Does it even matter? Everyone who matters knows I’m sliced up by now. Jay can’t hold a secret to save his life, and the hospital has probably gotten in touch with Dad. At least, when they see me, it’ll be with wings and shown through oil on canvas.
I left my empty space, shut the door, and headed to Kush’s place where soft blues traveled from his window.
“In a crowd I stand alone,” a sad woman sang. “There’s no escape or place to call home.”
I knocked on Kush’s door.
“The past regrets haunt my soul.” A saxophone followed her in a slow groove. “Then I drown. Inside, I die. I lose control.”
My head spun with the lyrics just like one of Kush’s records turning around and around. Sometimes, music fucked with the mind. It made me high. Sent me on a wave of imaginary marijuana clouds and acid-induced trips. The right song could change my mood, decide the day, and help me push on.
“Crucified into misery.”
I banged at Kush’s door again.
“Barred and chained, I beg to be free. A bruised angel, I fly. I fly. Broken and twisted, I fly. Fallen from grace. Scars on my face.”
I held my hand in mid-air, stuck in the song. Ice crept through me. Chills came next. She sang to me and now I understood how Kush got inspired to paint me that way. Had he heard this song before meeting me? I bet my money he had. Did the lyrics play in his head, when he saw my face? What did he want from me? What would he take from me?
Kush opened the door.
“Prayers travel from closed fingers; I fly to thee. A bruised angel, guarding a cruel Crystal.”
“My angel has returned.” Kush studied me with his green gaze. The sun glowed in his eyes, hit them just right. His aura had even brightened to a lovely hue while his locs hung around his bare shoulders. He looked just as delicious as when I’d had him in my bed.
Next time I have him, I’m going to grab those locs as I fuck him from behind.
“Where did you go?” he asked.
“To see my two friends.”
“I bet you five dollars I can tell you which two.” He stepped back, so I could walk in. Steam seeped out from the bathroom’s door. The shower ran.
“Is Saka here?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I turned around. “I should go then.”
He stopped me and shut the door. “We need to talk.”
I glanced back at the bathroom as steam continued to escape into the room. “We can talk later.”
“I don’t like when you leave and not tell me where you’re going.”
“What?” I turned to him. “You’re being weird, Kush.”
“I want to protect you.”
“I don’t need it.”
He raised his hand to my face and traced a scar on my cheek. “Yes, you do. You need my protection. Take it until you feel stronger.”
“I’m strong now.”
“You’re damaged and bruised.”
“Crucified into misery. Barred and chained, I beg to be free.”
I moved his hand from me. “Who sings this song?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Who is it?”
“My mother,” he said. “Before she had me, she sang the blues. Of course, Dad had all of her albums, since he owned his own music store.”
I walked over to the record player and picked up the cover that lay on its side. “She has a beautiful voice.”
“She does.” Like a silent cat, he appeared behind me, slipping his body against mine. My limbs went loose. My muscles relaxed. Something about Kush soothed me. He clasped his hands onto my hips. A few of his soft dreadlocks fell on my shoulder.
“She liked to sing about sad things,” he said. “Broken hearts and shattered dreams.”
“And bruised angels.” I studied the cover.
Of course, his mother was enchanting. If Kush had been a female, that would’ve been what he looked like. She had that caramel skin with the same green eyes and wicked mouth that curled up into a tantalizing grin. Sex radiated from her. The emerald dress hugged her body just right.
I bet her male fans dreamed about slipping that dress down her hips and stroking inside of her.
“When you left, I did some research,” Kush said.
I set the album cover down, got out of his arms, and faced him. “What research?”
“I couldn’t find anything on you because I don’t know your name, but I did look that Jason Taylor guy up. You both are friends, right? He’s the Jay you keep talking about.”
“Why were you trying to find information about me?”
“Because you don’t give me answers and you left.”
“I’m a free man.”
“No, you’re now my muse. You’re directly linked to my creative process. I need you.” Kush sighed. “I need you. This isn’t a joke or some crazy person talking. You’re inspiring me, so I looked you up. I thought to myself, if I could just find a way to help him, maybe he can help me.”
“I don’t know if I can help you.”
“I’m looking at you right now, and I already have a painting forming in my head. You’re my muse.”
“I don’t know how to be a muse, Kush.”
“I just need you around.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“I can’t just hang around you forever.”
“Just for a short time. Let’s see how it works.”
I rolled my eyes. “What’s a short time?”
“Three months.”
“You’re insane.”
“I want to do a series.” Kush slowly raised his arms and swayed them around as if conducting a symphony orchestra. “Are you not listening to the words?”
“The storm thunders all around me, I float. I fly. I beg to be free.”
Kush twirled his hands to the saxophone’s rhythm. “I want you to be my bruised angel. I believe in signs from the universe. Do you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve always wanted to do a bruised angel. I must’ve heard this song so many times, but never have I been able to truly paint one.” He did a slow turn with the song’s rhythm. “And then I saw you move in. I watched you, all bruised and sad and fucking gorgeous still. I watched you sit in that studio and bow your head when you walked around Wynwood instead of hold it up high. I watched you, and the image just came to me. And even when you modeled I wasn’t sure I could do it. But I did. Don’t you think I did?”
“Yes.” I watched him in wonder as he swung his hips and twisted around again.
“So I did my research.”
I groaned.
“You and this Jason Taylor are friends,” Kush said.
“I told you we were.”
“Not really. You’re in a lot of his pictures from a few months ago too.” Kush paused from his odd dance and glared at me. “I almost searched this Jay out and choked him.”
I scrunched up my eyebrows. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“Because I thought Jason Taylor was the one that hurt you.”
“No. Wrong guy.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“It got busy at your studio today,” Kush said. “Two men in suits came by and knocked on your door. I peeked out from my curtain, and they looked around real quick and tried to break in.”
“Into my place?”
“Yes, so I hurried out. They stopped and pretended to just be jiggling the knob. I told them I was your landlord and asked them what they wanted.”
Did Dad hire these guys?
“What did they say?” I asked.
“They were looking for you and said your full name.” He waved at me. “By the way, hello Peter Piper Shaw.”
I lifted one side of my lip in a sneer. “My name is Pipe. You’re not allowed to say that again. Not even my father calls me that anymore. What else did the guys say?”
“They handed me a card to give to you.”
&n
bsp; My nerves flared on edge. “Where is it?”
“Doesn’t matter. I threw it away.”
“What the fuck?”
“Relax. The card was from Malcolm Ward with his personal number on the back and one word: videos?”
I blinked. “Videos?”
“Yes. That one word and a question mark.”
Why is he asking me about videos? Does he think I recorded him? Why would he think that?
“Malcolm Ward is big,” Kush said. “And your last name is Shaw, so I know you’re from money. I have some ideas of who your father may be. There’s a certain high corporate CEO that’s recently retired and a huge Jason Taylor fan. He has your last name. I doubt it’s a coincidence. I see similarities between you two.
“You wasted your time looking me up.”
“No, I didn’t. The research made me realize two things: I can’t entice you with money, and you don’t need the fame.”
I was still stuck on the business card’s message. “Videos? Are you sure that was his message on the back of the card? I don’t understand what he’s asking me.”
“Doesn’t matter. Because what I understand is that Malcolm Ward was the one who did it. And now I have a way to entice you into being my muse.”
“What?”
“Malcolm Ward did it?”
Annoyance laced my words. “Did what?”
“Hurt you.”
“Prayers travel from closed fingers; I fly to thee. A bruised angel, guarding a cruel crystal.”
I blew out a long breath. “Listen. You want my help, then ask. You don’t go rummaging around in my life and playing some stupid private eye.”
“I replayed your athlete buddy’s videos, the one where Jason and that beautiful black girl is attacking Malcolm Ward. Your friend yelled out a lot of things. He talked about Ward cutting someone. By the way, that chick’s punch was priceless.”
“If you saw the videos, then you already know her name. She’s not that chick.”
“Yeah. The article said Evelyn, which I assume is why you call her Evie.” He grinned. “She has a nice hand on her.”
“And she’s very proud of that fist.”
Kush’s smile straightened into a serious expression. “Malcolm Ward cut you.”
“Do you want me to be your muse or do you want to psychoanalyze me?”
“I could help you.”
“Help me what?”
“Get Malcolm Ward back.”
“What are you talking about, Kush?”
Kush returned to conducting his imaginary orchestra, lifting his hands in the air and swaying his arms around to the rhythm. “Revenge. Think about it. Here we have two men, both that have pretty nice bank accounts. I’m talking about you and me, of course. We also have time and freedom to travel. I can paint anywhere. You can model for me anywhere. So we have the time, money, and ability to do what we want. Why not get Malcolm Ward back?”
“Hmm.” I raised one hand like I was a student in class. “I think the answer is because that sounds stupid.”
He stopped dancing and faced me. “Are you going to press charges?”
“No.”
“So he gets to cut more people up?”
“I don’t think this is any of your fucking business.”
“You think you’re the first one to get cut by him, huh?”
That caught me off guard. “I probably was.”
“The storm thunders all around me, I float. I fly. I beg to be free.”
“That’s what he made you believe, huh?” Kush twirled his hands with his mother’s voice. “He worked on your face, arms, and chest. Did you scream?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Did you cry out for him to stop?”
I hugged myself. My nerves prickled with anxiety. “I said I’m done talking about this.”
“How long did he spend cutting you? Hours? Minutes? Did he take his time?”
Rage built in my chest. “Fuck you.”
“I asked about this Malcolm Ward. I have friends all over. Many know him.”
“Stay out of this.”
“There’s some darker stories going on about him.”
Tension built in my shoulders. I didn’t know if I could even listen to these dark stories. Would it have even mattered, if he’d done this before? I was still stupid to have let him near me. It just meant that I had a connection with other fools of love.
“Crucified into misery.”
I stared down at the floor and held my hands in front of me, twisting my thumb back and forth.
“Barred and chained, I beg to be free.”
The shower stopped. A female hummed from the bathroom and blended right with the saxophone’s tempo.
I have to get out of here.
“You think you made him lose control.” Kush ignored Saka’s humming with the song. “You think that you made him hurt you.”
“No.” I couldn’t look at Kush. “I don’t think that.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
Kush got to me and touched my hands. “You do, but it was never you, Pipe. Malcolm would’ve cut you like that regardless. No matter how much you loved him. No matter how you could’ve changed things. He is known for abuse. Extreme and severe abuse of men and women.”
“No, I...that can’t be. But...he thought I was cheating with Jay.”
“He made up a reason to cut you. Listen. You weren’t the first person he did that too.” Kush gestured to my chest. “That’s not first-time work. Do you get what I’m trying to say? A psychotic individual metamorphosis is just like a butterfly. It takes four phases.”
I sighed. “Are we back to your caterpillar metaphor?”
Kush ignored me. “I bet Malcolm was cut as a child. That’s the egg hatching. He probably got excited around knives, maybe even pictured using it during sex, but never tried. He becomes an adult, gets out in the world, and finds people comfortable enough to let him play with knives. And now he’s a caterpillar, hungry, eating, cutting, and slicing—”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” My body trembled.
Thank God, Kush remained quiet.
“I need to breathe. I have to go outside.” I hugged myself and walked off.
“Wait.” Kush hurried after me. “This Malcolm guy is going to keep doing this. You weren’t the first one. You won’t be the last. You’re okay with that? Huh? You think that’s right to let him do this to someone else?”
My lips quivered. I rubbed my face as if I could cleanse myself of the muck that stuck to my skin.
“Let’s fucking get that son of a bitch,” Kush hissed. “And we can do it without him knowing it’s you. No one would have to know, but he would still be ruined.”
“I have to go.” I stepped around him.
“No.” Kush got in front of me, opened his pants, and let them drop to the ground.
“What are you doing?” I almost uttered a funny reply until I spotted all of the gashes on his legs. “Fuck.”
Thick, ragged flesh ripped up his thighs and knotted all around his legs. I thought back to all the times I’d seen him. He’d always worn pants, from the moment when I woke up in his bed to when I fucked him. He’d kept those pants on, just exposing his ass, but still covering those thighs. Had his jeans ever fallen down a little to show the horror? I had no idea. In that hot moment in my bed, I didn’t spend much time thinking about or even looking at his legs.
“I know about scars.” Kush pointed to his thighs.
“Who did that to you?”
“It’s a long story. Come with me to New York. I’ll tell you all about it.”
Knotted scar tissue decorating muscle. That was what his legs looked like. Ugliness within beauty. It was hard to turn away. I wanted to trace each scar, kiss all of them, glide my hands along their outline. Heal him.
Who did this? They should be killed.
And then it hit me.
Was that how everyone felt
about me? Was that why their hands remained on my body, touching, holding, loving, hugging, and promising? I knew how to love, but I tended to be the one giving it out, not receiving it from so many at one time. It all sort of clicked in my head.
A warm love filled my heart, and I almost choked right there in front of Kush.
I had to breathe.
I swallowed.
Inhaled.
Exhaled.
Images flashed through my head—Jay making a fool of himself just to find me, Evie defending my honor against Malcolm, and Kush painting me as a symbol of beauty and pain. Past conversations filled my ears—Mrs. Elaine’s prayers, Jay’s anxious texts, and Evie begging me to come to them. I thought of all the missed calls from Dad, and his extreme decision to soar down to Miami and find me.
These things.
These thoughts swirled around me and barreled into my chest.
I almost couldn’t remain standing.
I might’ve swayed.
They loved me, and I kept running and pushing them all away. Hiding. Well…
Kush watched me as, second by second, I crumbled on the inside. I tried to blink through the tears, but they came anyway. I wiped them away and breathed again.
Inhale.
Exhale.
One.
Two.
Three.
And then I admitted the thing that I couldn’t this whole time.
I’m ashamed. I don’t deserve their love.
“Come with me.” Kush wiped a tear away. “Come to New York with me.”
“New York?”
“I want you to be my muse, and together I’ll help you ruin Malcolm Ward.”
My voice came out hoarse. “How the hell would you help me do that?”
“I have friends, and they have power.”
“That’s a pretty far-reaching plan.”
“Come with me to New York. My friends will be your friends, and slowly we’ll tear down Malcolm’s character, take away his family, and hurt him in his pockets.”
I blew out a long breath and made sure my face was dry. “Are you listening to yourself?”
“Yes, and I’ve done it before. I’ve ruined many.”
He’s ruined many?
In that moment, the bathroom door opened. A glow of red swarmed around Saka as she stepped out, naked, and completely wet. Her full breasts sat heavy on her chest. She could’ve fed a village, and surely many grown men had stopped to gaze upon those lovely mounds. Her body resembled an hourglass—tiny waist and thick Evie-hips. Water drenched her closely-cropped blonde hair. Some of it streamed down to her face and all over her curves. In between her thighs, an upside-down triangle of red hair greeted my eyes.
The COMPLETE Coventon Campus Series: Books I, II, & III Page 56