Layers of Her

by Prescott Lane

  He leaned into my neck, whispering, “Relax, I’ve kissed you a thousand times before.” He curled his hand around my breast.

  “Don’t kiss my mouth,” I said. “Don’t you dare try to stick your tongue down my throat.”

  “Okay, my tongue will be busy somewhere else.”

  I said a quick prayer that he would be quick. Before I said “Amen,” he breathed, “You really are beautiful, Campbell.”

  I threw up in my mouth a little. As I slurped back the vomit, he put his mouth on my breast. I felt nothing except gross. I looked up at the ceiling of the car. I didn’t want to see his face on me, let alone catch a glimpse of him jerking off. I knew he was, but I tried not to think about it.

  A minute or so passed. I started to recite the alphabet backwards in my head. By the time I got to H, I heard him let out a groan, and I knew it was over, mercifully. He removed his face from my breast. I’d never been so thankful for the hormones of teenage boys—no stamina.

  I was thankful for something else, too. It was the only decent thing he did that night. When he finished, he angled his penis onto his own stomach instead of mine. It was a small favor, but I was grateful. I curled into a ball and stared out of the window, hot tears running down my cheeks.

  Cleaning himself off with a handful of fast food napkins, he pulled up his pants and began to drive, the dark landscape and faint flickers of light flying past me. We didn’t say another word to each other. I had nothing to say to him, and he was done with me, so he was mercifully silent. I frankly don’t remember how I passed the time during that last leg of the drive, and I couldn’t tell you whether it lasted thirty minutes or an hour. I know I just felt like shit, like this whole drive had forever changed me, or perhaps it had just brought the real me to the surface.

  And I was ugly as hell.

  He turned onto my mother’s street. “What did you say the number was?”

  “Number three,” I said. “Right there. Pull over here.”

  He pulled to the curb, and before he put the car in park, I opened the door and hopped out. “Let me know if you need anymore rides,” he said before speeding off.

  I scanned the house, just a regular ranch surrounded by others like it. I hadn’t been there in years and hardly remembered what it looked like. I certainly didn’t remember what the inside looked like. I breathed in the night air, somehow quiet and peaceful in what was my chaotic life.

  It felt good to get out of the car, stretch my legs, try to shake off what just happened—which was impossible. But I was going to have to worry about that later. I started up my mom’s pathway. The porch light flipped on, and the front door flew open.

  “Campbell, thank God!” my mother cried, running towards me and placing her hands on my shoulders. I didn’t get a hug, which was fine. I didn’t expect one, either. My mom’s never been a hugger. “Your Aunt Marcie called and said you’d run away. She thought you might show up here.”

  “She hit me,” I said flatly.

  “She feels terrible about it. She’s on her way here now.”

  “No, Mom. Please don’t make me go back. Please.”

  A man appeared in the doorway, wearing a navy blue bathrobe. “Charlotte, who’s this?”

  “Her daughter,” I said with as much bitchiness as possible.

  “Daughter?” the man asked. “You have a daughter, Charlotte?”

  My mouth dropped open, and I flashed my mother a bitchy side-eye. But she couldn’t see it. Her eyes were closed tight. Whoever this guy was, he sure looked comfy in her house, and yet my mother had said nothing to him about me—nothing about my good grades, awards, life. Nothing at all.

  “Mom?” I cried, tears flowing down my cheeks. No matter how perfect I had tried to be, I’d always be a bastard child. No amount of designer clothes she’d sent me would ever change that. And to think of what I endured to get to her house—my ex-boyfriend taking advantage of me actually seemed better than this moment.

  My mother rubbed her eyes and turned to the man. “I’ll explain later. Please give us a minute.” He nodded and disappeared inside.

  “Who is that?” I asked.

  “Your stepfather . . .”

  “What?” I barked. “How long have you been married?”

  “Come inside,” she said.

  I didn’t want to, but again, I felt I had no choice. This was becoming a pattern. I wasn’t sure why she wanted me to come inside. Things weren’t any better in there. There were wedding and vacation photos of my mother smiling, laughing. She didn’t appear depressed or sick at all, nothing like what Aunt Marcie had said. My mother just didn’t want me. It was that simple. Hell, she didn’t even tell her new husband about me. To her, I was a dirty little mistake. And that’s exactly how I felt.

  “Sit down,” my mom said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table. “Aunt Marcie said you haven’t been yourself lately and . . .”

  “Who’s my father?”

  She sat down, her eyes on her hands. She never looked me in the eyes. “You know about your father, my college boyfriend. His name was Warren.”

  “I’ve never seen a picture. I don’t know his last name. Why isn’t he listed on my birth certificate?”

  “Your birth certificate? What are you . . .”

  “Yes, there’s no name listed,” I interrupted. “And why didn’t I come to your wedding? Why doesn’t this new guy know about me? Are you really so ashamed of me?”

  “Of course not,” she said and reached for my hand, but I pulled back.

  “Then why can’t I live with you? Do you not want me?”

  “Campbell, that’s not . . .”

  I wasn’t in the mood for bullshit or coddling. And I could sense rejection might be coming, so I pulled in my tears. After all, I’d cried enough already. “Fine, you don’t want me. Fine! Just tell me who my father was. Maybe his family has changed their mind. Maybe they’d like to get to know me now. Have a piece of their son in their lives.”

  “Please stop this,” my mother begged.

  “Just tell me something! Anything!”

  “You’ve got his eyes,” she said softly, trembling.

  “That’s it? That’s the best you can do? Do you have a picture?”

  “No.”

  “You must have a yearbook. He’d be in there.”

  My mother took a deep breath then trembled some more. “I’m not sure where a yearbook would be, if I even kept one.”

  “Since he died, they probably did one of those big memorial spreads they do when . . .”

  The front door flew open, and Aunt Marcie burst into the kitchen. She rushed to my mother’s side and stared daggers at me. “Can’t you see you’re upsetting her? You know she doesn’t like to talk about that.”

  “Why won’t anyone tell me anything?” I screamed.

  “You better pull it together, little girl,” my aunt said. “This is not you.”

  “Maybe this is me! My father’s side in me!”

  “I can’t,” my mother said, getting to her feet. “I can’t.”

  “I hate you!” I screamed at her. “All these years, I thought you were living alone, sad and sick, but you’ve been happy, living a new life without me.”

  “Campbell, you don’t mean that,” my aunt said and reached for my hand. I pulled back again. I didn’t want her touching me, either. “Tell your mother you don’t mean that.”

  I paused for a moment to gather myself, then I looked my mother straight in the eyes. “But I do mean it. I hate you!”

  Before my mother could respond, I turned away from her and walked out of the house. Aunt Marcie followed behind me and told me to get in her car, that she would drive me home. After a bit of protesting, I got in but told her I wouldn’t speak to her the whole ride back. And I kept my word. I wanted nothing to do with her or anyone else in the world. Worst of all, I was no closer to finding anything out about my father. The only truth I learned was that my mom was a no-good deadbeat living a new life and didn’t g
ive two shits about me.

  The sun was just about to crack through the darkness when Aunt Marcie and I made it back. I got out of the car, and asked, “You knew she was married and happy, didn’t you?”

  My aunt reached out for me, but I stepped away. “Yes, I knew.”

  “She just doesn’t want me,” I said, not as a question, but a statement—a truth I was trying on for size.

  “Honey, it’s not that simple.”

  “It is. So what that I remind her of her dead lover. That was like sixteen years ago—she should get over it. I’m here. Love him by loving me!” Maybe it was because she was tired, but I saw something shift in my aunt’s eyes. “Unless she didn’t love him. Unless you’ve been lying to me this whole time. Unless I remind her not of love, but of something else.”

  “Campbell,” she said, her voice not angry exactly, more like a warning. “You’ve got to leave this alone.”

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” My body started to tremble. “Is he really alive? My dad?”

  “You know he’s not.” She turned away from me and walked towards the house. “I’m going to get some sleep. You should, too.”

  I headed to my room and collapsed on my bed. It wasn’t hard to fall asleep. Staying asleep was the issue. It seemed I woke every hour or so—with my ex-boyfriend’s stupid face in my head, my mother’s eyes glaring at me, or just plain darkness creeping over me, all invading my dreams. Then there were the screams, invading my mind, so loud, like nothing I’d ever heard before.

  The screams wouldn’t stop. They’d wake me up; they seemed so real. I told myself they weren’t, that they were only in mind, that I should stop acting like a child. But then they’d come again, closer, more real than the last round. I threw a pillow over my head, trying to keep the darkness and screams away. But they kept coming. Another round. Then another.

  And then I heard some more. These were different and closer than ever, more like a wailing this time. I pushed the pillow off me, bolted out of bed, and raced to the kitchen, the cold tile hitting my feet. God, was it cold. It was cold as death in there.

  I found Maxi on the floor crying, holding Aunt Marcie in her arms. “What happened?” I asked them. “Are you hurt?” They both looked up at me, and the cold from my toes inched up my body.

  “Charlotte is dead,” Aunt Marcie said. “Your mother just killed herself.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  STONE

  Campbell’s going to get good and pampered, and a sneak peek at what life with me is going to look like. When you’ve got a good woman, you treat her right. That’s just the way it is. Not that I’ve done that much in my life, mostly with my sister and daughter, but I know how to make a woman happy, and Campbell is going to find out just how fucking happy she’ll be with me.

  And she needs that—happiness.

  Whatever battle is waging within her, it’s time she had someone on her side. I get the feeling she’s been alone a long time. And as for her plans to kill that asshole—if she really wanted him dead, he’d be in the ground by now. The battle she’s fighting is more against herself than him. We are our own worst enemies—the voices in our own heads, our own thoughts, dreams, and nightmares are the most powerful opponents we will ever face. I know that better than anyone. Any time I went into a match thinking I was going to lose, I did. You’re beat before you start.

  So now that Campbell is mine, her fight is my fight. And the first order of business is to get some of that negative, dark shit out of her head and fill it with the good things I know to be true about her.

  But a virgin?

  Have to say, she cold-cocked me with that one. I’ve always been with women that knew what they were doing, never even considered it being another way. Until now. Her sweet little body will only ever know me. Ever get a new toy when you were a kid, and not want anyone else to play with it? But your mom would always make you? Don’t get your panties in a wad, I’m not calling Campbell a toy. But the concept is the same, and this time I won’t ever have to share. That’s the only thought that matters. Everything else she needs to know, I’ll be more than happy to teach her.

  But waiting has never been my strong suit. I’ve never waited for a woman in my life. When I want one, I get her. No problem, no waiting, no questions, and certainly no virgins. But if cage fighting has taught me anything, it’s that patience usually equals victory. Rushing is a mistake that young, eager, punk ass fighters make. And they learn real quick that you’re just going to tire yourself out and get knocked on your ass. So, I’ve learned the power of waiting for the right moment to strike. Something tells me it will be a lot harder waiting for the right moment with Campbell, because let’s face it, every fucking moment seems like the right time to claim her, to make her mine, and only mine.

  Like right now.

  She’s sleeping peacefully in my bed, her blonde hair spread out across my chest as her head rests on my shoulder. It would be so easy to flip her over, slide down her body, and bury my tongue deep inside her. That would be the best start to the day.

  But I’m not going to do it. My reasons should be noble, like the fact that Campbell’s not ready, but instead, my reasons are strictly logistical. At least I’m thinking with the right head! Tate’s internal alarm is about to go off, and I’m going to need some time with Campbell. The days of quickies in my office are over. Well, maybe not over. Quickies with Campbell will be fun, but before we can get to those, I need to break her in, and that’s going to take some time.

  Right on time, Tate begins making noise. Most kids at her age would be saying words like dada, but she can’t. I’m living for the day I hear my baby girl call out to me, but right now, I don’t want her to wake up Campbell, who I’m sure needs the sleep. Time to get my ass up out of bed. This is the worst part of being a parent – kids don’t know the difference between a weekend, weekday, workday, or vacation. They get up at the crack of dawn whether you’ve got a hot woman in your bed or not.

  But seeing my daughter’s smile greet me is the best part. “Morning, baby girl,” I say, lifting her up and out of her crib and giving her a kiss and hug. First things first—the morning diaper change. How the hell such a little girl can piss so much in the night is beyond me. She’s wiggling around and raring to go, so I make quick work of the diaper change then put her down, and she takes off like a bullet towards my room. Usually, I take her into my bed to cuddle for a while in the morning, hoping to get an extra few minutes of rest. She’s squealing and laughing as I rush after her, thinking it’s a game.

  Last night when Campbell brought it up, I played it off, but I am a little concerned about how Tate might react to Campbell being around. It’s only ever been me and her. “Tate, get back here.”

  Of course, she can’t hear me. I’ll never get used to that. All the doctors and nurses say it’s good that I talk to her, that she can infer things from my expression. Her chunky baby butt is waddling away from me now, so she can’t see the worry on my face.

  But she reads Campbell’s face just fine. Sitting up in my bed, Campbell stares down at Tate, who’s on her tiptoes peeking up over the mattress. “She usually climbs in bed with me in the mornings. I couldn’t catch her,” I say, picking up Tate and sitting down on the bed with her.

  “Don’t let me stop you,” Campbell says, grinning. “Tate’s waiting.”

  Laying on my back, Tate takes her place sitting right on my chest. I kiss her and tickle her. She blows raspberries on my cheek and bounces up and down on top of me. Campbell watches us the whole time, smiling and laughing. I lift Tate up in the air and hold her like she’s an airplane as she giggles and giggles.

  Moment of truth time, I fly her in Campbell’s direction. She doesn’t miss a beat, taking Tate, placing her on her legs, and rocking her back and forth while counting, “One, two . . .” And on three, she lifts her high in the air. Tate screeches so loud, I swear the glass on the windows could break. Taking Tate and laying her in the bed between us, she lifts her leg in the a
ir and begins to try to get her toes in her mouth. Thank God, she’s easily distracted. “You’re a good daddy,” Campbell says.

  “Little girls need their daddies,” I say, but Campbell’s eyes close.

  “Not all dads are like you,” she says softly.

  One kiss might have told me I love her, but there’s still a lot more I need to know. “I don’t know anything about your family.”

  “Let’s leave it that way,” she says. “Besides, today we’re supposed to talk about you—The Legend.”

  Crap, I’d hoped she’d forgotten about that in her sleep. “Not now,” I say, leaning over my daughter and kissing Campbell softly. “Morning.”

  She looks down at Tate staring up at us. “She seems alright with me being here.”

  I tickle Tate’s belly again. “Yeah, the little cock blocker is happy as can be.”

  Campbell swats my shoulder. “You did not just call your daughter that.”

  Laughing, I put Tate on the floor and take Campbell’s hand, helping her up. My hands on her tight little ass, I pull her to me, my rock hard dick pressing into her. “Look what you do to me.”

  “You really ought to do something about that,” she teases, turning towards the door, shaking her butt at me. Fuck me, I can’t wait to spank that ass.

  “Breakfast first,” I say, taking her hand.

  “Why don’t I cook for you and Tate?” she asks.

  “No way.”

  “Breakfast food is my favorite. I’d eat if for every meal if I could. Plus, it’s the only thing I can cook. I’d like to.”

  “Maybe another morning,” I say. “Right now, I want you to rest.”

  “Another morning,” she says, raising an eyebrow at me.

  I scoop Tate up from the living room floor and hand her to Campbell. “Yeah, like tomorrow.” Her lips part, but before she can get anything out, I continue, “Or the day after that.”

  “Stone? I’m alright now. Feeling better. I don’t need to stay here,” she says.