“Oh God,” I cry wiping my tears with my shaking palms.
Bryson explodes through the doors screaming, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Sheeeee fought back soooo I’m teaching this junnnnkie whooore a lesson!” Supak slurs. “Don’t worry, I’m not using the buckle side,” he adds raising the belt again.
Before he could lash Valeria again, Bryson snatches the belt away. “You asshole! You couldn’t just fuck her?”
He kneels beside her, and rolls her over onto her back. Valeria moans her pain and whimpers a protest at being moved. Matted with fresh blood, the unbraided black hair sticks to her face and lined across the playback image. “Marvy?” He shakes her shoulder gently, and brushes the hair from her face.
No one in the kitchen seems to notice it, but I do–Bryson’s confusing note of regret.
“Fink the biiiitch put somefig in my drink!” he garbles swaying over her, Supak breathes heavily, spittle flying from his open mouth. “Les go. Meeting…suppliers...soon.”
I notice Bryson’s hands are fisted tightly, but motionless by his side, though he’s shaking.
“We can’t just leave her like this.” Bryson motions to the semi-conscious mess on the bed.
Supak waives him off, nearly falling on his face. “Fuuuuck…her. Leave…her. Deal wif her when get back.” And with that, Bryson helps Supak stand and then the men are gone, leaving her numb from thoughts, still to movement.
The once beautiful girl in the gorgeous crimson beaded dress now lies quiet, pooling in her own blood. After quite some time, she slowly raises her head. Valeria tries to crawl off the bed, but topples to the floor. Using her legs to propel her forward, she claws her way to the bathroom leaving a trail of blood seeping from her head in her wake. She crumples to the bathroom floor, probably soaking in more blood.
The distorted sideways image of the bathroom floor is still for an anguishing six more minutes, and seventeen more seconds. The sound of the bedroom door opening, and a whisper cracks the silence.
“Marvy? It’s Xander, you in here?”
She must have collapsed to the left side of her face, because her hair covers half the view. The playback moves as if being lifted. Rolling onto her back, Alex’s horrified expression comes into the view through black strands of hair.
“Jesus Christ! Marvy, can you hear me?” The image shakes.
“Xander?” her hushed voice hoarse.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he says. “Let’s get you out of here.”
“I should’ve given him two pi…” Her thought lolls off in a whisper.
The undisturbed, inert air in the kitchen coils around me. The only thing that fills my ears is the sound of my own breathing and the slamming of my heartbeat.
Alex reaches over and hits the Stop icon. After a hefty, angst filled sigh, “You know the rest.”
I lean back in my chair folding my knees to my chest. Wrapping my arms around them, I lower my head to feel the warmth of my breath and hide in the cocoon. “Valeria saved us.”
I STAND UNDER THE shower’s ten-shades-shy-of-blistering running water until my fingers prune up, and then scrub my body again till my skin is angry red. Though in reality, being truly clean will never happen again. Before thoroughly washing my hair once more, getting each and every strand, I feel his hands on me. Using the wall to steady myself, I let the water burn my back while trying to regain control of my shakes.
Stepping out of the tub, a queasy wave chops through me. I run to the toilet, regurgitating anything left in there. From my knees, I stare at the silk thong panties on the floor next to the toilet. It’s a soiled remnant of the night. Picking them up, I help them find their way to the bottom of the trash bin. When I stand at the mirror, the mist streaks with fat drops as I swipe a section clear, and stare at the reflection. Tears try to force their way up when I sigh, but I drop my eyes and force them back down.
On the bed, I rummage through the duffel pulling out random items to make an outfit and limply dress myself.
Voices carry from the kitchen as I step closer. Words like, “traumatized” and “rape” reverberate in my ears.
“We should call that Agent Dawson guy.”
“Let’s talk to Tris—” The conversation dies as all eyes look up when I walk in. I cross my arms around my waist feeling stripped of my dignity. I can’t meet their eyes.
A big smile welcomes me. “Hey babe, feel a little better?” Xander asks, overly chirpy. I’m immediately filled with sickness and I sneer.
With icy, unlit eyes, I pin him with a look. “Neither she or I are your fucking ‘babe’, Xander Rush,” I say, picking up his pack of smokes and his lighter. “And no, I’ll never feel better.” Before going out to the balcony I turn and knock my head to acknowledge. “Hello Kitta. Long time no see.”
Kitta’s face slowly dawns with realization. I feel her eyes track my way outside. Checking her out over my shoulder, I scoff at her stunned expression.
XANDER AND KITTA TENTATIVELY follow me out; gawking as I take a long, slow inhale of my lit cigarette. The crackling sound of the burning paper hugging the brown leafy poison is reverently soothing.
“Marvy?” Kitta asks cautiously, as if Trista is going to pop off a “Just kidding!”
I smoothly exhale the billowy smoke in a beautiful white stream. It dissipates as quickly, but the expulsion takes a bit of my tension with it.
“I assume these are her God-awful clothes? I swear, you guys have no taste.”
After a few drags, I whip my focus to them. “Stop staring at me!” I tap my smoke, sending ashes from the cigarette over the railing. The scattered dead cinders fly above my head with a frenzied gust of air. It looks like a mini-blizzard in a snow globe.
I stare at the dancing white flecks flying in chaotic fashion. “Don’t worry, Tris is fine. She just needed a little time to think. I’m assuming I’m here because she saw the video.” Neither Xander, nor Kitta say a thing.
Looking at Xander, I narrow a guarded eye. “I take it you know about us then.” He nods. “And based on the conversation I interrupted, you haven’t called Dawson,” I say, taking another drag. “Agent Dawson,” I mutter between the smoke slipping from my lips. “Humph! What a fuckin’ joke. It’s because of him, I’m in this mess. Damn near got raped!”
I ash over the railing again. “You met Valeria in the video? She’s a piece of work, I guess. But she did save our lives, so I’m grateful for that.”
“GRATEFUL? Are you fucking kidding me? Look at what you’ve done to her!” Kitta explodes. “It’s YOUR fault Trista’s in this mess! Cocaine? Of all the stupid, irresponsible, inconsiderate, selfish, fucked up things you’ve ever done to Trista! What were you thinking?”
Enraged, she gets in my face, with her finger practically inching up my nose. “It isn’t enough to take her body out, steal all her money, party till dawn when she has to go to school or work the next day and screw everything with a dick, but you had to put that poison in her too? AND not to mention, stupid enough to get caught! This DEA-Vice bullshit you’ve dragged her into is inescapable! She has to see it through now or she goes to jail! This fucked up situation may get her killed!”
Kitta grabs my t-shirt shaking me. “These guys aren’t dumbass high schoolers. They’re playin’ for keeps, you dumb bitch!” She glares her fire into my terrified eyes for a second before shoving me hard into the sliding glass door. Pain shoots up my shoulder blades and I feel what must have come after Valeria took over.
“I was trying to get us out of this mess!” I gripe, rolling my shoulders. “Everything I did was for her! You think I like seducing that Bryson guy? You think I wanted to get raped? FUCK YOU, KITTA!” I cry out, tears rolling off my chin.
“No, fuck you, Marvy! For once, stop being the selfish asshole we think you are! All she wanted was to get out of this stinking town, and graduate from Baylor! But you’ve ruined it for her –ruined it, like you do everything!” She flips her hand as if to say “I’m done with yo
u” and storms back into the kitchen.
The cigarette has burnt down, it’s now almost out, but I still hold the butt. “Fuck,” grits out through my teeth. Tilting my head back, I wipe my eyes with the butt carrying hand. “Do you hate me too?” I ask, looking at Xander.
Waves of finger-fucking curly brown hair flops into his eyes when he sits down at the patio table. I love watching his hands as he pulls a smoke from his pack and lights it. His long legs stretch out and he leans back, blowing out the exhaled smoke. He has the perfect neck, not thick, like a muscle-head, but not slim like his head is disproportioned. The way he’s sitting is completely masculine. I really want to straddle and ride his cock into the sunset.
“I don’t hate you, Marvy. I don’t particularly like you right now, but I don’t hate you. I can’t hate you. I wouldn’t have Trista in my life if it wasn’t for you.”
That hurts. I lower my eyes as I lean against the glass door with my arms tight around me. “Is it nice?” My tone sadly soft. “Being with her?”
“Yeah,” Xander says with a goofy smile. Spite tastes rancid in my mouth.
“Do you love her?”
With his elbows against his knees, Xander stares at the lines on his palms. “She’s pretty amazing, but we’ve only known each other for a day. I don’t know, maybe. When she enters the room I can feel her without even looking, like she’s charging the air. There’s something there, that’s for sure. Think it can happen that fast?” He doesn’t seem to be directing the question to anyone in particular. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone before, if this is what it feels like. God, it’s like my skin is on fire unless she smiles. I see a future with her, Marv. I want to talk to her about everything. I want to walk in and see her watching TV, or in the kitchen moving around like she belongs here. I love how she blushes when I catch her watching me. She sends a shock through me when she touches me. I love how we move together. I love how every time we kiss it feels new, like she’s filling a hole I didn’t know was there. I love how every tension I have releases just by being with her. I feel like I can finally breathe, because she’s here. Everything before feels like nothing compared to now. Is that what love is supposed to feel like?”
How the fuck should I know?
“Oh Xander, this is me you’re talking to! You don’t even know her,” I say, gliding over to him and sit sideways on his lap. I wiggle my butt to feel my favorite part of him, but my eyebrows pull together. He doesn’t have wood. Why doesn’t he have wood? He’s always pitching a tent when he sees me.
He puts the cigarette out, and pushes me off, forcing me to stand. The hazel is gone from Xander’s eyes and they’re a bright green flame when they lock with mine.
“I know her better than I know you! I feel more human with her, than I ever did with you. I hate what she’s going through right now and that I couldn’t protect her. I want to deserve her and I hate what you and I have done together. It kills me to know she’s in there and not with me now. You’re the one that doesn’t deserve her.” He tears away and walks into the kitchen.
“Shit,” I mutter, flicking the dead cigarette butt over the railing.
“SPECIAL AGENT RICHARD Dawson,” Kitta reads off the business card as the man in the cheap suit and gaudy tie stands in front of the elevator waiting for his partner to exit. From the kitchen, I can see the fucking jacknuts that dragged me into this shitty situation.
“I’m Kitta, please come in. Can I get you anything?”
Dawson looks around the room and Kitta watches him crane his neck down the hallway. She clasps her hands behind her and mimics him, looking around. “Looking for Marvy?”
He straightens up. “I’m sorry, what?”
Kitta rolls eyes. “She’s in the kitchen.”
Xander stands when the men enter the kitchen, but I remain seated; I even shrink in my seat a bit.
“Hello Marvy. You remember Detective Pulson with Vice.” There’s sincere concern in his eyes as they take in my bruised face. “What happened to you? Are you okay?”
Even though my stomach is jittery, I narrow my eyes. “I’m dancing a fucking jig inside. I feel how I look, asshole.”
Clearing his throat, Dawson, obviously uncomfortable, shoves his hands in his trouser pockets. “Well…ah…we heard there’s a meeting this weekend, so we were surprised when we didn’t hear from you.”
Furious, I slam my hand down. “You fucking prick! I’m not your Goddamn CI! I’m not even 18 yet, and I know you didn’t get my mom’s signature on the permission slip, Dick,” I seethe. “Our agreement was to find Milinka. That’s it. Well, Milinka is dead. No one has seen her for weeks, so I’m done.”
“You’re done, when we say you’re done little lady,” Pulson says in a low stanch voice.
“Shove it, and your ‘little lady’ bullshit! I got the shit kicked out of me and almost raped last night. I’d rather be in jail then dead!”
Dawson’s shoulders slouch and his shoes squeak on the slate tile flooring. He sits at the kitchen table, taking my hand. “I’m sorry that happened to you, I really am. We’ll get surveillance on you when you go to the club.”
Amazed at his stupidity, I rip my hand away. “Screw your surveillance. I don’t want to end up like Milinka. Fuck that shit!”
“Do you know for sure she’s dead?”
“I don’t. But after this,” pointing to my face, “I don’t care. Whatever happened to her, it can’t be good.”
“Did Bryson do this? We can talk to the District Attorney about picking him up on assault charges. Tell me what happened.”
“I got jacked from the club, and taken to some house in The Hills. He locked me in a room until a guy named Supak came in. That sack of shit tried…,” my voice quivers. “He had his hands…,” I blow out a breath to steady my tone. “I think they were planning on tricking me out or something too. There is no way in hell I’m going back.”
Pulson is still standing in the kitchen entryway, guarding it like I’m going to bolt. “There’s no other way. Find Milinka or confirm she’s dead, and we’ll make your drug possession charge go away. Don’t, and we could charge you as an adult. Possession with intent to distribute could get you five to ten, minimum of a year.”
“I barely got out alive. They left me bleeding on a bathroom floor. What am I supposed to say? ‘Thanks for leaving me to die’ as I run back into his arms? I can’t do it. I won’t do it! Send my ass to jail.” Tears stream down my face. The fear coursing through me is unbearable. I can’t take being in this kitchen anymore with these cunt-lickers, so I escape to the balcony.
Their eyes are like an extra layer of skin as I light a cigarette. My hands shake making it difficult when coupled with the wind at this altitude. The tremble that takes over my body stirs my nausea. I have to hold myself up using the banister before my knees give. I really just want to curl up in the corner and pray this all goes away. From the second I met Bryson, I knew this was going to get ugly. What I didn’t know were the details. The fucking details. The elements I needed to know in order to get out of this hole. Fuck, I’m so screwed.
The solidity of the half-wall provides no ballast and I slide down clinging to it, unable to bolster my own weight.
Even with the sound of the sliding glass door opening and the approach of Kitta, I don’t move. Akin to a puppeteer cutting the strings, I sit slumped against the half-wall in my broken marionette position.
Why did I agree to this? Oh yeah, because she told me I had to. She told me I had to protect Trista. Trista, it’s always about Trista and her fucking mamsy-pansey ways. The perfect little Trista. Perfect, my ass. I fucking hate her. If she only knew what we knew–what I endured for her. But she never will. The little bitch will never let us tell Trista how we really came to be. Every burn, every cut, hidden from her parents. Lies upon lies, stacked so high at times, I couldn’t even tell which were real accidents and not. How Tyson really died and how she came close to dying too. Trista doesn’t remember thanks to the li
ttle bitch; the truth lost in the four, correction, five of us. As smart as she thinks she is, she believes we popped up because of the car crash. Hell, she still doesn’t know about the others.
A reverently sorrowful sigh sinks my body lower. My Ty, with his big, round innocent eyes—his daddy’s eyes. He had lashes for days and could charm anyone with that devilish little smile. I miss him so much. Thinking of him, I chuckle. If he were alive, he’d be a heartbreaker, that’s for sure. Nah, not Tyson. Sometimes you see really cute kids, but they’re spoiled and stuck-up so you know for a fact, they will grow into major assholes as adults. That wouldn’t have been Tyson. Tyson was keen, and adorably funny, but cared about everyone. If you said, “ow,” he’d come running with a Band-Aid. If you were being yelled at, he would protect you. The made-up stories he would tell Trista and our parents to explain discovered wounds were part of the lie to protect her. It’s always fucking about her.
“Marvy?”
Kitta rubs my back and takes the smoke from my hand. A wasted cig anyway since I only took a drag from it and it’s burnt out now. I lift my head to meet the unease in her eyes. Before I fade too far in misery, I meekly sputter, “Tell her I’m sorry.”
A breeze skims my skin, chilling my soaked cheeks. She touches her forehead to mine and sighs. “We’ll figure a way out, I promise.” Never once has Kitta shown me kindness. But that’s not what this is. It’s the consolation for a fool.
The sliding glass door is slightly open and the kitchen conversation drifts out to the balcony.
“She’s been through a lot over the last few days,” Xander sighs.
Dawson looks tired and rubs his eyes. “Look, I swear she’ll be safe. We’ll put some guys in the club, and set up some cameras. She’ll never be alone. We need her to cooperate.”
Outside, Kitta helps me to sit on a patio chaise. Mechanically, my legs move but hardly provide assistance. Grabbing another cig, I melt into the chaise cushions. My eyes provide the solace of darkness and I let the billowy toxins relax me. I must be smoking too much or too fast, because a white static noise fills my mind.
Pieces Of One, Part 1 (The Dark Life Collection) Page 9