The Art of Me (The All of Me Book 1)

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The Art of Me (The All of Me Book 1) Page 12

by S. J. Blaze


  “Okay.” I laugh, rolling onto my back. I glance over at his glorious smile. He looks relaxed and energized. Ready to go. His hair is still damp from his shower and it’s slicked back. The little curls are lost in gel. He looks crisp and clean in his suit.

  He leans over and kisses my lips. Then rubs his nose against mine. Eyes open, watching even this close. He’s like one giant snow storm heading my way. All icy yet somehow steaming hot.

  “Somebody is a morning person.” I point into his chest then stick my tongue out.

  “If you keep showing me such tasty treats, I may have to take a bite.” Hot dog! He wiggles his brows at me.

  “Sorry, ice boy, you may have to invest in another store,” I throw back.

  “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong.” His breath is hot as he licks my neck and continues down to my collarbone. He bites me there and moves to the hollow of my neck. I feel his tongue circle the tiny indention in the base. Then he softly kisses it. He twists back and sends me a chilling and rather commanding look with one brow raised. “All of my assets are already tied up into one venture. I’m afraid its sink or swim for me.”

  “Ummm, uhhhh, shopping…” What? Were? We? Talking? About?

  There’s a sharp knock on the door.

  Coen rests his head on the pillow next to my ear. “That’d be Davis.” He continues to tell the pillow. “I’m leaving him here with you.”

  “Co…that’s crazy. I’m only here for…” Quickly do the math. “…less than ten hours. Besides, I’m on a commercial flight. There’s probably no vacancies.”

  “Charlie, I won’t compromise on this. It’s either Davis stays or I drag you onto the jet with me now.” He sits upright and crosses his arms. His eyes widen in waiting.

  “Fine…” I sit up and push him backwards. “You win, Mr. Collins! But I can’t promise that I’ll send him back in one piece.” I cross my arms, too.

  He smiles and kisses my brow. “You’re too cute when you’re mad.”

  He gets up and walks into the main room. I follow.

  “Hey, did you not see my fight? That shit wasn’t cute!” I lift my arms and flex. Check out my baby guns. Pow, pow.

  He continues chuckling and walking to the door. Opening it, he ushers Davis in.

  “Don’t let the little minx out of your sight. Apparently, your safety is in jeopardy. So watch her not be adorably cute!”

  Davis walks in, grabs the handle to Coen’s rolling suitcase, and places it in front of the door.

  Coen saunters over to me squeezing my upper arms. “Feel like a late dinner, tonight?”

  “We’ll see what time I get in. You want me to call you?”

  “Send me a text when you land.” Kissing my nose, he adds, “I had an enjoyable weekend. Your family is strangely colorful.”

  “I’m glad you think so. Maybe now you know where I get some of my color from.”

  His opened lips press against my mostly closed ones. His warm fingers press into my neck. “I expect more of this in Boston,” he says sternly. I think he knew I was going to back away. “I believe I owe you a proper date.” He kisses me once more and then winks while backing towards the door.

  He smiles giving me one last look over his shoulder, and then he’s gone. I immediately feel his loss. The room feels colder, especially when Davis is left standing there.

  It’s only a quarter after six in the morning. I doubt anyone is up, yet. I leave Davis in the main room and decide to dress. With plenty of time to kill, I also pack.

  I’m sitting in the living room sizing up a silent Davis when I decide to have a little fun with him.

  “Davis, did you know that although I’m a corporate lawyer, I also practice trial law.”

  He shakes his head having no idea where I’m going with this line of questioning.

  “On the rare occasion when I get to practice as a trial lawyer, I gain access to various judges, many of which know me by name.” I chuckle and watch as he continues to stare blankly and nod.

  “I’ve also become acquainted with several members of the police force.” Again, a blank face.

  “Are you familiar with Part IV, Title I, Chapter 226, Section 16A of the Massachusetts general constitution?” His face is still completely frozen, but I’m about to warm it up. Time to watch body language, I doubt he will break his state much.

  “I think you’ll find it applicable with your recent proclivities.” I arch my brow so he sees that I’m about to get serious. “It states that, whoever in the nighttime or daytime breaks and enters a building, ship, vessel or vehicle with intent to commit a misdemeanor shall be punished by a fine of not more than two hundred dollars or by imprisonment for not more than six months, or both.” I wait. He shifts minutely.

  “Did you know that my building has seven cameras in the lobby, alone?” I watch him very carefully and see that although his face hasn’t budged, his shoulders stiffen and he swallows.

  “Five of them were dismantled on March 19th at approximately 4:58 p.m., but two remained online.” I continue. “Do you know what I found when I checked the surveillance video?”

  He shakes his head. “You.” I smile and lean back into the couch cushion. Now it’s my turn to be silent and watch. And I do. I wait. I want to see his reaction.

  We fall into a silent game of truth or dare, neither of us budging or saying a word. The quiet room becomes alarmingly peaceful. I keep my guard up waiting on him to break and count down the remainder of my time in this serene prison.

  It’s just after eight when the phone rings, disturbing us from our wordless attacks, and I answer without looking thinking it may be Coen or mother.

  “Good morning.” I try to sound chipper.

  “Baby girl?” It’s Gunner.

  “Hey, what’re you doing up so early. Is everybody okay?” I start to panic. Gun never calls this early, let alone is up this early.

  “Yeah, everyone is fine. Nah, that’s not true. We’re a fucking mess. When are you coming back?”

  “I should be in tonight,” I say flatly.

  We finish our conversation soon after, though I’m much more rigid than usual. No love you’s, miss you’s, just a straight goodbye.

  Davis takes our bags and stashes them in the rental car while I venture out to say goodbye to my family for what I hope will be the last time for years. Jo and Gene are nowhere to be found, thank goodness. I find my parents downstairs at the hotel restaurant having brunch with my grandparents and a few of my uncles and aunts. I sit silently and listen to various conversations.

  My dad and his siblings go back and forth talking in Hebrew, French, and Arabic. I think it might have been some game they played when they were kids. Every so often they laugh hysterically when one messes up. It’s a funny little game, juvenile but funny. Once they notice I’m following them, they force me to join in. They think they can stump me. The pattern is easily decipherable; the first person speaks in Arabic, the second in French, and the third in Hebrew. This goes for questions or even a singular statement.

  Mother tsks at the other end of the table while taking a breath in between chatting with my grandparents. I think almost everyone is heading out today.

  “Charlie, what time does your flight leave today?”Abba asks in Arabic.

  “Around three but I’ll need to be at the airport by one thirty give or take.” I answer in French while giving him my waggled eyebrows. Can’t trick me old man.

  “When will we see you next?”Aunt Perla questions in Hebrew.

  “Anytime you wish.” I respond in Arabic while winking at her. She knows I adore her, though I rarely have an opportunity to see her.

  “When do you plan to marry the blondini?” Uncle Max chimes in, in French.

  “Who knows?” Back in Hebrew.

  This is fun. We continue this way, though for some reason it ends up being a game of twenty questions with Charlie. Mother must be jealous of her limelight being dimmed because she grabs Abba and demands that he spends time wit
h her parents before they leave. Yes, apparently her parents trump her daughter. Foolish me for thinking that I could have bonded or connected with my family.

  Feeling rejected, yet again, I quietly say my goodbyes to the rest of the family and sneak out without saying farewell to either of my parents. The sad thing is, I bet they never noticed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The long weekend traveling has caught up with me and I’m exhausted. Davis collects my baggage and walks us to an awaiting car. From there we go directly to my place. Davis, of course, walks me to my condo.

  I sent Coen a text that I arrived but I haven’t heard anything back. I guess dinner is out. Out of sight, out of mind. A bit quicker than I had anticipated, but?

  As we near my door, I hear male voices coming from inside. My boys. I smile to myself. I guess they couldn’t wait to see me. There are two people that have keys to my place, Malice and Gunner. I’m guessing Gunner did the deed.

  Davis immediately puts his arm out to halt my steps. I guess he thinks he’s the only one who can do B&E.

  “It’s fine, they’re my guys. Gunner has the key. I’m guessing they’re waiting for me.” The thought alone has me filling with warmth. How could I ever have been so foolish to think that they didn’t love me? They’re loyal to a fault. Their gigantic roughed up hearts nearly as big as my own.

  Creeping closer, I hear their laughter. Davis does too, so I assume he no longer views them as a threat. Before entering my condo, I feel the need to thank Davis and have him relay additional thanks to Coen. He uplifted my mood this weekend.

  “Davis, thank you for accompanying me, and please send my thanks to Coen, as well, for this weekend. I think I can take it from here.” I nod towards my door.

  “Of course, Ms. Paz. Have a lovely evening.”

  Oh, the ring, I almost forgot. I quickly go to take it off and Davis stops me. “Please keep it for now. That’s a gift best returned to the giver. Also, Mr. Collins has asked me to apologize on his behalf. He was called out of town on business and isn’t sure when he’ll return.”

  Sounds about right. I should have known. “Thank you, Davis. Goodnight.”

  I turn my unlocked knob and enter my place. Ah, home. And filled with joy and warmth thanks to the trio of my heart. Walking in, with my bag trailing behind me, I smell pizza. Yes, my boys do it right!

  As I turn the corner, I watch the guys laughing and gabbing. I feel my smile grow larger than the building. It’s big. I love these three. They would never hurt me. They are loyal and fucking amazing.

  There are three pizza boxes on the dining room table, two pepperoni and one pineapple. My favorite. There are a couple of slices removed. I guess the boys got adventurous, as usually they hate it. But they got it for me. They remembered, and they love me.

  The talking stops and they all turn to look at me. I can’t help but eye each one. Gunner is closest to me on the long side of the table, next to him is Trig, and at the head of the table, because he thinks he’s the king, I find Bully. My smile grows. I can’t help how much….

  “Bully, there’s no more beer, baby. She’s got some tequila, though,” comes a shrill sound walking out of my kitchen. My eyes widen as the same chick, Tricks, walks around the table and sits on Bullet’s lap. Then she grabs a slice of my pizza and begins eating it.

  I stand there white knuckling my suitcase handle. All of the warmth has left me and I’m chilled to the marrow of my bones. I think my heart has exploded and may no longer be in my chest. I put my hand over my heart for verification. But it must be wrong because nothing has changed. I’m still whole. How can that be?

  They brought pussy…dirty random pussy into my home? My sanctuary? This was about us.

  “Baby girl,” I hear Bull mutter. I look up, but he isn’t talking to me. Oh my fucking god, he’s talking to her. Using my nickname?

  I make some strangled animal sound. I feel like I’ve been standing here for hours watching this travesty unfold. Gunner notices and winces. Standing up, he calls out, “Charlie.” He takes a step towards me, but the damage has been done. Doesn’t he see me in pieces on the floor? I do.

  Run. Run!!!

  I put my hand up and another horrid sound escapes me. I can’t seem to breathe. I refuse to let them see me like this. It’s different, now. They feel like strangers and are hurtful. I run down the hall to my room, my bag banging against my legs as I go. Locking the door, I run to my bed and drop onto it. In my pillow I scream and fucking scream.

  I hear banging on the door. It’s Bullet, this time shouting my name over and over, pleading with me to let him in.

  I shut down all emotion, locking it all away. Piece by piece…

  It doesn’t matter how many psychology and sociology books I’ve read. It doesn’t matter how the chemical makeup of our bodies shift to produce epinephrine. In no way does it matter how my intellect works nor how logic should kick in.

  Pain overrides thought. Emotion overrides pain.

  I have to lock up all emotion and all thought if I’m to extricate the pain. Logic.

  If I go out there, it’s probable I’ll hurt someone. Either with fists or words. Instead I text Malice to remove these strangers from my home. I don’t elaborate. I just want them gone.

  In less than five minutes, I hear the front door open and bang against the wall. Malice is here. When the condo next to mine went on the market, I quickly purchased it and moved him in. Knowing that Malice is nearby, is always a great reprieve. But none more so than tonight.

  I hear muffled sounds and know he’s yelling at them. Bullet is still near my door and Malice’s footsteps can be felt through the vibrating floor as he makes his way towards him.

  “You…get foock away from her,” he screams with his French accent coming through harsher in his anger. “You have wirld! She give to you wirld! You spit on it. You not good man! OUT!” he roars. Then I hear something bang against my door. Are they fighting?

  “Charlie….please baby…please come out…you don’t understand…” I can hear his voice moving down the hall. Malice is getting rid of them.

  More shouting ensues and then the door slams. A minute later I hear a soft knock on the door.

  “Ils sont partis. Sortir. Je dois vous assurer que vous êtes d'accord.”

  They’re gone. Come out. I need to make sure you’re okay.

  I climb off the bed and pad over to the door. With my eyes still on the floor, I open it.

  “Ils sont stupides. Ils ne savent pas ce qu'ils font. Vous devez leur pardonner.”

  They are stupid. They know not what they do. You must forgive them.

  I chuckle slightly before falling into his stiff arms while fighting back tears. They are stupid. They don’t deserve my tears. One step forward and twenty-nine back. I’ll never catch a break.

  Poor Malice isn’t used to my blubbering. I mean, who have I had to cry over? My family shit is the norm. The guys and I were always fine. We used to be, anyways. And, even though I’ve been on dates. I don’t really date. I keep to myself for the most part. Even during my fights I never cry. Of course, I never lose. There was a fight almost a year ago, I hit the mat so hard that my shoulder popped out. My right arm was effectively useless and pain radiated everywhere. But I kept going and won. And I never cried.

  Maybe it’s my time of the month. Come to think of it, I have a desperate craving for some chocolate.

  I didn’t realize that we’d moved to my couch and I look over to the dining room. They left the boxes of pizza and the beer bottles are everywhere.

  “Avoir le tableau donné à peu de charité demain. Je ne veux plus jamais le revoir.”

  Have the table donated to some charity tomorrow. I don’t ever want to see it again.

  He nods. I’m pressed against his side still sobbing.

  “Avons-nous le chocolat?”

  Do we have any chocolate? I sniffle.

  “Oui.”

  Yes.

  He gets up and walks away. Appearing
a moment later, he hands me some chocolate chip cookies. Not what I had in mind, but this will work.

  “Je ne l'ai pas acheter ces. D'où sont-ils originaires?”

  I didn’t buy these. Where did they come from?

  “Ils sont à moi. Je leur ai caché dans votre maison en espérant de ne pas les manger.”

  They’re mine. I hid them in your house hoping to not eat them.

  What a freaky Frenchman. I snort, a wet goby snort. He’s taking my mind off of things. Got to love the French for that.

  “Pourquoi ne pouvez- vous pas les manger? Ils sont délicieux. Merci par la manière.”

  Why can’t you eat them? They’re delicious. Thank you by the way.

  “Je mange tout le sac. De là, je ne mange un à chaque intervalle. Tout le sucre n’est pas bon pour moi. Je ne suis pas aussi jeune que je l'habitude d’être.”

  I eat the entire bag. From here, I only eat one at each interval. All the sugar isn’t good for me. I’m not as young as I used to be.

  “Je savais que je vous gardais autour pour une raison.”

  I knew that I kept you around for a reason.

  I shake my head and shove the entire cookie in my mouth. I know, I’m gross. But I’m too upset to care. I grab another cookie and shove it into his mouth. He chuckles and grabs the remote to turn on the television.

  We stay like that for the rest of the night. Shoving cookies in our mouths. Me fighting a round of tears every so often, ignoring my cell that’s been blowing up.

  Eventually, I fall asleep on him.

  It’s sad.

  The one friend I have is the one I pay to be there.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I awake to an explosion. Well, in my head anyway. My sinuses must have imploded overnight, as I feel like utter garbage. My head keeps throbbing, and every time I move, it feels like the world is tilting. I can hear the crackling of mucus shift back and forth. My eyes swollen, my nose drippy, I can already tell that today is going to be stellar.

  I shower in searing hot water, in the hopes that the steam will alleviate some of the sinus pressure. After dressing and ingesting a million liters of Dayquil, I attempt a day at the office.

 

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