My throat is on fire and I begin coughing with the intensity of its burn. I lie staring at the landscape as the lights of the city began to twinkle in the dusky sky. Turning my head, Kitta is holding my hand and talking to me, yet I have no clue as to the topic of conversation. Abandoning her mid-sentence, I extinguish the cigarette and with her help, return to the kitchen.
“Alex?” I whisper, looking at the strangers with him in the kitchen.
ALEX SNAPS HIS HEAD up panicked. Kitta has one arm around me, and hooks my other arm to guide me toward the bedroom. She shoots a look to Alex, motioning him to join us. It’s so covert, I decide to keep my mouth shut.
I know I have transitioned because I am wearing my own clothes now. I wonder how long I’ve been gone and am curious as to the lagging state of my legs.
The two men in the kitchen watch, sharing suspicious looks between them. Worry lines deeply embed into one man’s expression, the other thinner yet still portly one, scrutinizes me with cynicism pinching his eye.
“Umm…excuse me. I’m going to go check on her. I’ll be right back.” Alex sprints from the kitchen before they can say anything.
Kitta and I sit on the bed while she finishes telling me how Marvy was just there. They tell me what the detectives said and why Marvy was out on the balcony.
“I’ve never felt Marvy before now,” I say aimlessly. “She’s beyond scared. I wonder why I’m here, and not Valeria.”
“Because you’re stronger,” Alex says.
I slowly shake my head. “No, that’s not it. It is like someone flipped a switch and now I’m back.”
“Tris, focus.” Kitta says, then looks at Alex, “What are we gonna do? She’ll never be free of these guys. What if Bryson is looking for her? She’ll never be safe from him either. He knows she can ID Supak. We actually need these guys to protect her.”
Blinking up at the ceiling, Alex folds his arms to his chest and cracks his neck. “What if we give the video recordings to them?”
Shaking my head, I rub my thumbnail across my lower lip. “We could, but I don’t think that’s enough. It just shows the attack. The kidnapping could be white-washed to look like I was willing. I was sitting with him at the club and people have seen us come and go together. They need more to hold Bryson then some weak ass accessory charge. I’ll never be safe till they take him down. They need that Milinka chick or something more substantial for a conviction.”
A long exhale blows from my mouth. “I’m screwed if I do and I’m completely screwed if I don’t. I’ll never get into any good school with a record, let alone Baylor.”
“Fuck Baylor! We’re talking about your life!” Kitta screams.
Her outburst cowers me and a zing of pain throbs on my arm when she smacks it. I’ve never seen Kitta so mad.
I must look pathetic to Alex. The helpless female that is broken and so very fucked.
His empathy warps his expression when he sits next to me. “Trista, we can beat this. I’ve got great lawyers that can figure this out. You don’t have to do this.”
Even though my heart lightens with the thought, I know there’s no other way out. “But I’ll never be safe from Bryson. Who knows what kind of connections he has in the criminal world. Kitta’s right, I need these guys.”
Ideas and arguments are being thrown around the room until the DEA and Vice guys come in. “Everything okay in here?” I blink not knowing which one he is, but he looks like he really cares when he asks.
He pulls up a chair to face me, putting the sentiment to words, “I swear to God Marvy, we’ll protect you. We need you. It will take too long to get someone new in. We can control the whole situation, improvise when necessary, but one of us will always be there.”
“If I do this, I want 24-hour protection after and till this is all over. My family can never know; never be put in harm’s way. Got it?” The older man nods. “Do you have a plan? What information did you need from Milinka?” I bite down on my lower lip for my error. They must have already told Marvy the plan before starting this mess.
This time it’s the other guy’s turn to talk. “Well, since we missed the meeting over the weekend,” his eyes slit, “we know Seviride has a big shipment coming in on the fourth. We don’t know if it’s girls, drugs, or guns. He’s into a lot of shit. We need to know where it will be and when. It’s information a girl like you can sweet talk him out of easy enough I’m sure.”
Fury explodes from Alex. “Hey, watch your mouth, asshole! She’s not a hooker!”
“Pulson–go back to the car and wait for me there,” the older one, by process of elimination is Dawson, says. He must be in command because his hand is up in Pulson’s face which is pretty ballsy. I kind of like this Dawson guy. Pulson…not so much. The slimy schmuck huffs and turns on his heels to leave.
Dawson sits back down. “Marvy, all you have to do is find out when and where. We’ll do the rest.”
“I need to know his routine. I’ll accidently bump into him and…” I close my eyes taking a moment to calm my breathing, “get reacquainted.”
“DON’T GO. PLEASE, just stay here,” Alex says as I pack up my laptop. Kitta and I thought it would be better to go home for now. My mom is probably already freaking out, even with my lame excuses explaining my absence. Besides, I figure no one knows who I really am or where I live. I’d be safer there, than with any of Marvy’s known hang-outs or “friends.”
“Then at least let me drive you home,” Alex offers.
He’s convinced he can talk me out of it on the way, I bet.
Not wanting to leave, but knowing I can’t stay, I keep moving opposite of Alex to hold my distance. I don’t want my resolve to deteriorate. “My car is still here in the valet lot, remember?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Damn it Trista, just stay with me tonight. We can meet with Dawson together and work out a plan.” Alex moves again trying to block my path to the elevator.
My eyes drop, focusing on the hardwood floor, and Alex’s feet come into view. The thrumming from my chest beats like a hummingbird’s wings, a beat I can feel in my ears.
“I don’t want you out there without me,” he says, using his fingers to caress my arm.
Out of nowhere I jerk my arm back, and take two steps backward. “GET OFF ME!” I venomously scream. Instantly the duffle drops as my hands cover my open mouth. My eyes fill with shock, it didn’t even sound like my voice. Alex’s face beleaguers with hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe through my quivering hands. Tears brim my eyes as I stare at him tormented. My lips roll back into my mouth, pressing tightly together. Drops shake loose and roll down my cheeks. He takes a step forward, but I take a step back.
Unmoved fingers still cover my mouth, I suck down a breath in a bleating strain. “I can’t. Not yet. I need more time,” I say, slowly shaking my head. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” My tears splatter on the hardwood between us before I maneuver around him.
After a few minutes, Kitta walks past me. “Here,” she says, handing him a slip of paper. “Call me tomorrow. I’ll let you know how things are going.” She looks back at me, then to him with sympathy. “Give her some space. It’ll work out. Before this morning, I’ve never seen my girl glow like that.”
She pats his shoulder and heads to the elevator with me. He watches us as the elevator doors close. At the last second, he rushes in to steal one more kiss. Not that I have a choice, he holds my head so I cannot escape his desperation. I melt into him letting him take me into a parallel reality where nothing else matters and none of this is happening.
“OH, HONEY! WHAT HAPPENED?”
Mom always hovers in a way that puts me on edge. The way she handles my face is caring, but not gentle in the way one would think. It’s like she’s looking for something beyond the cuts and bruises. “Are you alright? Do you hurt anywhere else?” As she asks, she bores into my eyes. Maybe she can see the psychological issues that plague me. It’s more than maternal concern. But she says
nothing of her awareness.
“No, Mom. I’m fine. You know what a klutz I am. Kitta’s stairs are so steep and narrow. I wasn’t paying attention.”
I hope my tone is believable. I hate lying to my mother, but since Marvy’s appearance, I’ve gotten really good at it.
Mom’s loving hand touches my face again, this time with tenderness, inspecting the emerging bruises and cut lip. “Oh sweetie, you have to be more careful.” She smiles, kissing me lightly on the cheek. “You’re still my beautiful girl though!”
The edge of my lip twitches up and I lower my eyes. “Thanks Mom.” She says the words, yet they translate a different meaning to me. Lifting my view, I study her face.
Despite the ordeal of losing both my brother and then her husband and trying to raise two kids on her own, my mother is still beautiful. The grays and smile lines are the only things that indicate her age. But her soul is tired and weary. The dance in her eyes, is gone. Her laughter, never quite as robust and genuine anymore. My mother has become a fixture in life. Between Jones and me, I suppose we treat her as such and don’t appreciate, or at least vocalize, our gratitude. Jones has his baseball stuff and gaming club, I have school and work. As a family, we have dinner once a week at best. Usually that’s on the fly with take-home pizza. I can’t remember when we all went on a trip together. It’s ironic how life itself gets in the way of living it.
“Hey Mom? Let’s get away; take a trip or something. Maybe go to Mr. Peterson’s beach cabin at Fort Myers for Spring Break?”
Her brow pushes up to her hairline. “You want to spend Spring Break with me? Your old, decrepit mother?” She deserves the sardonic grimace on my face. “We’ll see. I’m not sure if I can get the time off of work.” Now I give her my best puppy dog face and force my lips to draw down in an exaggerated frown. “Oh God, get out of here! Dinner will be ready soon.”
Her hand is at my back pushing me up the stairs, but I turn. “I’m serious though. Let’s get away. As a family. If I get into Baylor, Texas is a long way from Florida. Think about it, okay?”
My hug and kiss linger before she pushes me away. “You’re going to Texas, not Africa. Don’t be so dramatic, honey,” she laughs and gives me another push up the stairs.
In my room, I stand at the door looking at my things. Duffel still in hand, I’m motionless. My eyes travel from my twin bed with stuffed animals sitting on the floral duvet between the matching pillowcases, to scanning my bookshelf filled with wires and spare parts from the shop. They accompany a few paperback romance novels and unreturned books from the Metro Library. I drop my eyes to the floral carved desk my father gave to me on my eleventh birthday. A cheap office lamp sits atop as its feeble light source. My Metro Community College textbooks with the all caps USED stickers slapped on the spine are neatly stacked next to my assignments, and my messenger bag hangs across the back of my desk chair. This room represents a different girl a lifetime ago, aged in a few days. When my only wants were to get into Baylor, move into a dorm with a nice roommate, and come home for the holidays. Four days ago, my only hope was that Marvy would let me do that without interfering too much. Now I’m depending on Marvy, and the newly discovered Valeria, to salvage my life and save my future.
I blow out a breath through bloated cheeks and go to my desk. Fishing out my laptop, I toss the duffel into my closet. Before putting my laptop on my desk, I notice the finished #7 math complication.
“Thanks Marvy,” I say softly. I flip through the pages to review #12, but stop when I notice a card taped to the back of one of the pages. My heart thumps as I sit down and stare at the card for a long minute. I remove it from my homework, fingering the embossed raised letters spelling out Drug Enforcement Administration.
Slumping back into my chair I pull my knees up to prop my feet on the seat. My elbows sit on my knees as I numbly eye the card I hold by its edges. Dropping the card on the desk, I rest my temple in my palm and scratch my head. “Crap.” I close my eyes and feel them burn.
I wish Alex was here.
The yearning to hear his voice strains my thoughts but I realize I don’t have his number and he doesn’t have mine. It worsens my exhaustion, depleting any unused strength. My body deflates and I bury my head in my forearms.
BOTH TUESDAY AND Wednesday seem pointless, but I go through the motions and attend class anyway. IF I ever get out of this mess, Baylor may still be in my future so I might as well not screw it up just in case.
When I get home Wednesday afternoon, I fruitlessly check the answering machine. No text messages or calls, other than Kitta. As much as I want to hear Alex’s voice, the reality of the situation is too much to ask anyone to get involved. Moreover, I feel like damaged goods, especially with this new alter.
Alex called Kitta on Tuesday to check up on things, to which I received a call immediately after.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to him?” she asked yesterday, circumventing a greeting.
I felt like she’d reached inside my gut, grabbed, and twisted chunks of my stomach. The bed sagged under my weight when I rolled over to stare at the ceiling. “I have no idea what to say to him after I ran out like that. He must think I’m totally jacked up in the head. Maybe he’s right. I’m a basket case in a fucked up situation.”
A bothersome silence hung on the other end of the phone. “Hello? You still there, Kitta?” I asked thinking the call dropped.
Finally Kitta’s voice came through, “Oh I’m sorry. I was just leaving the ‘poor me’ girl behind at her pity party to go talk to my best friend Trista. Have you seen her?” She has such a talent for sarcasm.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I chuckled.
“He really misses you, Tris. He asked for your number but I didn’t want to give it to him unless you wanted me to.”
Though still conflicted, the beat from my chest was unrelenting with the thought of talking to him or better yet, seeing him. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad, just the simple act of talking to him. “I don’t know,” was my only response.
Kitta sighed. “Why don’t I give you his number, and if you want to call him, you have that option. I hope you do, you need him right now. Besides, you guys looked really good together. And I know he curls your toes!”
“Does your train go in any other direction? I really have other things to worry about right now, Kit,” I said chastely, but with blushing cheeks and a smile.
“Think of it this way,” Kitta continued. “Out of this whole FUBAR situation, you met a nice guy who seems to be really into you AND finally pops your cherry, so to speak.”
“GAWD Kitta! Seriously? Why’d you have to go there?” Embarrassed, heat radiated under my palms while I rubbed my eyes.
“I’m just sayin’,” Kitta laughed.
“Bye!”
“I’ll text you the numb…” Kitta tried to say, but I hung up on her mid-sentence.
A melody came from my cell phone a few moments later. Pulling up the text, it read, “For a good time, call me. For great rock-your-socks-off phone sex, call 786-555–2900. Call him, bitch!”
I laughed out loud, and sniggered, “Ho!” to the phone.
THURSDAY EVENING STRAGGLES by at a painstaking pace. Tapping my pencil, confounded by another math problem, I stare at my obvious incorrect answer. My eyes drift to my phone. I’d picked it up a few times, inputting the number, but I never hit Send. “Uuuuugggggghhh!” I gripe, and power up my laptop instead.
In the browser, I type Bryson Seviride. Figuring if I’m going to do this, I might as well get to know him better. The more background I know, the better prepared I’ll feel. I read articles about his local businesses and international dealings in France and Eastern Europe. He made it big through buying up small tech start-ups and choice patents, but the main focus of his business now is international trade. The most current on the list with images are links to gossip sites. Pictures mostly show him hob-knobbing with gorgeous models, Hollywood starlets, and sports athletes. A f
ew rumor rags have different pictures of him with a singular gorgeous brunette with stunning blue eyes and legs that go on forever, Daria something. But as I stalk the pictures, I notice one thing—all brunettes.
Well, I guess he has a thing for brunettes. Yay for me.
The shrill of the phone ringing makes me jump out of my skin. “Trista—phone!” Jones hollers from downstairs.
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck tingle with an impossible hope of Alex calling. My hand hovers over the receiver as I try to manage my breath. “Hello?”
“Hi Trista, it’s Dale.”
I flatten, but muster an animated tone. “Hi Mr. P. Sorry about Sunday.”
“Oh, no problem! You know we’re never busy, I just like the company,” his tone jingles. I smirk, knowing it is true.
“I’m sorry it’s so late to call about this, but I have a favor to ask. I have to be in Daytona by 11 a.m. to pick up parts that didn’t get shipped. I promised the customer I’d have his computer back by Monday. Do you have class tomorrow morning?”
This would be a good reason to get out of the house and not have to think about Alex, Seviride, or Dawson. “Nope. What time do you need me there?”
“Oh great! Can you open the shop up? I’ll be back by 4 o’clock. Is that all right? I’m not taking you away from a date or anything, am I?” he teases.
I laugh at Mr. P’s method of soliciting information about my life. “You know you’re the only man for me!” I chuckle. “No, we’re good Mr. P. I’ll open up the shop at ten sharp.”
I can almost hear the blush in his voice. “You’re going to make some lucky guy out there so happy he’s got a girl like you in his life!”
My smile fades. His complimentary words have the opposite reaction, making me a little sad and my heart ache. I already have.
Pieces Of One, Part 1 (The Dark Life Collection) Page 10