by Kim Jones
Damn you, Bouncer.
“Why are you crying?”
I let out a squeal and roll to my back. The light from the bathroom casts a faint glow on Bouncer who stands with his hands in his pockets. His head cocked to the side and his brow furrowed as he studies me.
How long has he been standing there?
“Answer me, sweetheart.” His voice is soft and sweet, and I hate it. The gentleness in his tone reminds me of a time when being sick meant being showered with love and affection I didn’t normally receive. So I became whiny and pathetic for the attention. That habit still lingers. But the people who cared about me are now gone.
They didn’t care about you either.
If they had, they’d still be here.
My tears multiply and a sob escapes me. The bed dips with Bouncer’s weight and I roll to my side—turning my back to him.
“Hey, none of that,” he says, grabbing my shoulder and gently turning me until my face is buried in his chest and his arms are around me. “Talk to me, Apple.”
“You spanked me,” I blurt, figuring that to be the logical reason for my distress.
His chest vibrates with silent laughter. “That was hardly a spanking. If you weren’t so damn stubborn, I wouldn’t have had to do it at all.”
“Well if you weren’t so mean to me, I wouldn’t have to be so stubborn.”
“That’s fair. But in my defense, I’m not used to being told no. When I speak, people listen. And when I tell them to do something, they do it.” He releases a heavy breath. “This would be a lot easier if you’d just agree to let me take care of you.”
My eyes water and my voice pitches higher, raspy and sick-worn. “What does that even mean? You talk to me like I should understand, and I don’t. I don’t understand any of this!”
“Shh.” He tilts my chin up and brushes the hair from my face. “Don’t speak. Listen. You’re sick. You need someone to help you. Someone to not only take care of you physically, but emotionally as well. Someone to take control. Set boundaries. And hold you accountable when you overstep those boundaries.”
Confused and frustrated, I release a strangled sob. “You just want a reason to hit me!” I cry, hoping to convince him that’s where the problem lies.
His eyes swim with concern. “You know I’d never hit you. Spank you? Yes. But I’d never cause you harm. But this isn’t about a spanking. It’s more than that, baby. Tell me.”
I bury my face again. I’m sure he’s not going to let it go. But surprisingly, he says nothing. Just kisses my head and rubs his hand softly through my hair. The show of tenderness just makes me cry harder. Until my sobs are guttural and I can’t catch my breath.
“Shh, calm down.”
A series of raspy coughs followed by heavy wheezing has him sitting us both up in bed. He lifts me onto his lap and pulls the covers around me. I lean into the heat of his chest as he rubs the back of my neck with strong fingers. “Hush now,” he tells me, his tone firm but not harsh.
I nod, feeling the need to assure him I’m trying. I swipe at my eyes with the back of my hands and breathe in short, fast breaths to keep my lungs from expanding to the point of pain. It works. My breathing evens out and my tears lessen. The sobs die and the wheezing fades.
“Good girl.” He kisses my temple before he leans over to grab something off the bedside table. He straightens us both, nudging me with his shoulder until I lift my head from his chest, then presses a tissue to my nose. “Blow.”
I do without hesitation, the feeling of humiliation coming seconds after he’s tossed it on the floor beside the bed.
“I can’t believe I just did that,” I whisper in horror, my eyes blurring again.
He shrugs. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I like taking care of you.”
I look down and twist my fingers beneath the blanket. “I’m not so sure I like it.”
He cups my jaw and tucks my head under his chin. “Tell me why.”
If I tell him the truth, he might leave me alone. Is that what I want? Right now, no. In the end, absolutely. But I need to say it. Even if it’s just the short version, he needs to know. And it’s not like I have anything to lose. Besides, it’s so much easier to talk to him when I don’t have to look at him. “I don’t want to be completely dependent on you. Or anyone. It…scares me.”
“I understand. More than you know. How about this. While we’re behind the door of this room, you let me take care of you. I’m in control. But only here. Outside of this room, you’re Apple. I’m Bouncer. Things get to be too much in here, your independence is just a few feet away.”
His offer sounds pretty good to me. So good, I find myself nodding in agreement, even though I have questions. “Only in here?”
“Only in here.”
“Outside of this room, you’ll leave me alone?”
“I’ll leave you alone.”
“So…when we’re in this room, I’m like your…submissive?”
“We can talk about the details later.” He shifts me until I’m lying beside him again.
“Why not now?” I ask, my tone raspy and my eyes heavy.
“Because there are more important things to discuss. Like have you been to the doctor?”
My eyes drift closed, and I swallow, forcing my voice. “Yes. Upper respiratory. Pneumonia. It hurts.”
“I know, baby. Did you fill your prescriptions?”
“Backpack,” I manage, though I’m not sure he heard it.
I feel his thumb on my cheek before he eases out of bed and tucks the covers around me. “I’ll be back soon.”
With the hope that he will be back, I find sleep. But it’s plagued by the terrifying fear that he won’t.
Twelve
BOUNCER
I fucking hate public places.
And people.
And traffic jams.
And road construction.
I’m vibrating with anger and anxiety by the time I pull back up to the clubhouse. I have no clue how I managed to make it back without killing someone or catching a charge for disorderly conduct.
Ten fucking minutes means ten fucking minutes. Not forty-five fucking minutes which is how long I had to wait because the lazy ass pharmacist was too busy scratching his dick to fill my order. Then, because I took Jinx’s truck and not my bike, I couldn’t weave in and out of the traffic that was backed up due to construction. So I was forced to sit and wait and think about how I was blocked in on all sides with no clear exit in case some shit went down.
I guess it all worked out. I have Apple’s medicine along with some other things the pamphlet attached to her script mentioned she might need. Quincy is wise not to say anything when he starts hauling bags from the backseat. But I don’t miss his raised eyebrow when he sees the cool-mist humidifier.
“What?” I snap, catching a can of chicken noodle soup that rolls out of the bag and onto the floorboard.
“Nothing, Brother.”
I shovel some more shit that escaped back into a bag. Without meeting his gaze, I apologize by way of explanation. “It helps with breathing.”
He shrugs. “Not my business.”
“Glad to hear it.”
He follows me inside and through the main room. I don’t acknowledge the curious stares from my Brothers. I head straight to my room and tell Quincy to leave the bags on the floor outside my door. I’m gathering the last few from the hall when I see Jinx headed my way. I pause and stare at him—knowing if I don’t hear what he has to say, he’ll just knock on the door. If he wakes Apple, then I’ll really be pissed.
“Can I do something?” he asks, stopping several feet away.
“No.”
He smirks. “You at least gonna tell me what’s wrong with her?”
“She’s sick.”
“Well if you need me….”
“I won’t.” I step inside and close the door. I can hear the asshole’s chuckle on the other side.
I check on Apple and she’s sti
ll in the same position she was when I left. Her breathing sounds like shit and her body still shivers under the covers. I don’t know why they let her leave the hospital. Knowing her, she probably protested staying.
Stubborn girl.
I plug in the humidifier then put everything but the thermometer, her medicine and a bottle of Gatorade in the closet. Using the light in the bathroom, I read the instructions on her prescriptions and shake out the correct amount of pills.
Sitting on the side of the bed, I place the thermometer to her forehead. It reads almost instantly—102.2.
Shit.
I shake her gently to wake her. When she makes a noise of protest, I slide my arm around her shoulders and sit her up. Her head falls to my chest. Her body trembles and the heat of it burns me even through her clothes.
“Come on, sweetheart. Take these then you can go right back to sleep.” I put the pills to her mouth, and she opens. I hold the Gatorade to her lips for her to sip. She whimpers in pain as she swallows, and the sound breaks my fucking heart.
“Stay.”
The one worded plea is so desperate, there’s no way I could deny her. Even if I wanted to. But when I kick off my boots, slide under the covers, pull her to my chest and hold her, it’s not because she asked. It’s not because she’s sick. I do it because it’s exactly what the fuck I want to do.
Thirteen
APPLE
I don’t know what day it is.
The room stays dark, so I’m not sure when it’s morning or night.
Time is measured by when I wake up, and when I fall asleep.
Bouncer is always here when I rouse with pills in hand and a cool bottle of liquid I can’t taste. He helps me to the bathroom. Carries me back to bed. Tucks me in. Holds me until I fall asleep. Then the process repeats itself over and over.
Today is different.
When I wake up, I’m not cold. I’m covered in sweat. The covers are kicked to the end of the bed. I’m thirsty and hungry. But most importantly, I’m alone.
Where is Bouncer?
Did he leave?
Is he gone for good?
The feeling of loneliness doesn’t settle well with me.
Before I do something stupid, like cry, I force myself to a sitting position and swing my legs over the side of the bed. When I feel balanced enough to stand, I ease myself up and take small steps to the bathroom.
I’m stiff and sore—a result of lying in bed for so long. I’m winded by the time I make it to the bathroom. A small cough turns into a coughing fit that ends with me hacking up some nasty shit that I’m thankful Bouncer isn’t here to witness. I’m no doctor, but I know enough to understand that this is a good sign. The infection in my lungs is breaking up. Even if it is super disgusting.
I stand at the sink and turn the cold water on, splashing it on my face and rinsing my mouth. I feel so sticky and gross. I glance at the shower. It’s a bad idea, but I’m willing to risk it. I know I’ll feel better once I’m clean.
“Apple?!”
My heartbeat picks up at the sound of Bouncer’s voice.
“Here,” I say, just as I feel his hands at my waist.
“What the fuck are you doing out of bed?” His tone is a bit too loud and I wince.
“Please don’t yell.”
“I’m not yelling,” he mumbles. “Let me help you.” He guides me to the toilet and tugs my panties down then lifts my shirt over my hips before helping me sit. “Fever must’ve broke. You’re drenched. Stay here. I’ll get the thermometer.”
I’m still peeing when he returns. It should be weird, but it’s not. The knowledge that he’ll soon leave and I won’t have to see his face every day helps. It also hurts. But instead of focusing on that, I imagine he’s a nurse’s aide and this is a hospital. It’s stupid, but it works.
He drags the thermometer across my forehead. When it beeps, I look up and he turns it around so I can read the digital screen as he reads it aloud.
“Ninety-eight point six. Perfect.”
Perfect.
Ha.
“I can’t smell, but I’m sure I stink,” I say, unrolling some tissue.
He bats my hands away and grabs it himself. “You don’t stink.” When he bends me forward, I stiffen. But I’m too weak to fight him.
“I can do that,” I rush to say, the memory of him doing it for me all the other times coming back and making me burn red with embarrassment.
“So can I.”
He’s an aide.
This is a hospital.
It’s normal.
I quickly change the subject. “I want a shower.”
“I’ll run you a bath.” He flushes the toilet and I straighten.
“But I don’t want a bath. I want a shower.”
He ignores me and leans over to turn the taps on, adjusting the water before plugging the tub. He straightens and grabs the hem of the T-shirt I’m wearing—his T-shirt—and starts to pull it over my head.
A sudden wave of defiance washes over me and I tuck my elbows in my side. “I just want a shower. If I take a bath, then I’ll be bathing in all that gross water. I want to feel clean. Is that too much to fucking ask?”
His pretty blue eyes harden. “Watch your mouth. You’re getting a bath because you can’t stand up in the shower on your own. And I don’t have time to shower with you. I have other shit to do.”
Oh.
I nod and drop my gaze. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He grabs my shirt and this time I let him pull it off me. He removes my panties and socks. I take his hand and allow him to help me in the tub.
The water is cool. It feels amazing. But I can’t enjoy it because I’m still hung up on his words. I have other shit to do. My eyes burn and I pinch them closed as he drops to his knees beside the tub.
“Lean your head—” He stops talking and cups my cheek. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head and his hand falls away. “Nothing. It’s stupid. I’m fine. Just a bit emotional. I’ve got this. I’ll yell if I need you.” I force a smile and open my eyes. When I turn to look at him, he’s frowning. “Really. I’m okay. This is just…a lot.”
He nods. “You sure?”
“Absolutely. Go do what you need to.”
His eyes study me a few more moments before he stands. “Okay.” He walks out and I hear noise in the bedroom. Then a door opening. Closing.
He left.
“Bouncer?” I call out, tentatively. I’m answered with silence. “Well what fucking good would it do for me to yell out if I needed you if you’re just going to leave?” I ask the empty room, tears of frustration flowing down my cheeks.
I grab the cup off the side of the tub and pour water over my head. A minute of that and I give up, tossing the cup onto the floor and burying my face in my hands.
You did this.
You trusted him.
Now look at you….
Miserable and alone.
Like always.
“Shit.”
For a moment, I’m sure I didn’t hear anything. Then I feel hands pushing my hair back from my face. I just cry harder. Because I’m a big titty baby, starved for attention and desperate for affection.
“You have got to stop all this crying, sweetheart,” Bouncer says, pouring water over my hair. “You’re fucking killing me.” His hands disappear a moment then return, massaging shampoo into my scalp. “You going to tell me what’s wrong or am I going to have to spank it out of you?” His voice is playful, but I don’t find it funny.
“You l-left. Cause you have other shit to do. S-so go d-do it,” I stutter, in between hiccups.
“I did leave because I had something to do. I did it, now I’m back. Would you like to know what it was?” I swear I think he’s laughing at me. All it does is piss me off.
“N-no. I don’t.”
“Someone’s grumpy,” he mutters, tilting my head back to rinse my hair.
My hands fall from my face, but
I keep my eyes squeezed shut.
“Lean back.”
Before I can, he moves me until I’m lying back. He runs a soapy rag over my arms and neck. When he drags it across my chest, my nipples harden further.
“So pretty.”
“Shut up,” I snap, cracking one eye open to catch him smiling. I swipe away the blur, but I just can’t. Stop. Crying.
He washes my stomach, my hips. Down my legs to my feet. Between every toe and back up. “Spread your legs.”
“You wish.”
He slaps a wet palm against my thigh. “Watch it, girl.”
My eyes fly open and I gasp. “That hurt!”
“If you don’t spread your legs, the next one really will hurt.”
With damp eyes and a trembling lip, I look to the ceiling and spread my legs.
“Good girl. See? That wasn’t so hard.” He washes me slow, dragging the rag over my mound, between my thighs, then lower.
I don’t move. Or clench. If he’s so insistent on cleaning my ass, then by damn he can clean it. It’s not like I have any self-esteem or humility left anyway.
“Keep them open.”
I mock him in my head. I don’t want to look, but curiosity has me glancing at him. He soaps his fingers, meets my gaze, then lowers his hand back to my pussy. When his long, middle digit slides between my lips, I have to bite my cheek to keep from moaning.
“You’re wet.”
I stare at the ceiling. “I’m in a bathtub, genius.”
His finger trails lower and presses against that tight ring of muscle in warning. I stiffen, but he doesn’t go any further.
“What was that you told me? That I was looking at you like I wanted to…put it in—”
“I know what I said.” With a sudden burst of energy, I grab the sides of the tub and haul myself to sitting. I tighten my grip and breathe through the sudden rush of dizziness.
He pulls his hand from the water and grabs a towel. “I shouldn’t tease you. I know you don’t feel well.” His voice continues but fades.
At first, I think he’s left the room. Then I realize it’s not him who’s fading. It’s me. “Bouncer…I really don’t feel good.”