by M. N. Forgy
Aside from my mother, she’s the only other female that might be able to help me, then again she’ll think this personal call is one of intimacy and not business. She’s been wanting me to contact her outside the Blackwater Estate.
Shit. I don’t know what to fucking do.
The phone rings in my hand, my dad’s name sliding across the screen.
“Fuck,” I mumble before hesitantly answering it. If I don’t, he’ll just show up. I don’t want to see him right now. Last night he knew he’d be pushing me into something I wouldn’t like. He did it on purpose, enjoying seeing me uncomfortable. He’s never liked me, and even with Kieran gone… he’s bound to prove to everyone I’m too weak for the job.
“My boy, how is your new gift doing today?” He laughs into the phone.
“I let her go,” I tell him. Something tells me this isn’t the first time he’s made a trade with a human person, and if he knows I still have her… fuck knows what he’ll do.
“You what?” His maniacal chuckle ends abruptly, his voice serious.
“You heard me, I let her go. I don’t want anything to do with that side of business,” I clip, the urge to tell him I’m done on the tip of my tongue. But one battle at a time, right now I need to deal with the girl.
“Do you know what she cost me?” he scorns in disgust.
It makes the pancakes from earlier want to hurl up my throat. How is this man my father? It goes to show why I’m so nervous about having her in my house. If my father’s DNA is anything to go off of, she’s not any safer here with me.
“I gotta go, I got shit to do today.” I ignore his threatening tone and hang up. Going back into my living room where the laptop sits. I open it up and Google women’s clothing, a bunch of shit pops up on Amazon.
I click on some gray women’s sweats, but it wants a size?
“Fuck, I don’t know,” I mumble. Biting my lip I look at the sizes and the inches it claims to be, Imagining her waist, I click medium. She’s thin, but her hips stick out. Either way, they will fit better than my clothes. Clicking on dresses, my nose turns up. I seriously don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. So I click on things I would like to see a woman in. Black tight dress, some activewear. The sports bra thing hangs me up a little, and I have to go get another drink. Her tits are on the smaller side, but her body has to come into account with the sizing.
Jesus, why is this so fucking complicated.
Fuck it, I pick medium on everything and click buy now. Shutting my laptop, I sit back and look up at the TV. The Roku sign dances around the black screen, the sound of silence in the apartment deafening.
The sun is setting, the house becoming darker. I go around turning on a light here and there and decide to check on Sailor Moon, before trying to find something for dinner. Pushing the door open just so, I find her on the bed this time bent over, her hair unbraided and in her face as her arm moves around. What the fuck is she doing?
Stepping inside, careful not to spook her, I look around her and find her drawing.
When the hell did she get that? It’s the notepad that was on the counter in the kitchen.
“He’s got the whole world in his hands,” she sings and tucks a large amount of hair behind her ear, displaying the sketch.
Brows furrowing, I swallow as my eyes come head-on with a dead sunflower. Its stalk bent over and head decaying and falling apart. The shadowing ominous and deathly. The picture alone brings you to a sunflower field in the middle of a cold winter day, making you feel sad and depressed instantly. But there’s a beauty to behold, looking at its disturbing mutation, you can see by the way the petals try to lift that there’s life in there somewhere.
Instantly I’m brought back to the hospital I was in for twenty-four hours when I was a kid. A girl named… fuck, what was her name. Star, no… Luna! She drew the exact same flower, over and over. I’ve never seen that flower since… not until now.
Come to think of it, this woman’s wild hair looks like Luna’s. Coming farther into the room, she stiffens, noticing I’m in here. Is she Luna? How did she wind up in that van? What has she been through?
Opening my mouth to speak, I take a breath, preparing myself. For what, I don’t know. There are not many people in my life that made a positive impact but she was one, if this is her, that is.
“L-Luna?”
Her eyes widen, her hand with the pen shaking.
It’s her. It’s Luna.
Squatting down just enough to look under her curtain of blonde hair, her green eyes hit mine with recognition.
“It’s me… Romeo.”
Luna
A sharp coldness slips down my back, the hair on my arms standing. Nobody has called me Luna in years. Breathing through my nose, I feel as if I can’t get enough oxygen, so I open my mouth to breathe.
He bends down in front of me, his arms resting on the bed. I’ve never been so scared in my life. How does he know my name? The biggest fear I’ve ever had is running into someone I know, what would I tell them. How would I explain the life I have?
“It’s me… Romeo,” he says, and my eyes squint trying to place him. I’ve met a couple of Romeos in my life.
“From the hospital, when we were kids,” he continues, and my hand drops the pen.
It’s the straitjacket kid. My… sunflower.
Chest rising and falling so fast my eyes fill with tears. I don’t know him, but I was drawn to him when we were kids. We had an unspoken bond, and when he was near me, I felt a little less sad. When he left. Nobody knew how much I cried that day. I sat in the corner of my room thinking about the night we talked to each other through the vents.
“Romeo?” I croak, my throat dry from not talking, it comes out a crackly word.
A smirk pulls on his lips, and I suddenly don’t know what to do.
“Do you remember me?” he asks, hair in his eyes.
I want to reach forward and sweep them to the side, but I resist. People change over time, he did take me. He’s involved with men who buy women. Just because we had something as kids, doesn’t mean he’s safe now.
I nod but keep my guard up.
His eyes drop to the sketching, and he silently scoffs. What is he thinking? Is he thinking about me? When we were kids?
“My sunflower,” he whispers. His eyes come to mine, and a tear slides down my cheek. “I never forgot you,” he says in an unreadable tone, one laced with a darkness and light.
I’m so confused. Do I trust him? I know he said I could leave but they never mean it, it’s a sick game of cat and mouse. Will knowing who I am now make my position here worse?
“What will you do with me?” I ask, the words coming out a little smoother than before.
Licking his lips, he stands. His hard chest coming into full view. He’s definitely not a little boy anymore. No wonder I didn’t recognize him. Back then he was small, scared, and meek looking. Now he looks like a… prisoner. One who escaped and is lost.
Great, two lost souls under one roof, what good could come of that. If he can’t save himself, how can he save me?
“What do you want me to do with you?” he replies, his question laced with promiscuous endeavors, but under-toned with a gentleman’s ease. He’s flirting with me and telling me he’ll stay back if I want him to at the same time. Would he have answered the same way an hour ago before he knew I was Luna? The breath is knocked from my chest with his question, for the first time I’m in charge of my own fate.
What the hell do I want?
6
Luna
“How did you get… to this?” he asks, his palms up, gesturing to all of me. I don’t answer. I don’t want to. Look at him in his nice house and clothes, and look at me. We obviously had very different lives.
“What happened after you left the hospital?” he prods, and my cheeks fill with redness. I want to slip into the soft mattress and disappear. Why couldn’t his father have taken me instead. Shame and humiliation wash over me like a splash of acid.
Sliding off the side of the bed opposite of him, I open the door, run across the room and quickly rush to his bathroom, I saw a lock on the door when I was in there last time.
“Luna?” he calls after me, fueling me to go faster. “Luna!” His voice commanding me to turn around.
I reach the bathroom door, slam it and lock it. The door handle jiggles from him attempting to open it and my feet backtrack to get farther away, my eyes glued to the door.
A loud thug has me jump when he hits the door.
“Open the door, Luna!” he demands, but I don’t, in fact, I move even farther away from it.
“No!” I shout, my voice hoarse. He stops knocking but I can see the shadow of his feet from under the door, he’s still there.
A noise as if he was leaning against the door and slid off, has my eyes widen, curious what his next move is.
“You can’t stay in there forever,” he growls, his shadow and hard breaths slipping away into silence. It’s like a beast prowling just outside the door, waiting for me to surrender.
“Watch me!” I sneer.
I climb into the tub, pull my knees to my chest and tuck my face into them. My eyes burn wanting to cry, but I refuse. God, I’m so scared. What if he decides to sell me back, or what if he’s lying and doesn’t want to help me? He’s obviously not a normal person, otherwise why would he have been there to buy women?
Trust is like a thin layer of skin, so easily broken and scarred.
I’ve been cut to the point I trust nobody, my scars of distrust so thick I barely notice who I am when I look in the mirror. Who does Romeo see when he looks at himself in the mirror?
Romeo
Standing just outside the door, my fingers in my hair, I’m fucking angry. No, furious. Why the fuck did she run? Why is she hiding from me? Backing up until the back of my knees hit the bed, I sit, my hands fisting the side of the mattress. She is fucked up, really fucked up. Curling my fist in on itself, it makes me want to hurt the people that hurt her, the ones that made her scared of her own fucking shadow.
I’m glad she didn’t leave when I told her to, she needs someone and I can’t let her go, not while she’s like this. I’m going to figure out what happened to her, even if it takes killing every man down the line of my father’s crew.
7
Romeo
Two hours later I find the keys to the bathroom, I’ve never had to use them before, so finding them was a fucking chore. Sliding the key into the knob, I unlock it, open the door slowly just in case she’s just around the corner ready to attack me with a damn shampoo bottle, but I find her asleep in the tub. She’s beautiful, more than I remember. Reaching out, I don’t hesitate this time, I touch her skin, the contact electrifying. She’s warm; soft. She moans, her eyes filtering as she dreams. Reaching into the bathtub, I pick her up, she wraps her arms around my neck, her face nuzzling into my chest. I suspect she doesn’t realize she’s doing it, in fact, if she did, she’d probably claw my ass up and down.
I don’t like people touching me, nervous of intimacy and hurting undeserving people, I keep my distance, but feeling her in my arms like this, I take my time walking back to the bedroom. Her touch doesn’t hurt, and the thought of her wanting more from me isn’t as scary for some reason. Maybe because I want her. I’ve always wanted Luna, but my mind is stuck on the kid I met years ago. Who is she today? Her hair is so long it’s wrapped around my arm and still has enough to dangle. In the guest bedroom, I place her on the bed and pull the blankets over her, she snuggles into them. I’m surprised she didn’t wake up and claw me to death, she must be fucking exhausted. Maybe knowing she’s here with someone she knows, she can let her guard down some and actually sleep. The moon outside the window shines on her face, my eyes drifting to her lips. They’re the perfect shade of pink. Sighing with my own tiredness, I rub my neck and begin to leave the room until my eyes fall on the notepad. Taking it into my hands, I flip the pages, all of them filled with a dead sunflower.
I wonder what it means to her? Glancing at her one more time, I set the notepad down. Closing my eyes, I can still hear her voice, see her face.
“Did you know that on dark days sunflowers turn toward each other for energy?” She tilts her head to the side, waiting for me to reply.
Opening my eyes, I look at her sleeping peacefully.
I know what I’m about to say is cheesy as fuck, but it’s something between her and I.
“I’m still your sunflower,” I whisper into the moonlit room. “And I’m going to find out what got you here, and I’m going to make everyone who hurt you fucking pay with their own pain and suffering.” I owe it to her. She took a needle to the leg just so I could stay in a straitjacket for comfort. It was the most selfless act I’ve encountered in my whole life.
8
Luna
Light splits through the blinds of the window, casting slits of warmth across my face, waking me up from a vast sleep. For a brief moment, my mind is clear and I snuggle in on the fluffiness surrounding me, but like a gunshot, everything comes back to me, and I jerk upright. I open my eyes and find myself on a bed, tucked in neatly. I slept. All night. Rubbing my eyes, I throw the blankets off me and get up. I feel so rested, energized even. I haven’t slept through the night like that in years, I was too scared to. I was always worried about one of the other women stealing my stuff, or wanting to hurt me, or worse. The keepers trying to take advantage of my exhaustion and… I can’t think about it. I’m not there anymore. I’m here.
Yawning, I open the door to my room and step out, I don’t see Romeo anywhere. My stomach growls, hunger overpowering fear, I walk down the hall, the place clean and immaculate just like yesterday. It hardly looks like anyone lives here. Fear throbs inside me as I slowly make my way into Romeo’s kitchen. Just because I know who he is doesn’t make me any less cautious. Fear is what’s kept me alive.
Opening the fridge, I bite my bottom lip anxiously, hoping it’s okay that I help myself. There’s some fresh cut fruit on the top shelf. I grab the tub, flip the top off, and grab a sliced apple. Juices of citric sweetness fill my mouth. Leaning against the counter, I close my eyes and enjoy the cool fruit. God, this feels like a dream.
“Morning.”
I jerk, the fruit nearly tumbling from my hand. Romeo comes into the kitchen and shuts the refrigerator door I left open. He’s wearing black briefs, his muscled thighs showing, and I can’t help but see the bulge in the front pocket of his underwear. Clearing my throat, I take a piece of watermelon from the Tupperware and gently bite into it.
“M-morning,” I respond. I wonder if he’s thinking about last night and wondering why I ran and hid in the bathroom. It seems childish thinking about it now, but I just needed to get away. This is all so new to me.
He reaches forward, grabbing a couple pieces of fruit from my hands, and tosses them back. His jaw working to bite through the thick apple slices. His cheeks look to have more stubble on them today than yesterday. I like it, it makes him look more distinguished.
A knock sounds at the door, and I freeze. The fruit falling from my hands and splatters all over the floor. A cold rush of fear slips down my neck and has my body shake instantly.
It’s them. They’re here to take me back.
Romeo gives me an off look, holds his hand up for me to stay where I am and walks over to the door. He looks through the peephole and drops his hand before unlocking it.
“Mr. DeAngelo, you had several packages delivered today,” an older man informs.
I don’t know who it is, I stay where I am glued to the floor.
“Oh, and your keys, I parked your SUV in the front of the garage.”
“Thanks Henry.”
I hear the door shut and Romeo walks back around the corner with two big boxes and a few white enveloped packages in his hands. He tosses them on the kitchen island, and a warmth of relief has me take a deep breath. It was just the doorman. I was scared it was them wanting to take me back to hell. Which means Romeo i
s heaven? I don’t know, but he’s not anything like I’ve encountered in years. After the orphanage, I was sent to foster care for a brief time and then was sold. Kind, gentle souls are few to none. The cooling of my toes reminding me of the mess I made, I squat, picking up the dirty fruit.
“Don’t worry about it, it’s okay,” Romeo states, coming to help me clean it up.
“No, I’m sorry, I’m just a bit jumpy I guess,” I try to explain my behavior, but I just feel embarrassed. After all the fruit is picked up and tossed in the trash, I tuck a hair behind my ear and look at the packages. What did he order?
He grabs one of the smaller ones with one hand and tears it open with his teeth. A pretty shade of pink slips from it, and he tosses it to me. I barely catch it and hold it up. It’s a sports bra? Shaking my head, confused, I look at him.
“I got you a few things. Things I thought you might need,” he says, looking over the boxes and packages.
My mouth parts in disbelief. He bought me stuff? Stepping forward, my hand touches the box, dust from being in the back of a truck covering my fingertips. I’ve never had anyone buy me stuff, not like this. Holidays have passed, even my birthday, and I’ve never received a single thing. I got used to it, Christmas was just any other day. My birthday, I would sing to myself before I went to bed in a cot, hard floor, chained to a fence. Wherever I might have been.
My eyes sting, threatening to spill with tears and I choke back the sob trying to ripple up my throat.
Reaching for another package, I open it, but slowly. I want the anticipation to last as long as it can. My nail drags through the thick plastic, pulling up the top before my hand dives inside to pull out… a pair of pants. Sweatpants. They’re a grayish color. Rubbing my thumb and forefinger over the fabric, I find the material to be really soft, like a cottony silk.