loves. I am happy for him. He always deserved something much better than me.
Life blends one day to the next. I’m li
ving in a tunnel of darkness without a flashlight. Just when I think I’ve come up with a plan for escape, I’m taken back to the depths of hell that Chip has created for me. Like clockwork, he seems to know when my mind is capable of doing something to betray him. When I realize this, I start a diary.
Dear Diary,
It’s me, Red. Just wanted to let you know that Chip has you figured out. So, I’m gonna write to you and tell you what my clear thoughts are for the day.
There is a fire extinguisher under the kitchen cabinet. Use it to knock Chip in the head with tomorrow. If one of his goons comes in with him, hit that motherfucker too.
Love,
Red
Dear Diary,
Well, that shit didn’t work. Or I guess you just forgot to try it. Try not to puss out next time.
Love,
Red
Dear Diary,
It is confirmed. You are seriously a vagina. Grow some balls!
Love,
Red
Dear Diary,
You’re an addict. It’s amazing how much you want drugs more than you do freedom. I guess old habits die hard.
You’re an idiot,
Red
I stop keeping a diary after that. It doesn’t matter what I thought I could do. Knowing that Chip holds the key to my happiness, makes all thoughts of escape leave me. Chances are, I’ll die in this shithole town, and I only have myself to blame.
Then, like an angel, the man that I thought might be my saving grace magically appears again. I don’t know if he earned his way back in by beating another stripper within an inch of her life, or if maybe he’s just been put on another assignment. But, he shows up again, and I notice a look in his eyes that screams at me to fight. So, that’s what I do.
