* * *
Opening my eyes the next morning, a different face greeted me. Replacing the familiar brown eyes that had become my favorite sight, this face belonged to an unfamiliar person.
Aliyah Rae. The woman from the flier.
All through the night I tossed and turned, the image of this woman flashing through my mind. The flier, I had since memorized, informed me of only her name and that she wrote and performed poetry.
I needed to know this woman, her story. I couldn’t explain it but I felt as though her haunted face was calling out to me. The image of her becoming clearer and clearer until I memorized every inch of her face. Sitting up in bed, I plucked the crumpled piece of paper from my pocket, unfolding it once more, my fingers trailing over the front.
I sprang from the bed, my decision made. I was going out tonight. And for the first time, it wasn’t for work or school. A night out in the city, just me for me. The idea seemed foreign but not uncomfortable. My heart raced with excitement, the feeling ranging somewhere between an insufferable weight on my chest and someone clipping my wings.
This felt big in a way I couldn’t quite describe. It was the same feeling I got on the day my mom woke me up, kissing my cheeks all over and telling me we were leaving New Hazle behind. More importantly, we were leaving Cameron Wade behind. The same feeling on the day I knew I’d have my chance at killing him, the same feeling a day later when I woke up in Hector’s bed.
Just like my mom’s death and Hector invading my life, I didn’t think I’d be the same Annie I was the day before. That woman with a beautiful face in spite of the pain that twisted her features had words. Words I was desperate to hear.
I grabbed my basket of dirty clothes and headed down to the laundry room. I called Matt once I transferred a load into the washer. “What’s wrong?”
I frowned, rarely ever hearing worry settle into his voice. Not unless he was ranting about his mother signing him up for an online dating website. “Why would something be wrong?” He grunted, offering me nothing else. “Someone’s moody.”
Another grunt. I opened my mouth to ask him if he was having sex withdrawals when his whisper sounded in my ear. “Why didn’t you tell me, Annie?”
My heart stopped, the fear of my plan of murder keeping my blood flowing. I didn’t want to be seen as someone capable of murder. I didn’t want to be seen as evil. Not by Matt, not by anyone. Hector, and maybe Nolan by association, was the only person I could trust with that part of me. Because he’s killed. Because when he learned the truth, he held me tighter instead of shoving me away.
“Tell you what?” I asked, afraid of the answer.
“That you were in trouble. I could have helped you. I could have saved you.”
I wanted to tell him I didn’t want or need help. And I sure as hell, didn’t need anyone saving me.
“Instead, you chose Hector Rivera out of all people. You have no idea what kind of man he is.”
Rivera. I finally had a last name. I temporarily forgot about Matt, thinking about how it suited him. I wanted to hear it coming from his lips, his tongue rolling on the r’s, producing my favorite sound in the world.
I zoned back in to hear Matt droning on. “You should come live with me. Pack your bags, tell me where you are, and I’ll come pick you up.”
Annoyance consumed me. He and Hector were polar opposites, day and night.
Matt was daylight, always happy and strutting through life carefree. Nothing bothered him. If it didn’t happen today, it would happen tomorrow. He wanted to save me. He wanted to own me. I was an accessory he could put on his arm and show off to all of his friends. The sad truth was he didn’t even know me. Not even a version of me.
Hector knew all of me. He was nightfall, a tightness in my chest as I looked at him, knowing the next day the confessions I made in the dark would only make his eyes grow fonder when the sun rose. He didn’t want to save me; he wanted me to save myself. I was something to be cherished and respected. And that flooded my chest with warmth more than a million grins ever could.
“Matt.”
He hummed. He was drunk, half-asleep by the sound of his voice. I didn’t think he’d remember this phone call by the time he sobered up but I had to say the words.
“You have to give up on this idea that there’s going to be an us.”
I shut my eyes, letting my face fall to the glass window of the washer, the water soothing me. I knew if I’d ever become an us with anybody, it would be with the man I would never deserve. The one who forced me to look in the mirror and urged me to love what I saw reflecting back at me. The one who made my heart sing with one flash of those brown eyes. Whose touch lit my body up like the fourth of July. Who became a part of my identity with each passing day, that I forgot what it was like to not soak him up every day.
I hung up the phone and turned around in desperate need of coffee. I screamed when I caught a glimpse of Hector posted on the wall, said cup of coffee in his hand.
He lifted an eyebrow in amusement before kicking into his full height and ambling toward me slowly, as if he were approaching a wild animal. I didn’t take my eyes off of him, not until I could smell the sweat on him from his morning workout.
His free hand reached up, tucking a strand of loose hair behind my ear. The slightest brush of his fingertip on the shell of my ear spread a wave of goosebumps from my shoulders to my ankles. I curled my toes against the soft plush of the carpet.
“Are you okay, bonita?”
I pressed my lips together, not trusting my voice when the effect of his touch still lingered, and nodded. I just squealed at his sudden appearance. I wasn’t about to let him know his touch held the same effect.
The look in his eye told me he didn’t believe me. He was a smart man. “We’re going to be late,” he said, before turning away from me.
“I’m staying home today.” I still had to text Matt since that’s the reason I called him in the first place.
He handed me my cup of coffee and I relished in the warmth it spread through my fingertips.
He frowned. “You don’t have work today?”
“I called Matt and told him I wouldn’t be there.”
“Are you planning on staying here?”
I nodded my head as I followed him into the kitchen.
“Do you want me to stay with you? I could have Nolan—”
I shook my head, behind the mug, maybe too quickly because his jaw clenched. “No, you go and do whatever it is that you do.” I paused, avoiding his eyes. “I do have to go somewhere tonight.”
“Where?” he grunted, suspicion lining his features.
“A café. There’s sort of a show I want to go to.” He smiled. A big, toothy smile. One I didn’t even have to fight for. I pressed my hand against his chest, relishing in how it started beating faster almost instantly. I batted my eyes up at him. “Will you be my date?”
Nothing had changed from that first day he drove me into the city. He still wouldn’t be seen with me in public. Whenever I did bring it up, he reverted back to the broody version of himself. And as much as I found the frown lines in his forehead goddamn adorable, I much preferred his soft smiles and his teasing tone.
His teeth snuck out and captured his bottom lip and I fought the urge to break our eye contact. But I must have been smiling because he scoffed, folding his hand over mine and tearing it away from his chest. He turned on his heel, heading toward the door. “Breakfast is on the table. I’ll be back in time to drop you off,” he called over his shoulder.
I spent the rest of the day in solitude, nothing to keep me company but the vanilla ice cream and caramel Hector had me hooked on and the Criminal Minds marathon running on TV.
I hopped in the shower, my nerves turning jittery as the night approached. I was actually doing this. Getting out of the shower, I walked into the bedroom, pressing on the wall closest to where I slept, revealing a closet.
The closet was easily the size of my dorm room at college. A si
mple white bench with dark gray cushions lined the wall. Shelves for hanging up clothes overlooking the seating area. There was a single mirror on each end of the room. Hector showed me this space that was only for me months ago. Every day before today, I’d go in, avoid the mirrors and pick out clean clothes to wear.
I didn’t fill the room. I barely filled a foot of the room. It remained as empty as it was when he originally showed me the room with the exception of the clothes I brought with me, my two copies of The Count of Monte Cristo, and my suitcase and backpack. I fit my outfits in three drawers, although I probably could have fit them all in one.
Nine outfits in plastic bags hung on the clothing rack.
Nine outfits for the nine birthdays of my mom’s I’ve missed.
She was a beauty queen. Her dress code consisted of heels and dresses or cute silky tops and slim fitting jeans. It genuinely surprised me she didn’t have a modeling career. Where I was a size six, okay, maybe it was closer to an eight since I’ve been here with Hector who cooked the best of everything, my mother had been a size zero. Tall and skinny, a beautiful face that made the silly selfies we took in the bathroom mirror seem like professional photos.
Her birthday was the only day of the year, every year, that I let myself go. I spent the day doing the things I knew would make her happy. I went shopping, buying an outfit she would wear. I went to a salon and got a matching manicure and pedicure. I had my eyebrows done. It was the one day I channeled my inner-mama. I knew, if she was alive, she would have been dragging me out to do these things, not just on special occasions but probably every weekend. We would have told each other secrets. We would have talked about boys.
I wondered if she would like Hector. If she would like him for me. She was my best friend but she was also a mother. Maybe she would hate him. Maybe she wouldn’t approve of the gap between us. But maybe she would see things in him that she never saw in Cameron. A man who really saw me, who wanted to protect me, who cared about me.
I groaned, shaking both of them from my thoughts. This night had me jittery enough. I didn’t need to think about questions I would never know the answers to.
I grabbed the outfit I bought last year. A deep red floral print cami-romper. I pulled it over my legs and stomach, not glancing in the mirror until the straps settled over my shoulders. The silk rubbed against my skin, an acute contrast to my normal jeans. The hem of the shorts ended a little bit above mid-thigh. I could bend over and not flash anyone, but just barely. My neck was completely exposed, a deep V plunging down to reach the top of my navel. A thin strip of fabric across my breastbone helped my breasts stay tucked away. I threw on a pair of white Vans, avoiding all mirrors, scared I’d chicken out.
I flew down the stairs the moment I heard Hector arrive, just barely throwing on my jean jacket. He hadn’t even made it out of the darkened living room when he caught sight of me. He froze mid-step and I did, too, holding on to the banister to keep my balance as he perused the length of my body.
He didn’t say anything.
He didn’t come forward.
But I could see his eyes caressing every inch of my body.
I wrapped my hands around the lapels of my jacket, thankful they hid my breasts. We’d both be in trouble if the layer wrapping around my upper body was exposed.
After an excruciatingly long moment, he cleared his throat. “Don’t you have a strict dress code of only wearing jeans?” he asked, his voice scratchy.
I bit back my smile, stepping off the last stair and sauntering up to him. I shrugged like it was no big deal. “Are you ready?” I asked, laying my hand in between his pecs.
He plucked my hand from his chest, placing it by my side before giving me a tight nod. I followed him outside, pausing as he locked the house up. “Me juró que dejaría de intentar matarme. Pinche mentirosa,” he muttered under his breath. Translation: She swore to me she’d stop trying to kill me. Fucking liar. I ducked my head, hiding my smile at his words.
We didn’t say a word to each other as he drove into the city. The Latin station played through the speakers and Hector tapped the steering wheel, but his fingers couldn’t catch the beat to save his life.
As for me, I tried my hardest not to fidget in my seat. I felt bare. I felt naked. It wasn’t so much that more of my skin was unconcealed than not. It had more to do with the fabric. It felt fun and flirty. No hardness, no faux protection.
“How long is this thing?” Hector grumbled from his side of the car.
I looked over at him. He stared straight ahead even though I knew he felt my eyes on him. “It starts at eight and it’s a two-hour show.” I paused. “Is that past your bedtime, old man?”
He glowered straight ahead but the corners of his mouth twitched, giving him away.
He pulled in the first parking spot he could. The city starting to wake up as the dusk settled in. I leaned forward, adrenaline coursing through me. “Can I see your phone?”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and handed it over. “I put Nolan’s phone number in there. If something happens, call him. He’ll be the closest to you.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is Nolan going to be in there?”
“No. This is something you need to do alone, right?”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Yes.” My voice nothing more than a gust of breath.
“Give it your all, bonita.” He leaned toward me, grabbing my chin in between his two fingers before planting a kiss on the center of my cheek. My eyes fell shut, torn between wanting to escape this car and asking him to never deny me his lips again. “I’ll be back to pick you up in two hours.”
He let me go and I grabbed the handle, looking back at him. He smiled at me and tipped his head in encouragement, cementing the fact that I didn’t deserve him.
After I hopped out of the car and watched Hector drive away, I stood in line at the entrance of McNutt’s Cafe. A couple of minutes later, I paid the admittance fee and headed straight to the bar and ordered a beer, hoping it would quiet the anxiety thrumming through my veins.
The stage was located on the opposite end of the café from the entry doors. A bar ran across almost the entire length of the room on each side of the stage. Little round tables filtered through the center of the room. Most of the tables were filled with duos and groups of people, so I found a seat at the bar closer to the stage. I leaned back against the bar, bottle pressed against my lips and waited.
At exactly eight o’clock, the lights dimmed and the busy chatter turned into last minute whispering. A spotlight focused on the center of a stage where only a microphone and a bar stool sat. The bartender who got me my drink rushed to the stage, announcing the first act.
The woman who walked on stage introduced herself as Maya Reynolds, adjusting the microphone to fit her barely five-foot frame. She was a curvy girl with ivory skin, faded pink hair and bright green eyes. In contrast, she looked nothing like the woman on the flier that had drawn me here.
Kissing
I see it everywhere
In the streets
On the big screen
I see my mother kiss my dad when she passes him in the kitchen
I see it in the malls
I see it in my favorite spot,
On the elevator.
Up, up, up the feeling when you kiss someone.
It makes your hands shake,
And your heart race,
It sets fire in your veins,
Brings a curve to your lips
When people see you kiss.
She paused for a long moment, pulling in a deep breath.
When people see me kiss,
It’s a different story.
It makes their hands shake
With fury
What kind of example are two girls kissing setting for their children?
It makes their heart race
With hate
Because how dare I kiss someone who also has ovaries
It sets fire in their vein
s
With unease
Because I can kiss my girlfriend whenever I want as long as they don’t have to see it
It brings a curve to their lips
Full of distaste
Because the sight of two girls in love is not natural.
Kissing.
It’s just kissing.
My heart had stopped beating from the moment Maya started speaking. Her voice was loud and strong and passionate. I never thought passion could be something physical, something I could see with my own two eyes. In under a minute, a poet by the name of Maya Reynolds proved me wrong. The way she spoke the words. Her tone fierce and her face confident. Before I could blink, I was certain of one thing, I was in love.
She read a few more poems that had to deal with being an out lesbian. Every word she spoke brought chills across my arms and bare legs. Her set finished just after thirty minutes and the bartender returned to the stage to announce that the floor was free for the next half hour.
I drained my first beer and ordered another one, barely taking my eyes off of the stage. The people who jumped at the open mic opportunity were all different and what they shared on stage just as equal in difference. There were women, men, and non-binary poets from all different ethnicities, and their poetry reflected that. Some talked about being invisible. Some talked about anger and passion. Some talked about love and heartbreak. And some just talked about how good they were at giving head.
When the clock struck nine o’clock, a wave of silence fell over everyone. The bartender did not return to the stage to announce the main event poet. No, the woman that had drawn me here in the first place, walked on the stage slowly, until she was under the bright light. She didn’t seem fazed by everyone’s attention on her. Her face was somber, her eyes unreadable. She hadn’t said a word yet and I found myself teetering on the bar stool, feeling a wave of awe settle over me.
Thirty seconds.
Nine months.
That’s how long it takes for you to be born.
A pair of scissors and a steady hand is all it takes for you to be free.
It’s not the same for me.
Hijacked Page 18
