Melody sighed. The memory was coming back to her, whether she liked it or not. She closed her eyes.
“All I put on my list that year was a Rapunzel Barbie,” Harmony bit off her words. “I thought if I put only one thing on my list, it was a guarantee that I would receive it.” She held up her pointer finger. “One goddamn thing is all I asked her for.”
“You’re angry at me because of a stupid doll?” Melody interrupted. She remembered what happened, and the heat of shame burned in the center of her chest now. But that was years ago, and she was just a child.
“When I opened my one gift, I was over the moon. Ava had finally done something nice for me. She had finally given me something that I wanted, instead of making me accept what she thought I should have. That doll was beautiful. My dream of owning a Rapunzel doll had finally come true,” Harmony said, shaking her head. “Oh, yes. I was so happy that if I had died at that moment, I would’ve been fine with knowing I had at least one happy day in my young life. As I held my one gift, I looked over at you opening probably your tenth gift that morning, and you were scowling and unhappy. You ripped the pretty, shiny gold and red wrapping paper and threw each new toy aside like it meant nothing to you. Nothing could ever satisfy you,” Harmony said, tears falling freely down her cheeks.
“Harmony, look, I don’t know what—” Melody began.
“And then!” Harmony shouted, cutting her off. “When all of your gifts were opened and tossed aside, even the most beautiful dolls, ones that I would never dream to even ask Ava for, you looked over at my doll with her chocolate skin, long braids, and pink lace dress and cried out, ‘I want that doll,’” Harmony said accusingly.
Melody bit down on her bottom lip, fighting back her own tears.
“And you know what?” Harmony shook her head in disgust. “Ava walked over to me with her hand extended. I turned away, screaming and begging her not to take away my doll. But none of that worked. Ava ripped that doll, my one and only gift, right out of my hands, and handed it over to you without a blink of an eye. You snatched it like the greedy and selfish kid you were and danced around the room, gloating in your victory, all the while I lay balled up in a knot under the tree sobbing.” Harmony’s body shook with emotion.
Melody swiped roughly at her own tears.
“Well, the way I felt that day—less than human, unloved, robbed, abused, alone, and defeated—is the same way that I feel today knowing that you slept with my husband,” Harmony said, letting the words drop like a sledgehammer.
Melody’s head flew back as if she’d been slapped. She opened her mouth to speak, but Harmony put her hand up to squelch the debate.
“There is nothing you can say to defend yourself. I’m not asking you to confirm anything for me. I already know the truth. I only came here today to ask you why you enjoy torturing me so much. Why do you always want to hurt me?” Harmony’s lips twisted in anguish.
Melody shook her head, defeated. “I told her not to say anything.”
“Told who? What are you talking about?”
“I know Lyric told you. I guess I didn’t meet her money demands fast enough,” Melody said. “But it’s not what you think. I didn’t go after him because I wanted what you had. It didn’t happen like that. We are not kids anymore, Harmony, and a husband is not a toy to be stolen. Love is not an object to be taken. If he really loved you, he wouldn’t have even entertained the thought of being with someone else.” Melody’s self-defense argument, of course, placed the blame squarely on Ron.
Harmony seemed to sway on her feet. “Lyric? She . . . She knew about you and Ron?”
“It just happened, Harmony. I didn’t set out to hurt you,” Melody explained.
“Lyric knew?” Harmony punched her fists into the palm of her hand.
“If she didn’t tell you, then how did you find out?”
“It’s in every gossip magazine and tabloid paper, Melody,” Harmony said exasperated.
Melody fell back on the couch. “But how?” she asked, almost breathlessly. Harmony dug into her purse and pulled out the US Weekly and tossed it in Melody’s lap.
“It’s right there—in black and white. There’s no mistaking it,” Harmony growled. “There’s nothing you could ever do or say to make up for this one, Melody. I never want to see you again. I hope your money buys you all the happiness you clearly think you deserve,” she spat.
“I have proof that I didn’t make a move on Ron. He approached me,” Melody said frantically. “You wait right here. I can show you.”
Melody rushed to her bedroom, desperate to clear her tarnished reputation. She couldn’t forget that night . . .
* * *
“What the . . .” Melody looked dumbfounded at the sight of her brother-in-law standing in her doorway, propped up by her doorman, Ralph.
“Listen, I . . . I . . . know, I’m the la . . . last person you . . . ex . . . expected to see,” Ron slurred, his words uttered in an alcohol-scented cloud. “But I . . . need to say some . . . some . . . things to you,” Ron’s left pointer finger moved unsteadily in front of his face until it was directed at her.
“My God, Ron, you’re a mess,” Melody said, eyeing his twisted, untucked shirt and the big wet spot on the front of his pants. He was barely coherent.
“You are . . . you . . . fuck . . . fucked . . . up. Fucking up . . . my marriage,” Ron warbled.
“You’re pissy drunk,” Melody said, anxiously knotting the bathrobe sash around her waist.
“You can’t break up . . . no . . . break up my marriage with your stu-pid . . . tour,” Ron said, dribble running down the side of his mouth.
“Ms. Love, I can call your security and have them remove him,” Ralph said, holding Ron by the collar of his shirt as if he feared contamination.
“Trust me, he’s not a threat. Look at him. He couldn’t harm a fly right now even if he wanted to. He just needs to dry out,” Melody replied, shaking her head.
“You need to get out. Get out . . . out . . . of my marriage,” Ron said doggedly.
“Ron, just come inside and dry out. You’re not yourself right now,” Melody said evenly. She was running out of patience. She had no time for this drunken foolishness.
“No. I came to say . . . I love . . . love my wi-fe. You can’t do this to uh . . . us.” Ron leaned toward Melody and almost fell over.
“Whoa,” Melody said as she and Ralph both reacted at the same time, keeping Ron upright.
Melody’s face reddened. She nodded to Ralph, excusing him. “Thank you, Ralph. I’ll take it from here.”
The doorman looked at her skeptically.
“Honestly, it’s okay,” Melody assured.
Ralph shrugged his shoulders and slowly released his grip on Ron. Melody stood aside as Ron staggered into her apartment.
“I came here . . . here. To give you . . . a piece of my . . . mind.” He swayed dramatically to the right and almost fell over a nearby coffee table.
“Listen. Concentrate on staying on your feet.” Melody grabbed his arm and guided him to her white leather couch. She tossed his jacket down first and wished she could immediately disinfect her hands.
Ron mumbled under his breath something that Melody could barely understand.
“Sit down. You are a complete mess right now.”
“I . . . didn’t have any place left . . . I mean . . . left . . . to go,” Ron rambled incoherently. “I didn’t . . . have anyone else to tell. She . . . hurt me. She . . . hurt me, bad. You caused all . . . all of it.” Ron choked down a sob. He was on the verge of a mental breakdown. That much was obvious.
“Where are you coming from at this time of the morning? A bar? A party?” Melody pressed as she retrieved a bottle of water from her wet bar.
Ron closed his eyes and seemed to relax for a bit on the couch. His mouth hung open, and his breathing was labored. Oh, no, she would not allow him to fall asleep in this state. Who knew when he’d wake up, if at all?
“Does Harmony know
where you are?” Melody inquired.
Ron groaned. At least he was still conscious.
“What’s going on, Ron? I don’t even know how you knew where to find me. I’m not even here all that often. I only came here after Ava’s death. You come here accusing me of interfering in your marriage, looking like you’ve been on a bender for a week. And God, you smell awful,” Melody said, waving her hand in front of her nose.
Ron grimaced when Melody placed the cold bottle of water on his forehead. He cracked his right eye open.
“You probably need ten of these.” Melody held the bottle out to him.
Ron looked suspiciously at the bottle before turning his head away. He closed his eyes again and seemed to have fallen asleep or passed out—she couldn’t tell the difference.
“I’m going to call Harmony,” Melody said, frustrated.
“No! Please. Don’t,” Ron shouted, the words falling heavy from his mouth.
That had gotten his attention. Melody was startled by how adamant he was about not calling her sister.
Ron closed his eyes again and spoke, carefully constructing his words.
“She can’t know that I came to you. She . . . she can’t see . . . me . . . like this,” Ron hiccupped a sob. “I wanted to fix it.”
Melody rolled her eyes. Ron couldn’t make up his mind. Did he want to be a mad, confrontational drunk or a sad, sobbing drunk who was too ashamed of his wife learning about his behavior?
“I’m sure Harmony would understand what you’re going through. She’s your wife,” Melody said, her voice trailing off as she stared down at Ron’s handsome face. She tilted her head to the side. Something inside of her stirred. She stumbled back a few steps, dizzy with conflicted feelings. Why did he come to her house? She was still not clear about his intentions.
Ron snored loudly. The sound snapped her out of her fantasy.
Melody quickly shook off her conflicting emotions and thoughts. She set the water bottle down on the end table and rushed to her bedroom to retrieve her cell phone. Melody was tempted to dial her sister’s number, but Ron had explicitly requested that she not call her sister. Melody didn’t really want to call her anyway. Let him tell her.
Ron was snoring like a bear on her couch. She smiled and picked up her phone and snapped a few pictures of him.
* * *
“Look,” Melody panted, showing her cell phone pictures to Harmony. “I’m telling you, he came to me. I wasn’t trying to take what was yours.”
Harmony squinted down at the screen. Her husband was asleep on Melody’s couch like he belonged there. She shook her head.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about sneaking around behind my back anymore. He’s all yours,” Harmony spat, moving swiftly to the door.
“Harmony—wait,” Melody called out. Harmony stopped walking, but she didn’t turn around.
“I always wanted to be you—to be as . . . . I just wanted to be as strong, pretty, and smart as you. None of this ever mattered if I couldn’t share it all with you and Lyric. I wish we could have been Sista Love in truth, but it’s not too late,” Melody said, finally breaking down.
“It is too late. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have any sisters,” Harmony said before she stormed out.
Melody’s shoulders shook when the door slammed. The impending loneliness finally hit her. She had gone too far this time, and she knew it. Through teary eyes, she looked down at the crumpled magazine photo clutched in her hands. That picture probably netted the seller over a hundred thousand dollars. Melody sucked in her breath as comprehension washed over her. Only a few people could’ve taken that picture and sold it—Ron, Gary, or the driver.
Melody was going to get to the bottom of the photo. It seemed that someone was profiting off of her pain, and when she found out who, she would make them pay for it.
Chapter 14
Lyric
Khalil growled and panted as he reached an orgasm. It was the fifth for the night and normal for a drug-fueled roll. Lyric followed with sounds of her own, but she was faking it.
Khalil released his grip on the chain attached to the dog collar around her neck. They both collapsed on the bed.
She rolled on her side and drew her legs up to her chest. Her insides burned, and the area between her legs was raw. She felt like she’d been dragged down a concrete road naked. For the past three weeks, she had been held captive, drugged up, and abused. Every time she begged to leave, Khalil would find a new kinky form of abuse to inflict on her. She’d been so out of it most of the time, she didn’t even have the strength to protest.
“I have to say, you’re the best I’ve had in a long time,” he said, sitting up on the side of his custom-made circular bed. “I’m usually bored by now, but there is something about you that I find more appealing than the others,” he said, pinching her nipple. Lyric squeezed her eyes shut and fought to stave off the vomit creeping up her throat.
Khalil snapped his fingers, and the two servants posted in the corners of the room rushed over to prepare the heroin Lyric needed to keep from being dope sick. Three weeks was all it had taken, and she was hooked all over again.
“I don’t want to,” Lyric whispered weakly. She had come down from the last high long enough to think about her situation. If she refused the drugs and got really dope sick, maybe Khalil would be disgusted and throw her out on the street. At this point, being on the street was better than being brutalized as a sex slave.
One of Khalil’s servants grabbed the long silver chain around her neck and yanked it until Lyric sat upright. The other held her arm, forcing it flat against the table.
“Please, I don’t want any. I . . . just want to leave,” Lyric cried, closing her eyes as she listened to Khalil laugh at her pleas.
“Now you refuse my drugs? You were very happy to accept them when we first met. This is what you like, no?” he teased.
Lyric winced as the tip of needle broke through her skin. The drugs hit her system faster than any of the stepped-on dope she normally bought off the street. Her head dropped forward until her chin touched her chest. There was a time when having this much drugs in her system would have been a dream come true. Now, it felt like a nightmare.
“Please,” Lyric slurred, barely able to lift her head in Khalil’s direction. “Just let me go home.”
“Trust me. When I’m done with you, you’ll be going home,” Khalil said, grabbing the chain and yanking her into his lap so that she straddled his hips.
Lyric numbly complied.
* * *
Lyric’s eyes rolled in a circular motion and she kept laughing, so high out of her mind she could barely remember her own name. Khalil had forced a speedball into her vein. He’d said he wanted to experiment with her to see how the drug would affect her.
“Bring the other one in,” Khalil said, waving his hand toward the gold French doors. Lyric laughed for no reason, her half-opened eyes still rolling around.
“Lyric! Oh my God. I thought you were dead,” Bethany cried out. Lyric finally got her eyes open long enough to see that her friend wore a collar and chain around her neck too.
“Dead?” Lyric slurred, fighting to keep her eyes open. “I just started living.”
“I’m so sorry I convinced you to come here. It’s all my fault,” Bethany cried, reaching out to embrace her friend.
Suddenly, Bethany was yanked down to the floor by the chain.
“Stop all of this sniveling. It’s time for the show,” Khalil complained. He took a long sniff of cocaine and laughed. “Don’t you bitches just love to party?”
“Please, no,” Bethany shook her head. “Not with my friend.”
Khalil laughed raucously. “Who better to do it with than your own friend? Who says money can’t buy a man’s wildest desires?”
“I like men. I . . . will do anything for you . . . just you,” Bethany begged, on her knees with her hands clasped together.
“I don’t care what you like. I’ve already spok
en. And when I speak, women obey,” Khalil snarled. He nodded at one of his men nearby.
Bethany screamed as she was dragged across the floor over to the bed. The skin on her knees burned.
“What’s the matter?” Lyric sang in a silly tone, her eyes closed as she drifted in and out of consciousness.
“Lyric, we have to try to get out of here,” Bethany whispered loud enough for her friend to hear. Lyric laughed in response.
“Start the show!”
“I . . . need something to take the edge off. I . . . can’t do it without—” Bethany begged.
“No. You’ll do it without being high. It’s your reluctance that turns me on. If you’re high, the drugs will ease your pain and embarrassment,” Khalil replied, squeezing his crotch and licking his lips.
“No more delays,” he warned, walking over and slapping Bethany on her naked ass so hard, his hand print remained.
“Get her up,” Khalil commanded.
Lyric felt herself being yanked around by the chain. She wore a silly grin, and her head flopped from one side to the other side.
“Make believe you want it or you’ll both regret it,” Khalil growled at Bethany.
Lyric looked at her friend, confused.
“Why are you crying, Bethany? This shit is so good,” Lyric giggled, falling down on the bed.
Reluctantly, Bethany whipped her hair around and around to the music that now filled the room.
“Crawl,” Khalil gasped, his manhood growing in his hand now. Bethany got down on all fours and crawled toward Lyric like a hungry predator.
Khalil nodded at his people, and they rushed over to the bed, forcing Lyric’s legs open.
“Hey. What the hell?” Lyric groaned, followed by a hysterical laugh.
“Keep your legs open,” Khalil insisted. Lyric stuck her tongue out at him and mocked his command.
“What you trying to do? I don’t get down with bitches,” she slurred, her words barely intelligible.
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