by K. Webster
With a quick nod, Dubois makes it over to the whore and gently removes the needle from her arm. He might seem wiry and gentlemanlike to most, but I’ve seen this fucker fight on numerous occasions. Dubois possess probably as much strength as me. He doesn’t have the rage though that fuels my fists but he’s a tougher one than many. So, very easily, he scoops the heavy woman into his arms as if she weighs nothing. Once he’s gone, I turn back to the man responsible for ruining a normal woman. For turning her into a toy—my toy. She didn’t deserve this life but once again the men in the world took what wasn’t theirs. Like my real father did with Mom the moment he left her and her infant son without a dime.
I tap the end of the tire iron into my open palm as I make my way to the side of the bed. A bowl full of half-eaten noodles wafts its salty scent over me causing my stomach to roil in disgust. As a child, I wouldn’t have thought twice about eating that shit. When my mom would be busy with her johns who would allow her into their living space, I’d sneak out and raid their pantries. Most times, the idiots were nearly as poor as us and I’d end up eating an old slice of pizza from the counter or something stinky and questionable from the refrigerator.
But now that I’m filthy fucking rich?
I eat whatever I goddamn please. Including assholes like this for lunch.
“Wake up, Corgy,” I spit out in a hate-filled voice.
He stirs and slowly blinks his eyes open. Confusion sets in but he’s still somewhat high from the heroin I’m sure he shared with the whore. “W-Who the hell are you? Where’s Darlene?”
I sneer at him. “I’m your worst fucking nightmare, asshole. And this,” I say as I sling the tire iron and connect with his front teeth, sending several flying out all over the dirty pillows, “is for Jessica.”
He grunts, blood pouring from his mouth, and clumsily scrambles to get away.
But I’m quicker.
I’m always quicker.
I crack the metal down onto his spine and he rolls off the bed with a thud onto the hard floor. Not breaking my furious stride, I storm over to the other side to see him on all fours spitting out blood.
“And this,” I slam the weapon over the back of his skull, “is for my mother.”
The popping sound is his head cracking open. Blood soon pools quickly around his crumpled body and I smile. I’ve never been so satisfied in my life. In one quick moment, I feel like I’ve avenged the only two women I’ve ever cared about.
The realization hits, crashing on top of me like an imploding building.
I care about Jessica.
A fucking lot.
Toy or not, she’s burrowed her way inside of my black, rotten heart, and planted a tiny seed that’s beginning to grow.
The man is nice to Mama. They still do her work stuff in his bedroom but he also cooks us hot meals and he lets me watch movies on his big television in the front room. We’ve been staying here for over a week in his apartment while Mama works, and I’m starting to like it here. It’s warm and comfortable. He even gave me a big, soft blanket to cuddle up in and always smiles at me as if I’m a welcomed guest.
“Goodbye, Richard,” Mama hisses as she stomps out of his bedroom.
He’s not far behind her, buttoning his fancy white shirt along the way. Richard isn’t gross and dirty like the other men. He told me he doesn’t normally live in New York—that he’s on business from Los Angeles.
“Please, Vicky, come back with me. I could make you and Braxton so happy.” His voice is wobbly and sad. It makes me feel sick inside.
She turns and glares at him. “Did you forget? I’m a whore? I don’t exactly fit in with your socialite friends.”
He grabs her wrist and tugs her to him. “I don’t have socialite friends, baby. I may work in LA but I’m not some rich snob like you think I am. I’m a normal guy who cares about a normal girl and her normal teenage kid.”
The hug he pulls her into is gentle and it squeezes my heart. I’m no longer interested in the television but am instead fixated on the way Richard strokes my mom’s hair like she’s his pet. I like it more than I’d ever admit out loud. She seems so relaxed in his arms. I want him to pet her forever.
“I don’t know,” Mama chokes out. “What if you grow tired of us? I can’t handle what it would do to Braxxy. He’s so naïve and young for his age. It would crush him.”
I swallow and worry that I’m the reason Richard won’t want us. I’ve tried to stay out of their hair and not bother them. I’m well-behaved compared to most fourteen-year-old boys, I’m sure.
Richard slips his hands to Mama’s cheeks and tilts her head up like in the movies to kiss her on the mouth. I should look away but I’m captivated by the emotion that’s thick in the room.
He wants her.
He wants both of us.
I swallow the thick ball of excitement.
Could we really move with Richard across the United States to Los Angeles? Would I have a bedroom? Would he buy me stuff like socks? Would he cook for us every night?
Richard breaks his kiss and stares down at her. “Baby, let me show you. There’s a great rehab facility and—”
Mama pushes him away from her abruptly. The sadness on his face guts me. I feel as though I’m watching a wreck through a window and there’s no way to stop it.
“I’m not one of your projects, Richard! You can’t just clean me up and fix me! I’m not fixable!”
She starts stuffing her belongings into her purse as she cries real tears—tears Mama never lets fall. It scares the crap out of me because I have no clue what’s going on.
Richard strides over to her and pulls her back to him. “Jesus, woman. Stop being so crazy. I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do. I. Just. Want. You.”
Once again she melts into his arms and this time he pulls her back into his room. I watch the television but listen to them. Normally, when she works, she moans and says stuff like, “harder!” or “faster!” or anything to that degree but always with the same, flat, bored tone.
But now . . .
Now, she cries out his name over and over as if it’s a chant.
Richard. Oh, God. Richard. Oh, God. Richard.
And her name is on his lips too.
Vicky. I need you. Vicky. Come back with me.
About an hour later, Richard emerges with a happy smile on his face. He’s dressed in his suit and tie making him look the handsomest of any man she’s ever been with. I want to be just like Richard when I’m older. He strides over to me and ruffles my hair.
“I’m going to make a home with you and your mother,” he vows in a serious tone that I believe. “You’re a good kid, Brax. You take care of her like nobody else can. It’s time for me to take care of the both of you. I promise, life will get better from here on out.”
I nod, my own tears of joy welling in my eyes.
“Your mom is a tough cookie and doesn’t like handouts. It’ll be hell convincing her that I love her but I’ll do what it takes. She’s different—good different—and I’m going to help her get well. She’ll never have to work another day in her life.”
My heart soars at his words. Mama’s always sick and works way too hard.
“Here,” he says and hands me a card, “look after her today while I go to my meeting. It shouldn’t last more than a couple of hours. When I come back, be prepared to fly across the country. I’m looking forward to this, kiddo.”
He winks at me as he walks away.
I stare down at the crisp card. His name, Richard J. Kennedy, is neatly typed on the front along with his LA address and phone number. The extension sticks out to me. 1982.
“Wait!”
He stops and turns to find me charging for him. I hug him and inhale his scent. His smell is clean and what a successful man should smell like. I like his scent. And even though I’ve been using his shower and soap for the past week and a half, it doesn’t smell the way it does on him.
“Thank you, Richard. Mama de
serves a better life than this.”
He pets my hair like he did Mama’s and tears well in my eyes. I wish he would pet me forever too.
“Well, son, I think you’re only partially correct there. You both deserve a better life than this. I promise you, things will get better. I’m going to make sure of it.”
I stare out the window of the plane, deep in my thoughts. The trip back to Seattle is a long one and I’m craving to see Bunny again. I’d called Cartier a couple of times to check on her during the week we were gone and he said she was fine. It took everything in me not to have him put her on the phone but I knew better. If he had, I’d have jumped the plane a lot sooner which simply wasn’t an option. I had shit to deal with, including fucking up Corgy, and I didn’t need her interrupting that.
The popping of his skull was on repeat in my head. It soothes me when the anger comes. It reminds me that people like my mother and Bunny are meant to be protected from the assholes of the world.
I drift off for the rest of the trip until we’re taxiing on the runway back in Washington. I’m rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I tug my phone from my breast pocket to check and see if I’ve missed anything.
Twelve missed calls.
Los Angeles area code.
Shit!
I dial the number back and a woman answers the phone. “Mr. Kennedy?”
“Yes. Who the hell are you? Is my dad okay?” The choked sound of my voice startles me.
She sighs sadly on the other line causing my belly to drop. Not him too. Please, God, no. “My name is Dr. Acker. And actually, he’s not okay . . .”
I clench my eyes shut and run my fingers through my hair. “Is he dead?”
A rush of shocked breath crackles the line on the other end. “Heavens no. Thank goodness. Your father suffered a small heart attack last night. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. He’s okay but he’ll need to be under constant care.”
“I’ll have it set up. He’ll have the finest nurses at his side.” I mean every word. That man won’t struggle one bit if I have anything to do with it.
The line goes quiet. “Actually, Mr. Kennedy, I think it would be best if he could come stay with you for a bit. You know he doesn’t have any other family. You’re his only son and it seems like he’d heal faster if he were around you.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. My father has been my entire world since I was fourteen years old. If it weren’t for him, I would not have received a proper education or been groomed to become the businessman I am today. I owe him everything.
But can I let my dad into my world?
Let him near the filth that still infects my mind to this day?
He’d feel like a failure.
He would be disappointed in me.
A wave of nausea clenches my stomach into a fist. “I could come visit him for a week or two.”
She exhales loudly in frustration. “Mr. Kennedy, do you love your father?”
Tears sting my tired eyes and I bite my fist to keep from crying. “Of course I do. What sort of stupid goddamned question is that?”
Her silence only makes things worse.
“Can he fly?” I ask finally.
“Yes, in another four or five days I can give him clearance,” she says, her voice much lighter. “This will be for the best. He’s a good man and he needs to be around his son.”
I nod and swallow. Despite wanting to shield him from my life, I know I’d do anything for him. Even if that means bringing him into my disappointing world—a world he created for me—a world I then molded to my own dark needs. If it weren’t for him, I’d be nothing.
“Then it’s done, Dr. Acker. I’ll be there by the end of the week.”
I stare at the basket and dread fills my being. It wasn’t like I didn’t know he knew where I’d be but receiving the basket solidified that fact. Christine gushed when she answered the door earlier and brought it to me. Of course she’d assumed that it was from Brax. I knew better. Braxton didn’t even want to speak to me over the phone while in London, much less send me a gift. Besides, this gift screamed Jimmy from the second I laid eyes on it. A large, over the top basket, had been filled with Georgia peaches, jams, jellies, a cookbook, and even some peach flavored candies.
After Christine ran off to start some laundry, I opened the card.
Remember our conversation, little peach.
There was no signature but I didn’t need one to know it was him. It was a threat. A simple reminder that he would, in fact, be coming back for me eventually. I fan myself with the card and sigh. It wouldn’t be difficult to just leave. Christine stays busy with the housework while Cartier orders shit online all day in the salon. They don’t watch my every move and I’ve been given the code to go outside.
Where will I go?
How will I get there?
I frown because I haven’t a penny to my name, no IDs, and no transportation. While Brax has been gone this week, I’ve been browsing on the computer looking for a place I could run off to and start a new life. Not the UK—I’m so over that life. And certainly not out east. Jimmy would find me in a heartbeat. I considered Nebraska or Kansas or some other semi-obscure state to get lost in. And until Jimmy’s gift arrived, I’d only been entertaining the idea of leaving.
Now, it’s becoming inevitable.
I fold the card in half and set it on the table. The scent of the peaches—Jimmy’s favorite—seems to saturate the air around me. My stomach churns and spasms. And yet . . . I’m still here. Staring at it.
My other option would be to ask Brax to release me, even if that means going unpaid. But something tells me he won’t let go of his precious toy that easily. I can only sit in his massive house, watching time tick by quickly, as I wait for the expiration date on my stay to come about. When it does, I’ll take the money and run. Hopefully, I’ll miss Jimmy before he tries to swoop in and collect me.
“You know,” Christine chirps as she reenters the room, “with Mr. Kennedy on his way back, I could take a few of those peaches he sent and make a cobbler.”
He’s coming back? Today?
The thought of eating cobbler with peaches that Jimmy, not Brax, sent sends me over the edge. I stand from the table and rush past her. “I’m allergic to peaches,” I lie breathily. “I’m going to be sick.”
I make it into the guest bathroom and head straight for the sink. Quickly, I splash cold water on my face and attempt to keep from throwing up. Lifting my eyes, I focus on the woman I am. The bruises Jimmy gave me last week are long gone. My eyes aren’t dull but instead a fierce, calculating jade color. White skin pales with each passing second as I stare at myself. I’ve thrown my hair into a messy bun that matches my sloppy look of yoga pants and a sweatshirt.
“Oh, Jessica, I’m so sorry,” Christine says from behind me. “I had no idea you were allergic. I’ll dispose of them and we’ll tell Mr. Kennedy I’ve put them away. I’m going to make some chicken noodle soup too since you’re a little green around the gills.”
I nod and absently wave my thanks to her. After she leaves, I remember Glenna’s pills from before and open the cabinet. My hands are shaky so when I retrieve them from between the two towels, they rattle.
These could certainly help wash the lingering thoughts of Jimmy away. But it would also cloud my mind and eventually they’d run out. I need to be clearheaded. If I have any hope of surviving this mess.
Carefully, I push them back where they belong and return to the mirror. The color has returned to my cheeks and I attempt a smile. It feels fake and unnatural on my lips. There was a time I could coast along and pretend—Jimmy taught me how to do that. But now? Now I don’t feel like pretending.
I don’t want to be Jimmy’s punching bag.
I don’t want to be Corgy’s fuck slave.
I don’t want to be Brax’s toy.
I just want to be Jessica. Grace’s mom. A woman with a chance to start over.
Tears spill down my cheeks at the mere though
t of her. My heart clenches in my chest and I curse God for the millionth time for taking her from me.
“You know we’re not poor, Peach. I could have hired someone to paint the nursery. Besides, didn’t the doctor tell you not to be climbing any ladders?” Jimmy’s deceptively sweet voice questions from the doorway from behind me. His words, though warm, send icy fear trickling down my spine.
His chilling presence washes over me and I scramble off the ladder before he decides to help me. I never want his help. His help usually means a slap to the face or push into a wall. So on a ladder, his help could be dangerous. I’ve been walking on eggshells doing whatever I can to please him so he’ll lay off me. I’d just planned to leave him when I found out I was pregnant with his child. Now, I have to be more careful knowing there are two of us to protect instead of one and that means taking steps to save so I can slip away from him with our child.
“Oh, um, yeah. I just wanted to do it myself. You know it gets boring around here while you’re gone,” I tell him sweetly. And even though I love the color and the décor I’ve outfitted her room with, I know it’s only something to pass my time. When I imagine holding my angel, I don’t see it in this hell hole. I see it someplace safe—someplace far away from Jimmy and his sick head.
I drop the lilac-colored paint covered brush I’d been using to cut in around the ceiling into the pan and smile at him.
Today he seems to be in a fairly good mood. I hope he stays that way.
“You’ve really let yourself go with this pregnancy,” he says with furrowed brows as I tentatively make my way to him. “I hope you lose some of that fat from your ass once you push out our kid.”
His verbal remarks don’t sting. I’ve grown used to them. It’s the physical ones I hate.
“I can renew my gym membership,” I say and slide my hands up his chest. “They have a day care there.”
He stiffens when I kiss his lips.
“So all those assholes can eye fuck you while your ass jiggles on the treadmill? Fuck that, Peach. I’ll buy you whatever you need for the house.”