Cassidy
Before we made it into the apartment, the elevator, out of the parking garage, through the streets of the city, out of the parking lot of the speak easy, out of the speak easy itself, he was there. A thousand hands. A thousand sounds. A million tongues and tastes and smells. A million deaths. Tiny ones that shocked and rocked me and left me wondering if someone saw us. Someone besides my ancestors had to see us. We had to be on the verge of going to prison. Didn’t they hear me panting his name? Begging him to wait? Just a minute. A minute. A second. Please, Cahir just- Fuck. Don’t stop.
I tried to rip the clothes from my body and he- Bless him. He found a hand to stop me. To yank my hands away. He managed to keep his lips on me, drag his fingers down my leg, and to say “My body. Don’t touch it without permission.”
What used to be my body- now his body- came so hard it dripped down thighs that were also his. An extra set.
He made me drive. And pushed four fingers inside me. One at a time Then his thumb. When I got to a red light and threw a leg, a shoe that cost more than my monthly rent, over the center console, his hand shook.
“These seats will never smell the same,” I said when the light was green and he was still.
He laughed and moved that hand again.
Thank the ancestors for brakes. For empty roads. For insurance. For the way his laughter warmed the darkness and laid over my skin just above the sweat that was just above the goosebumps that sprouted all over me. They were just above the shivers that ran down my legs and cramped my thighs.
“Drive.” His voice was hard. The one he used before he hurt me. I deserved hurt. “I have things to do to you that I can’t do in the middle of the street.”
“I love you,” I said.
Whimpered.
He laughed. So full of laughter all night. “That won’t save you.”
“I don’t want to be safe.” A truth. But only in that moment.
“I’ll remind you that you said that.” His hand shook again. “Drive.”
I did. When I parked the car in his spot, backed in the way he asked me to, the first time his car was ever backed into the space, his hand had disappeared past his wrist. He kissed me and pulled it free. I didn’t beg. I didn’t plead. I knew better.
“Good girl,” he said before he stepped out of the car. I knew whatever he did next would be a reward for me.
He opened my door and put a hand in the middle of my chest when I moved to get out. I opened my mouth. He pulled out his dick. I sat back. And watched.
It splashed on my gown. I wiped it away. I put my fingers in my mouth. I moaned. That-that tasted right. Better than right. It tasted like waking up.
My seat belt was gone. My legs were out of the car. One over the steering wheel. Thank God for yoga. He dove into me. Then pulled back to lap at my clit. Then formed suction around me and, and, and, and…
My screams bounced off the concrete and sprinted away. All of my screams did. A hundred meter dash to any ears that may have been nearby.
My hands were planted on the wall in the elevator. I knew better than to move them. I spread my feet wider. Pushed my hips back further. Held my breath. Worth it. When he slid in me. All of it was worth it. We rode the elevator up and down and up and down and he made me leave puddles on the floor. Every part of it. On the walls. I couldn’t find it in me to be sorry or disgusted or shocked.
I let him lead me out of the elevator.
Alone. The first thought I had when the door closed behind me. All alone. There would be no humming. I could scream. No one would be louder than me. He would make me forget there was anyone but me. I would be the priority. I would be all he had.
My dress cascaded to my feet. A whisper of sound. “Please.”
Cassidy
I woke at the same time that I always did. When the sun was just about to creep up to the bed. I didn’t listen for her whimpers. It was our routine. I rubbed at my chest. No shirt. I always wore a shirt to bed. After that day Olivia’s head turned and tried to latch onto my nipple. Another thing I changed for her.
I rubbed my thigh. The same spot. I stood. And my whole body asked me what in the hell I was thinking. Aches and pains and the stretching of muscles left well enough alone. Oh.
There was my dress by the door. My shoes by the kitchen island. What was left of my panties were just a few feet from the door. And Cahir’s suit, spread over the bed. Because I sat on the bed and took his clothes off, threw them behind me, whimpered every time he laughed and told me I could put my hand between my legs the way I wanted. Oh.
My pussy hurt. I sat down on the bed. And smiled the satisfied smile of a woman that had been battered, bruised, and destroyed in all the best ways. I smiled the satisfied smile of a woman that didn’t have a baby waiting for her.
Oh.
His arm snaked around my waist and pulled me back into the bed. I squealed, laughed, moaned when he spread my legs and breathed me in. He was gentle. His tongue wet. His groans of pleasure louder than mine. His hair was soft when my fingers speared through it and tugged. His responding pinch made my body jump. He laughed.
I came. And floated. Oh, it was good. I wished it could be like this forever. Forever and ever and ever. Just him. Just me. No humming. Just my screams.
We could take it all back. Pretend we hadn’t gone to the hospital. Get rid of the paperwork. Very quietly pass her along. She would never remember what we’d done. She would be relieved to be with someone else. Olivia wouldn’t whimper anymore when she had a real mother.
I came again. I felt how it soaked the sheets, how much it surprised him, how happy he was.
He was inside me. His mouth by my ear so I could hear him over my begging and pleading and moaning and screaming.
“I love you. You’re perfect.”
“I-”
No. No. Shush, shush, Cassidy. Shut your fucking mouth. Tell him you love him while you consider ways to make his daughter disappear.
I looked at him. He…glowed. And it had nothing to do with me. It was her. Olivia. He’d been glowing since the moment the call came in. Since we were in the car. Even when I told him I wouldn’t be in the hospital room- The glow never dimmed.
Didn’t he see how much darker I was?
No. No, why would he? He was happy and when did happiness ever stop to see whatever it was that never left me. He would never let me give her away. He would hold her, and he would look at me. Maybe he would hold my hand. Maybe we would sit together with tea or water or wine. He would ask me what was wrong? What did I want? He would give me anything I wanted.
I would take a deep breath and gather my courage. I would let it all come out in a rush. I wanted him. Just him. Not who he was now. Who he was before it all happened. Before the elevator. Could we turn back time? Could it be just us again? He would shake his head and look. Shake his head. His mouth would fall open. He would ask questions. He would look down at her in confusion. He loved her so much. How could I not?
I would try to explain that I loved her. Of course I did. I loved her so much. I would fling myself in front of traffic for her. I would make bargains and hum for her. But I didn’t like what happened in my mind when I held her. I didn’t like the things I remembered. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t right. Could it be just us again? I liked him. I loved him.
He would say no. The sunlight would make the brown of his eyes startling. He would shake his head and say that there would always be Olivia. He would ask me to leave. Or he would leave. He would gather all of his things while he kept her in his line of sight. While he kept me in his line of sight. Because he didn’t know who I was anymore. I wouldn’t be offended. I wouldn’t be able to find a way to explain to him that I didn’t recognize myself either and once again he had the burden of another lost, delusional woman. But it wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t punch mirrors. He couldn’t blame himself.
My body came for him. Again. He told me he loved me. Over and over. I let him assume that was the reason fo
r my tears.
He held me but that wasn’t right. He made me breakfast, and I hated him for it.
I turned down the volume of the television when he sat in front of it instead of coming back to bed- back to me. Easier than to remind him that there was a time when he wouldn’t have turned the television on when I was naked in his bed. He would have been in it with me. He would have asked me to tell him my secrets and what I dreamed of the night before.
From there-
“What are you talking about?” He didn’t even raise his voice. He didn’t retreat. He came closer. Sat on the edge of the bed.
There was a time he would have laughed or poked at me or raised his voice. He’d become so much more patient since she came. How much more would she change him? What was wrong with me?
There was a knock at the door and I moved away from him. Because I knew.
I heard him. Heard Gran. Then I heard the voice he used for her.
I hummed when I reached for my clothes.
Chapter Six
Cahir
Before there was Zion, and broken mirrors, and my promise that I didn’t have room in my life for a child, before there were women that didn’t matter unless they filled the empty space, there was Summer. She had the same red hair as my mother and a filthy sense of humor. She could turn any conversation, even the most innocent, to sex and make you feel like you’d done something wrong.
We did shots with breakfast and before we went out. We went out every night. To bars. Summer didn’t dance. Then I found out she couldn’t dance. It was the first time she was ever angry with me.
She couldn’t cook and eventually I was tired of feeding her. She shrugged it off. She knew all the best places. All the ones that delivered at least. She couldn’t be bothered with restaurants or anyplace where she couldn’t talk as loud as she wanted. Any place where she couldn’t shift her weight around from one foot to the other to whatever music blasted so loud talking was unnecessary. Just more shots.
My mother told me to never bring her home again after she met her. Not that it mattered. There wasn’t a future with Summer. I didn’t know why I introduced her to my parents. Because we’d been together long enough? Because it was expected? What was supposed to happen next? I thought time would bring the feeling that she was the one, or fate, or destiny, or some shit. Never came. And I never asked my mother why she didn’t want Summer around. Not until Summer and I started fighting.
I got so sick of it I walked out of my own apartment. Went to my parent’s house. Told the truth when they asked me over dinner what the hell was wrong with me.
“She’s changed,” I said. “She just wants to fight all the time.”
My mother snorted. “No shock there.”
“No?”
“No.”
I’d never heard my mother be so curt before. “No…”
“Do you really not know?” She looked at my father.
He shrugged. “May be that he doesn’t. Is there a reason for him to?”
“He went to college, didn’t he?”
My father laughed. And I got tired of them talking around me the way they did when I was a child.
“What?”
Dumb of me to ask. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I saw what I’d been ignoring for so long.
Funny thing about the truth-it hides until it can’t. And when it’s done hiding it makes damned sure you can’t look away. Of course. The little trips to the bathroom when we went out. The dazed moments. The runny nose. The high energy and swings from angry to happy to angry. The insistence that I not leave her alone. That we invite someone over, fill whatever place we were in with music. The twitches and exaggerations in her movements.
Obvious. All of it. I had gone to college. I was in tech. It seemed like everyone in my industry spent half their time in front of their computers and the rest of the time shoving a new way to get high into their bodies. And I’d told Summer, over and over and over again, that I wasn’t like that. I’d drink as much as she wanted. I’d drink her under the table if it made her giggle. But I couldn’t put shit in my body. I couldn’t be with her if she did. I was terrified of the way it changed people, took away the best parts of them. I was terrified of losing my purpose, my ambition, my parent’s pride. The little adopted boy, scared that he’d be alone one day, sent away, needed my parent’s to be proud of me.
It was my fault. I knew that. And examined it on my way home. It was all right there. In the way she hid in bathrooms for longer than she should. And how upset she got when I touched her purse or asked where she’d disappeared to when we were out. I just didn’t want to see it. I wanted to be happy more than I wanted to see the truth.
I said I would fix that. I said I would be different.
Then Zion came.
Then Cash came.
I never learned.
Chapter Seven
Cassidy
Delia didn’t re-hire me. Not really. I showed up at Beyond with Olivia and all of her things. My files. Delia and I had a brief conversation. She told me to come back to work. I told her I’d already scheduled appointments. She held Olivia. Cooed at her. The woman that hated babies.
There was something about Olivia.
They all held her. Delia, O’Shea over her large belly, Nadia. Junie, last of all. Junie scooped Olivia up in her arms and walked out of Delia’s office.
“Drama queen.” I rolled my eyes and went to the Lonely Third.
Junie was settled on the couch. Her braids were fire engine red. Her bubble gum was grape. Olivia looked more alive than I’d ever seen her. She made little baby noises for Junie who talked to her, laughed with her, I was sure, and not at her, and kept Olivia from grabbing her braids or earrings. She made a game of it. I didn’t know Junie could move so fast, that she was so good with children. My vision didn’t turn green. I wasn’t such a cliché. It was red. The same red of Junie’s braids.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was so bad? I would’ve come.” She didn’t look at me.
No one looked at me when Olivia was in the room.
I didn’t blame them. I was too relieved to have the help, to have time to bind the fear. To know that the love I felt was real. I could keep it. Maybe I could enjoy it if I found a way to get rid of the rest.
“I didn’t know how,” I said.
She nodded.
I’d forgotten that about Junie in the time I’d been away from her. Everything about her screamed Tell me, tell me. I’ll never judge. And anyways, I already know. Just say it.
“I thought if you knew you’d leave me. Cahir will when he finds out.”
“Doubt it. That man would drink your piss if you asked him to.”
The laugh felt wrong. Not because it wasn’t real, but because I couldn’t remember the las time I laughed.
Help me, ancestors. “I want to be her mother. I’m not. I can’t…there’s something in the way. I think she knows. I think she understands that I’m not Z-”
“-you know I’m adopted, right?”
I’d forgotten.
“My father is white. My mother’s Black. At least that’s her race. She’s a pretty brown. Like oak. I would talk about my parents when I was in school. You know, the way kids do.” She smiled down at Olivia who gurgled back up at her. “Then they’d come to school for conferences or plays or whatever and everyone would ask who they were. They couldn’t see. Or they did see. And they tried to make me see it too. It worked for a little while. I got to wishing my skin was lighter, that I wasn’t so black, so dark, that I looked like theirs. That I could pretend I was theirs.”
She looked up at me, standing right there in the middle of the Lonely Third because I couldn’t let my body relax. I couldn’t stop rubbing my chest.
“I told my mother one day. She sat me down and said it wasn’t looks that made me hers. It was that she said so. She said it. I was her daughter, and I would never be anything else no matter what anyone said, or how they stared, or what ignorant qu
estions they asked. Because she loved me more than she loved anything she’d ever done, felt, seen, heard, or touched. Because everything in her belonged to me until after the day we both died and the earth ceased to exist. Because she goddamned said so.” Junie came to me and put Olivia in my arms. “I thought that over. When my father came in and told me the same thing in his own way. And I realized they were right. Not because of how they felt, but because of how I felt. They didn’t have to share my DNA. They just had to love me. I just had to love them. And I did. I loved them. And I wanted them to be my parents. So they were.”
I nodded and looked down at Olivia. Her eyes were the same warm brown as her father. How comforting and delightful for him.
“If it were just about love, if it were just about whether I loved her enough I think-”
“Get your shit together, Cass.”
I nodded. If it were just about how I felt about her it would be different. But there was something under the surface, I knew. Something that covered the love. Covered me and made me different and was so big and ravenous. Starving, I knew, for my attention. I couldn’t give it that. I would lose everything if I learned what it was, if I learned to call it by its name.
Cassidy
Home was an odd thing. I avoided mine. Because it was mine. My own place. My heartbeat. What would I do if I was around it too long? Who would I be? The woman that hummed? Or the woman that took the rose quartz of her keys and told herself she didn’t have to go back even if he was hers and the baby was her love?
I said home was Cahir. Wherever he was with the glasses that he only wore after he’d admitted to himself that he worked too hard but would work more still. Because of Olivia. Because of me. Because he wanted us to have the best.
Home was the dinners I made so he wouldn’t have to walk away from the work. Home was the smile on his face when he realized there was food and there was Olivia, with the noises she only made for him. The smiles. She gave all her smiles to him. Sometimes she still reached for me.
Better as Lovers Page 3