Manik

by Amo Jones

  He nods. “Yeah, yeah it does.” Then he gives a look to Lenny. “You guys ready?”

  Lenny massages his temples. “Why am I always on babysitting duty.”

  I pat his arm. “Because you love me.”

  I think nothing of the words I just spat out, and it’s not until I leave the room that I realize they’re not following me. I turn back to face them. “What?”

  I roll my eyes when I figure out it’s because I dropped the L word. “Oh, it’s a frigging word. Chill out.” Then I storm down the hallway. I settled on Doc Martens with my skinny jeans, because Docs are awesome and because If I have the urge to run—I won’t have trouble. Taking heels off can mess with plans.

  The drive to the arena isn’t long, and within thirty minutes we’re pulling up to the back of a large stadium. There are bodyguards and security everywhere, as well as some police. More than that, the paparazzi are everywhere.

  “Do they not know that he’s not actually outside, like he’s performing? Who are they hoping to catch?” I mumble, annoyed as I step out of the back seat. Bo and Lenny crawl out behind me, both taking me in their arms and turning us away from the flashing cameras. “You, baby girl. They’re hoping to get you.”

  As they both lead me to the back door, the security guard opens it quickly so we can slide inside, Bo looks at Lenny. “Does she know how much buzz is around her?”

  “I’m right here, you can just ask me, and the answer is no, I don’t.”

  “How do you not know?” Bo scoffs, grabbing my arm and turning me down the long corridor. The thudding of a heavy base fills the space, but not enough for us not to be able to hear each other speak.

  “Oh, because my master took my phone privileges away.”

  Bo pauses, then laughs. “Damn, homeboy plays hardball.”

  “You could say that,” I murmur.

  Just as we reach a door where another security guard is standing, Bo pulls me back slightly, his eyes coming to mine. He seems to be thinking about something, so I egg him on. “Ask me.”

  “Fuck it,” he says, licking his lip. “You seem like a smart girl. Why do you allow this to happen?”

  I smile weakly. “Because there are some messes that you just can’t walk away from, or tidy.”

  He looks confused, so I leave him there, following Lenny who has now taken my hand. The guard nods his head, opening the door and instantly the music pours out in beautiful waves of therapy.

  I recognize the song, it’s one of his old ones called “Reform.” He’s rapping about being between two lives. Where Jekyll and Hyde are both evil and no matter what choice or path he takes, he’ll still be taking that other with him. The song ends with him killing himself because he isn’t able to take the pressure anymore. The song after “Reform” on the album is about suicide. As I said, Manik is a lyrical genius, a god in the industry, and he didn’t get there by talking about ho’s, bitches and money. It’s also what got him respected too, and his flow? Unmatched.

  The dark lights lower as the song ends and the crowd loses their minds. The screams and yells from his fans break my eardrums and I quickly cover them, looking up at Lenny, who’s pulling me to the front of the stage, past the VIP section. I don’t even look to see who’s in the VIP section, but my eyes drift over the girls at the front, when out of hundreds and thousands of girls, one catches my eye.

  Hoodie over her face, her arms not above her head. She’s not moving, her blonde hair going over her shoulders.

  It’s ghost girl!

  I tug on Lenny, but he ignores me, picking me up at my waist and putting me over the rail. He jumps it next, taking me to the corner but at the front—basically where the security all stand to guard.

  “What?” Lenny asks into my ear.

  “There’s this girl! Since I got to New Orleans, she’s been follo—”

  The light flashes onto the stage and Manik is standing there, a mic to his mouth. He smirks out at his fans, and the song starts. I haven’t heard this song yet. It has a slow, poetic rhyme to it. It’s different, the beat slow, but the rap fast. The tune is hypnotic, and then the base drops and takes my heart with it. Manik starts rapping fast, spitting the lyrics smoothly.

  In the first verse, I think he’s talking about something new. Confusing. Then the chorus comes in and he motherfucking sings. My legs shake so hard that I almost lose balance, gripping onto Lenny. He laughs, his arm snaking around my waist to steady me.

  “You like this song?” Lenny asks, searching my eyes with mischief in his.

  I nod, biting my lip. “He can sing too?”

  Lenny leans back into me. “Yeah, girl, he can.”

  I inch up on my tiptoes. “What’s the song called?”

  Lenny licks his lip, his eyes going up to Manik and then coming back down to me. He leans into me. “Methodical Madness.”

  “New?” I mouth up at him.

  Lenny nods, his eyes speaking a thousand unspoken words. “Yeah, Cub, it is.”

  I bob my head to the beat as he dives into the next hook. Then the ball drops because I hear my name. Not my actual name, but…

  “That’s it baby, do the damn thing and take it slow. You’re fucking running this show, little Cub, just give me some of that methodical madness and I’ll take away your sadness…”

  A rock forms in my throat. What?

  Lenny pulls me in closer, leaning down my ear. “Don’t think too much into it. He wrote all this when you and he were together.”

  I knew that, but it was still something that hit me deep in my heart and my belly. I’m so confused by everything. Lenny is right, we do need to talk. I’ve never been a girl who was into playing mind games with guys or anything like that.

  Manik stops rapping and it’s then that I look up at him and his eyes are directly on mine. He’s breathing heavily, his bare chest on display for everyone to look at. In an instant, I feel hundreds of thousands of eyes on me. They must have all followed his sight.

  His snarl turns into a grin, one so evil and so dark, that I know I’ve done something bad. He brings the mic to his mouth. “Whatcha doin’ here, Cub?”

  The crowd lets out a loud gasp.

  Oh great, so everyone knows my nickname too.

  “Ah,” I whisper, and then I want to smack myself because of course he can’t hear me.

  He leans in, his hand cupping his ear. “What’s that, baby, I can’t quite hear you.”

  My mouth slams shut. I want to flip him off, but I don’t. I swear to God, if he—

  “—So I don’t know if any of you know this, but my girl is a dancer. She has a YouTube channel of all sorts of sexy shit. She says she’s not a fan of hip-hop and rap, she prefers old-school jazz.”

  “Lenny,” I whisper harshly, nudging him with my elbow. “I will kill him if he calls me up there.”

  Lenny laughs, his head tilting back. “He won’t.”

  “Come ere’ Cubby. Come show everyone what you’re made of.”

  I shake my head. “Nope.” I give him a death-glare too.

  He shrugs. “First warning.” Then turns back to the band and nods his head as the next song plays.

  I’m sweaty, so sweaty that my skin is pelting with heat. He moves through each song and dances, too! He’s so talented it blinds me. When he wraps it up, Lenny pulls me toward backstage, shoving the curtains out of his way when we bang into Bo again, who is clearing his nostril and swiping the white powder off his finger by sucking on it.

  We’re about to leave when Manik’s voice stops me in my tracks. “What the fuck are you doing here, Cub?” he asks from behind me, his angry tone bouncing off the empty concrete walls.

  I slowly turn around, ignoring Lenny’s pleas for us to not start a fight right now.

  “I wanted to come and watch instead of being locked up in a hotel room,” I answer smoothly, only a hint of annoyance in my tone.

  His jaw clenches, his chest rising and falling as he, I can imagine, tries to tone his anger down.

&n
bsp; He slowly starts walking toward me in a way a lion stalks toward its prey. “You had one thing to do. Stay your ass there.”

  “I didn’t want to,” I challenge him, ignoring everyone in the corridor.

  His eyes narrow. “Get the fuck out and I’ll see you later.”

  “No!” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “No?” he asks, but it wasn’t him asking me, it was more him confirming with himself that I really did just say that.

  “We need to talk.”

  “I’m not a talker.” He looks to Lenny. “Take her ass home. Now.”

  “If you think for on—” Everything tips upside down and I’m face-to-face with Lenny’s ass. “I swear to God, Lenny! I will hate you if you don’t put me down right now!”

  His steps speed up until we’re at the end and a door cracks open. “Sorry, baby girl, he’s right.” Cameras start flashing and people are yelling. My hands cover my face in absolute horror as he opens a car door and tosses me inside before quickly sliding in beside me. The limo takes off, but I shoot to the other side, as far away from Lenny as I can get. “That wasn’t fair.”

  “Life’s not fair, and Beat? Don’t force the words out of him. He’ll just get mad. Save the talk for the right time, and the right time is never right after a show.”

  We remain silent all the way back to the hotel. With every mile, my anger subsides and by the time we’re pulling up to the underground parking garage of the hotel, my guilt is in full-blast mode. I grab the door handle, my shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry, Lenny.”

  I open it and climb out, him behind me.

  “You don’t need to be sorry, baby girl, but let’s get you into bed.”

  After cleaning up, I slide into the silk sheets, moaning at how it slides off my skin. Or maybe I’m feeling ultra sensitive—who knows. My eyes drift closed eventually, falling into a deep sleep.

  The bed sinks, jolting me awake. The strong smell of something toxic like whiskey fills the dark space. My eyes go to the little alarm clock on the bedside table, telling me it’s just after three a.m.

  Should I say something? Or should I leave it. Lenny is right, I have to wait until he wants to talk. I may be okay with expressing my emotions, but he isn’t and isn’t familiar with it.

  “Tomorrow,” I say, clearing my throat. I feel his movements halt before he drops down over the top of the covers.

  “Not tonight, Beat, not fucking tonight.”

  “I was going to say I want to know about my parents…” I add quickly before sleep takes hold of him.

  He chuckles, but it comes from drowsy lips. “You wanna know? Okay, let’s do this,” he murmurs, and then burps, and then clears his throat. “Your mom used to date my dad—she actually fucking met your dad through mine. She was a rat and a disloyal fucking chipmunk. Your dad? He’s a piece of shit too. He killed my mom when I was six, on my sixth birthday. I watched him do it, and then every birthday after that until I killed him, he had a parcel sent to my house, a body part of hers gift-wrapped for me, and even before that, he tried to kidnap me as a baby, so yeah, Amaya, you may have valid reasons to hate me for killing your parents, but I was an angry twelve-year-old boy who was trained to taste blood and hunt. You were nothing to me. Are nothing to me. But, even more so, why the fuck wouldn’t I end two people who caused me and my family so much pain?”

  His words are so harsh that I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath, tears drowning my face. “That’s awfully cruel, Manik. I can’t believe my parents would do that. I saw another side…”

  He pauses and then shrugs. “You saw them as parents, I didn’t say they were shit parents, I said that they were shit humans, and that means jack shit to me, baby. It is the truth and there’s nothing I can do to sugarcoat it for you.”

  “But, that first night that we met?”

  He pauses. “My dad set that up. He wanted you on my radar. He pulled the plug when he saw that we had become involved with each other, though he said he wasn’t all that surprised. He has been following you since you were a little girl, Beatrice. You think that you were ever free? You will never be free. Your fate is in my hands, and I gotta say, my grip isn’t very firm these days.”

  He drifts off to sleep after that, leaving me to marinate in my own thoughts. I knew this would happen when I asked him, but that didn’t take away the sting.

  “Bad at love”—Halsey

  London

  “But why only do two US shows?” I ask, peeling open the cookie dough. Store bought, because I just need it.

  “Because it makes my presence worth more or some shit. I don’t know, my PR sorts that out.”

  I haven’t met his PR, but I know his producer’s name is Paul.

  “What are you doing?” Manik asks, pointing at the cookie dough.

  My eyes fly around the lounge where Lenny, X, and Bo are lounged out, watching some crime show on TV about a serial killer.

  “Because I’ve been traveling for what feels like days and I feel like it.” I curl my feet under my butt, sucking the cookie dough off my fingers.

  Manik shuffles beside me, snatching it out of my hand. “If you’re going to be sucking on your fingers like that, I’ll throw this shit out right now. Probably save you fucking food poisoning.” He opens it properly and gives it back to me, his arm falling over the top of the sofa.

  “Thanks.” I smile weakly at him, biting out of the log.

  “That’s nasty, baby girl.” X shakes his head, taking a hit off his joint.

  I shrug. “It tastes delicious. Want some?”

  He shivers. “No.”

  Everyone goes back to watching the TV when Manik says, “There’s an artist here that I see every time I’m in town. You want anything while we’re here? He always cancels his schedule for me.”

  I almost choke on my sugar and carbs. “Sorry.” I clear my throat. “Who is he?”

  “They call him Raptor. Google him if you want.”

  I roll my eyes. “With my imaginary phone? Okay…”

  He gets up from the couch and disappears into our bedroom, coming out a few seconds later with my phone in his hand. He tosses it to me. “Don’t pull anything slick, Beat, I will not think twice about punishing you, and before you ask, no, this doesn’t mean anything has changed.”

  I squeeze the phone in my hand as he flops back down beside me. I look at him, watching as the flashes from the screen highlight his sharp jaw and prominent cheekbones. I like his nose ring too, a lot. I think it adds an edge to his almost pretty features. I say almost because you can’t really call a man like Manik “pretty.”

  “Stop looking at me like that, Cub and just take it as it is.”

  “Okay,” I whisper, honest to God shocked that he’s giving it back to me. “Aeron?”

  His eyes lock with mine. A second passes between us, an unspoken conversation between the silence. My heart thunders in my chest and my legs shake from the angst. “Thank you.”

  He finally drags his eyes back to the TV. “Yeah, no problem, Cub.”

  “God, I always wanted to come to London,” I admit as we enter the tattoo parlor. A small girl pops her head up from the counter, and then her face freezes as she drops back down.

  “Ah,” Manik mutters, confused where the girl went. “Here to see Raptor.”

  She slowly bobs her head up again, a shy smile on her face. “Sorry, he didn’t warn me that you were coming in today.”

  “Man?” a deep voice says from one of the booths at the back of the store. They’re all open, so privacy is a no.

  Manik walks toward “Raptor” who is a mid-fifty-year-old, and what I would call a DILF. He has grey hair and tattoos all over his skin, a long beard and a very tidy cut to his hair, the rest of the top slicked back.

  “This is…” Manik seems to think over his words. I don’t blame him, I’m confused as well about my identity. He shrugs. “Beatrice. She’s getting something today too.”

  He looks me up and down, his
eyes fixing on my sleeve. “You got anymore other than that beauty on your arm?”

  I nod. “Yeah, and this.” I turn around and lift my shirt, revealing the small little phoenix on the side of my lower back.

  “Nice,” Raptor says. “So, you got something in mind for today?”

  I turn back to face them, nodding my head. I did. I knew what I wanted, because after I googled my last name last night, I found out a lot. First of all, it’s Italian for raven, and second of all, I think, judging by the news headlines that showed up on Google, my parents were bad people. The one thing I haven’t added up is where they got their nasty behavior from because my pops and nona were amazing.

  “I want to get raven wings across my shoulder blades.”

  Manik freezes, but I don’t meet his eyes.

  Raptor grins. “That’s a biggie, will take a couple sittings, you up for that?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I am.”

  When I look back to Manik, his jaw is clenched, and his fists are tight on the side of his body.

  This is my way of taking back some of the control I feel like I’ve lost over the past few months that my life has turned upside down. If he doesn’t like it then tough shit.

  “Control”—Halsey

  Sydney, Australia

  Being back here brings back memories I don’t want to raise. Driving over the bridge that I felt so warm toward is now giving me flashback memories of burnt ash and flesh.

  Manik doesn’t come back after the show, either. I’m annoyed that I’ve found myself tossing and turning in bed waiting for him like a housewife.

  They all went out, too, not just him. He left me unattended for the first time. I think he’s still mad about the wings—that are now finished and amazing—because he hasn’t spoken to me much since then. Even at the show in London, he ignored me all night when he usually would lock eyes with me for a couple seconds every now and then during a show. At tonight’s, it was the same. He flat out acted as if I wasn’t there, and he wasn’t the only one who did this. Lenny, Bo, and X also ignored me.