Kingsley

by Jenny Wood

  “Morgan?” The deep, familiar voice called out. He sounded nervous and I knew it right away.

  “Yeah.” I croaked. “Come in” I tried to sit up but the more I moved, the more I hurt. I couldn’t help the tears that escaped and I hoped he didn’t notice.

  “I’m sorry, I heard you call out and I was worried, otherwise I would have never come in without permission.” Kingsley says, walking around the couch and staring down at me. He’s dressed in the same t-shirt and blue jeans he was wearing earlier when I’d seen him and his little sister Kady at the market. His body was impressive; I’d never seen someone with quite so much bulk and it suited him, well. The beard was big but tidy and I could smell a trace of his cologne from here. I’m embarrassed to say that I missed it on the blanket he’d laid on, the first night I’d met him. Fucked up circumstances, but I’m also embarrassed to admit that I used it the following three nights to get to sleep. It was comforting in the most messed up way and I couldn’t understand why I liked it so much, considering it was on my blanket in the first place because he’d been on my man, on that blanket. Still…. It was what it was.

  “That’s okay.” I croaked, again. He knelt on the floor next to me, his eyes, now level with mine. He kept a safe distance, but extended his arm to reach my forehead. I flinched as he made contact because his fingers were freezing and I couldn’t handle it.

  “You’re fr-freezing.” I stuttered, my teeth chattering worse, now that I was trying to talk.

  “You’re burning up.” He answered softly, but took the blanket around my arms and slowly lifted it up over my shoulders. I felt it slide up my body, like I was being put through a meat processor. I clenched my jaw, tightly, and hoped he made it quick.

  “What hurts?” He asked, obviously seeing my distress over something so small.

  “Everything.” I said, honestly. “Everything hurts. My skin, my hands, my eyes, my body.” I sobbed, finally. I couldn’t hold it back, anymore. I didn’t even want to try.

  “Do you have anything for this fever? We need to get it to go down.” He says, reaching for something he’d sat down next to the couch. I see him rip the paper off of a straw and put it into a paper cup.

  “Can you take a drink of this? It’s a peach smoothie, so it’s cold. I know you’re cold, but we really need to get your fever down, okay?” He looks directly into my eyes and I notice how beautiful and dark, his are. I nod in acceptance and try to prepare myself to sit up. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  “Here.” Kingsley says, instead; holding the straw up to my lips for me to take a drink. He’s holding it to my mouth, so I can get a drink. I can honestly say, no one has done this for me since I was a bottle-fed baby. It’s thoughtful. I take a small sip and relish the cool liquid as it coats my tongue and throat; the peach flavor bursting to life and makes my stomach growl. I guess queasy or not, my body realizes it’s hunger.

  “Thank you.” I softly tell him and watch his small smile get bigger.

  “You’re welcome.” He says back, sincerely. “I brought some soup; it might help warm you up, want some?” He asks hopefully. I hate to decline because my stomach has been out of sorts all day but also because I know that sitting up to eat it, is more than I can do at the moment.

  “That was nice of you.” I tell him, incredibly nice. “I don’t think I have the energy right now though. I’m so cold.” I shiver, making my point. “And I’m pretty sure my skin is charred from the neck, down.” I try to tease, but it’s exactly what it feels like.

  “Do you have medicine? Can I get you anything to help?” He asks worriedly. I’d taken a fever reducer as well as my anti-nausea medication earlier when I’d gotten home, it doesn’t seem to be helping. I tell him that and his frown becomes more pronounced. He pulls out the tub of soup and opens it and immediately, my stomach roars to life. It smells amazing.

  “What is that?” I ask, my mouth watering from the delicious scent wafting from the now open container.

  “Chicken and white bean soup.” He says. “I got it from the deli across from the shop.” He takes a spoon full and holds it up to my mouth. I’m surprised by the intimacy of it and even more surprised that it makes me want to cry. No one has ever done anything like this for me before and this guy is more or less a stranger. I mean, the circumstances in which we met were beyond messed up and here is he, on his knees, feeding me soup. Maybe I’m dreaming.

  I open my mouth and he feeds me carefully. I close my mouth around the spoon and the warm broth feels as good as it tastes. It has a hint of spiciness, but it’s not too bold and the flavor is that of chicken soup with a kick. My stomach growls again, making him giggle- if a man of his size can giggle. He sinks the spoon in the bowl and brings out another bite; I accept it, immediately.

  I watch him concentrate as he’s feeding me and I wonder why he’s doing this. I hope it isn’t because he feels guilty about the whole thing with Stephen; I know who was at fault in that scenario and even though I think it’s a bit…. gross, to go home with someone you don’t know for sex; I know that people all over the world do it every day. I couldn’t, I’m not wired that way, but I know people do it and I shouldn’t judge them for it. Kingsley Kennedy seems like a very nice guy; he’d have to be to be doing what he was right now doing, right? It should be weird, it should be extremely weird; and maybe it is, to him. To me, it’s incredibly sweet.

  I don’t eat much and I can tell he’s disappointed but I thank him profusely and tell him to have some. My body has quit shaking although everything is still incredibly painful but I almost feel like I’ve gotten a burst of energy with the soup. Kingsley puts the lid on and excuses himself to take the rest to the kitchen; he comes back with the smoothie, which is melting quickly but still cold, and a ginger biscuit.

  “I also brought this,” he points to the biscuit, “I figured it’d help keeping the soup down.” He says, placing it on the table and bringing the straw of the smoothie back to my lips. I take a healthy drink and smile at the flavor again as he sits the cup beside him on the table.

  “I know this is weird, I’m sorry.” He says quietly and my smile falls. He notices it and tries to explain. “I mean, it has to be weird for you; if I even tried to explain this to anyone, they’d think for sure I was crazy. I saw you earlier and you looked like you didn’t feel good; I hated the thought of you not feeling well up here all by yourself so I thought I’d come and feed you. I know I’m probably not someone you’d consider being friends with but, I’m a good friend.” He says. “I bring soup and snacks.” He smiles and shrugs. He looks like he should be intimidating and scary and I suppose if I saw him out and about, in a dark alley somewhere or something he might be; but when he smiles, he looks like a mischievous little kid with a plan to cause trouble. It’s adorable.

  “I could use a friend.” I confess. I know I may not be a very good one, back; but I’d give almost anything to not be going through this time in my life, alone. Is that selfish?

  “Yeah?” He smiles bigger now. I can’t help but smile back.

  “Yeah.” I reply.

  “Great!” He slaps his hands against his knees, looking as if he really means it. “I need your phone number.” He blurts, pulling his phone from his back pocket.

  “What?” I ask on a small, laugh.

  “Your phone number, you have mine but we’re friends now, so I’m going to need yours.” He says, typing something into his phone and then looking at me, expectantly. I rattle off my number and he repeats it back to me, twice, to make sure he’s got it right.

  “That’s it.” I laugh as he finally puts his phone away.

  “Good. Now that we’re friends, we can text each other to check in and we can hang out and do friend things.” He suggests cheekily. The smile on his face, never leaving. “Now, tell me something that you’d tell a friend getting to know you.” He suggests, getting comfy on the coffee table in front of me. It’s awkward with my lying on the sofa looking up at him as he looks down on me.
I decide that now that I’m feeling a little bit better, I can try to sit up. He notices me, trying and goes to help me, immediately.

  “Tell me where I can touch that won’t hurt.” He says, hands out and at the ready.

  “My hands.” I say, reaching out and letting him take me. He pulls gently and I’m surprised to find that it didn’t hurt so bad. I shuffle my back to the arm of the couch and pull my legs up to sit, cross-legged. I offer the other side of the couch to Kingsley and he sits, facing me as well.

  “Okay, now, tell me something, friendly.” He suggests, making me laugh again. If someone would have asked me at any point in my day if I could laugh after a treatment, I’d say that they were out of their minds.

  “I was thinking, just before you got here, that I might get a dog.” I admit, making him laugh.

  “I have to tell you that now that we’re friends, that means you’re also friends with my friends; and Kady has been harping about a dog, for weeks. If you get one, your new friend Kady will want to come over and play with it.” He says in a mock, threat. To be honest, it makes me just want to get one even more.

  “She’s adorable.” I say. She looks like a miniature, girly, Kingsley but with different color hair and a slightly thicker nose and thinner lips. Kingsley’s lips are full and rosy, beneath his facial hair.

  “She really is.” He says, smiling. “My brother and I just met her a few months ago. We didn’t know about her until after our mother passed away. Now, she’s one of my very favorite people.”

  “I can tell. I’m sorry you’ve only just met her though, is she your only sister?” I ask, more curious about this gentle, compassionate man.

  “She is. It’s only, Kayson, Kady and me, now.” He tells me, then explains the way things were between his parents and then the passing of his mother. He tells me about all the resentment they feel towards their father and the new life they’ve made here in, Madison. In return, I tell him a little bit about my childhood, the good times, of course; I don’t want to spoil our getting to each other by laying all of my woes at his feet.

  “Tell me about your art.” He smiles and I can’t help but smile back. I cough before I answer and notice a strong ping in the center of my chest. After my cough though, it dissipates, so I brush it off and answer his question.

  “I’m in love with art.” I smile back. “It’s everything.” I shrug.

  “Is it what you do for a living or is it more of a hobby?” He asks.

  “It used to be a hobby, I mean, I guess it still is.” I try to explain, because I love it. “I still do it for fun, but when I quit my job at a B&B where I also lived, when I was twenty, I set up a website where people could place an order for whatever they wanted and I’d paint it for them. I sold them online for about three years until I got the courage to add my own. I was living in a small little, one-room studio place downtown; it was all I could afford; and someone bought it, the day I put it up for sale. I tried another one, then another one and then a few more and they all sold.” I tell him of how I got my start.

  “Now, I do less requests because, there’s a difference between the ones I do for other people and the ones I do for myself. You can see the difference and I like the ones I do because I feel them, better.” I explain.

  “I know what you mean.” He says. “I ink people all day, doing what they ask me to and of course, I do my best and make it look as good as I can; and I’m good.” He says so humbly, making me laugh. “But, the pieces that mean something to me, the ones I have a connection with and can freehand or add my own tidbits, here and there; those are the ones that turn out, amazing.” He explains. He gets it, of course he does. He’s an artist as well.

  He sits with me until well after midnight, talking about everything and nothing. I’m surprised at how much I have in common with him. He’s made me laugh more tonight than I have in a really long time and despite the low-grade fever I kept all night and the persistently worsening cough, I had to take cough medicine for, I had all but forgotten how terrible I’d felt when he’d first got here. My skin was still sensitive and my muscles still ached, but somehow it was all manageable with him distracting me from it. Plus, the medicine helped, as well as made me tired. Cough medicine always knocks me out and when Kingsley saw that it was harder and harder for me to stay awake; he cleaned up our water bottles and threw my now empty smoothie cup in the trash and said he’d better go.

  “You going to be okay here, tonight?” He asks, making his way to the door slowly, as I slowly trailed behind him.

  “Yeah, I’m going to change my clothes and get into bed.” I say around a yawn. “Thanks for bringing me soup and keeping me company; believe it or not, you really helped me out tonight.” I tell him sincerely. The smile that splits his face is worth every minute of awkwardness it had been, up until he’d decided we were friends. I couldn’t help but smile back, shyly. I shouldn’t be attracted to him, that wasn’t going to do anyone any good; me especially. Still, I was a twenty-five-year-old man; I could appreciate his gorgeousness and beautiful smile, especially since it was pointed at me.

  “Anytime.” He shrugs, still smiling. “You text me if you need anything, alright? Even if you’re just bored and feel like talking. Friends do that, right?” He asked. I nodded and tried to hold back another yawn and failed. The cough medicine was kicking my ass, but it was helping.

  “Alright, goodnight.” He winked and I closed the door and locked it, trying not to swoon at how sexy that half smirk and wink was. This was going to be the hardest friendship in the history of friendships. Of course, I’d be attracted to the man my boyfriend had an affair with when I was in the middle of having a brain tumor and all that. That was just my luck, wasn’t it?

  Chapter 7: Kingsley

  I didn’t get very much sleep last night, on account of staying at Morgan’s until well after two a.m. Fortunately, I didn’t mind dragging ass today because it was worth it, since now, we’ve become “friends”. Yes, I could admit to myself now, that I was attracted to the boyfriend of the man I went home with; well, ex-boyfriend now. I still felt bad about it but the only thing I was really guilty of was trusting a one-night stand when I should’ve known better. The guy was a dick and that was on him, not me. Thankfully, Morgan must’ve agreed because not only did he agree to be friends with me, but I spent several hours last night, getting to know him.

  “What’s wrong with your face?” Kayson asked and gained the attention of Jody and Layla. I felt my brow furrow as I looked at him, was there something wrong with it?

  “What?” I asked, feeling around my face for something wet or sticky.

  “You’re smiley….er than usual.” He commented with feigned suspicion. I rolled my eyes and affectionately showed him my middle finger.

  “Is there a reason for this happiness, brother o’ mine?” Kayson taunted, earning giggles from the gallery. There were only two scheduled appointments, one for Jody and one for Kayson, but both of the women in their chair giggled at everything one of us said. They were what we like to call, “ink bunnies”; ladies who get “slut stickers” as Layla calls them, just to sit in our chair and flirt with us. I wonder how much business we’d lose if they all realized they were barking up the wrong tree with all of us. Jody, Kayson and me were gay and Jinx wasn’t straying from Layla, no matter what these girls offered. Plus, she’s a little bit crazy.

  “Besides the fact that you have a boyfriend and he’s prettier than you?” I quip. That turns his smile wonky and I notice the look he gets every time he thinks about Conner. This is Kayson’s first serious thing. I’m not sure if they’re calling it a relationship; Conner seems shy and a little reserved; still… my big brother is smitten. Because we have a lull in foot traffic and no more appointments for me today, I take out my phone and text Morgan.

  Me: Hey friend.

  Subtle. I figure he gets tired of people asking him how he is all the time, so I refrain, even though I’m curious as hell. It’s a little after one and I’m emba
rrassed to say that I’ve checked my phone several times throughout the morning, hoping to have heard from him, first. It takes him several minutes to reply and when he does, I snatch my phone off my cabinet of ink, faster than the chime can ding. That caught the attention of Jody, who’s chair is directly across from mine; luckily, he didn’t say anything.

  Morgan: Good afternoon, friend. : )

  He sent me a smiley face emoji. If Kayson knew how my stomach flipped when I’d seen the damn thing, I’d never live it down. A smiley face emoji? I never use those with anyone, other than Kady; or the middle finger one to the guys, but… that doesn’t count.

  Me: What is my friend up to, today? I ask; figuring that’s close enough to gauge how he’s feeling today.

  Morgan: I woke up feeling, okay. I’m elbow deep in paint and I’m almost finished. Exciting! He replies. I guess that means that he’s feeling at least decent. At least he’s not curled into a ball on his couch like he was last night when I surprised him with my visit. I wonder how I’d try to explain our meeting, to Kayson; our meeting wasn’t conventional but I can’t let that stop me from getting to know him. I genuinely wanted to know him better.

  “King, can you do a consult on a walk-in, please?” Layla hollered from the front. I text back that I was glad he was feeling better and without too much deliberation, I sent a damn winkey face back. Kayson really couldn’t find that shit out, he really wouldn’t let me live it down.

  The consult turned into a pretty kick ass, chest piece. It was good size, but wouldn’t have taken so long if we didn’t have to take so many breaks. Still, the chest, ribs and stomach, wasn’t an easy place to ink, so breaking to make sure my client was as comfortable as could be, was necessary. He’d wanted his family crest and a catholic scripture underneath. The guy was definitely from the east coast, due to the accent and took his family heritage extremely serious. We’d had to make several changes before he was happy with the stencil and I thought he was going to be more difficult. Fortunately, the man just knew what he wanted and he wasn’t happy until it was exactly that. I admired that, every one of my tatts had to be perfect or I didn’t let anyone touch them.