Sure, he was busy, making money to buy her love, but was that enough of an excuse for me to sit at the front window and play lookout for her while she rolled around in her marital bed with random cocks that weren’t even fit to shine my father’s shoes?
As he aged, he must’ve had an inkling of my unfaithful ways. Choosing to leave me with the black-hearted bitch, believing me to be lost to the dark side, no doubt. He moved into a bachelor apartment closer to his empire, away from the hate. But the damage was already done. He had been broken by the best of them and wouldn’t live much longer to tell about it. And maybe I was lost to the dark side. Who knows? But his death was the beacon of light I needed to find my way out of her cloying, vile clutches.
She’d taken everything: my father, his love, my self-respect, my chance at a normal life, but no more! As I gazed upon my father’s corpse, shrunken in death, I made a vow then and there, at the base of his open casket, among the many who loved him. It was fitting that the queen bitch wasn’t here for it. I vowed to myself that I would end her traitorous ways, get here in check, and ruin her, just as she’d done to my father.
I woke from the dark dreams with a scream tearing through my soul and Blue exercising on my TV.
No excuses given to me for her unshared night. Nothing to soothe my battered soul. At least she was still there, sheltered among friends, but keeping secrets from me now, just like the rest of the women in my life. I can’t stop watching as she half asses the Favor, looking nothing like the inexperienced Bonita I know. They’ve got her acting now.
She eats, alone, and I can’t help how pissed off this makes me. If I was there, she’d never eat alone! Later, I watch my true Blue journal, making lists of her own. For a welcome home feast? Her favorite foods? Things she wants me to do to her? I’d love to know her secret thoughts.
With great difficulty, I drag myself off the bed, vowing to work this shit till they let me loose. Heading into the shower, I make a deal with myself. Get better so you can get to Blue. I continue to repeat this mantra to myself throughout the day.
Blue
Hari really is a fabric whisperer; I think as I check my bikini-clad self in the mirror. I look good, ready for some much-needed fun. The black and white polka-dot halter top really frames the girls, giving them new life. The high-waisted bottom—my signature panty type—pulls everything in, making my waist look narrow, not tiny, but manageable for once. There’s a bathing cap, I’m not that much of a pinup, I think to myself, and opt instead for a flower-covered ponytail holder.
I put my hair up high, running my nails through my bangs to flatten them out, gloss my lips, and grab the black-cat shades before heading to the door. My Favor button pings, causing my stomach to flip flop. What is it now?
It’s Chase and Belinda. Ugh, two helpings of salad and carrot cake wasn’t enough? I quickly type a message to them, letting them down gently.
Heading out to the pool. Won’t you join me?
I don’t even wait for a response. If they fire me as their surrogate feeder, oh well. Nothing’s going to ruin this great Bikini Moment I’m basking in.
The pool feels amazing. Just what I needed. By the time I make my way into the Jacuzzi, Daisy’s gone to fulfill a Favor. Probably my feeder couple. The turncoats. But I don’t care. This is some much-needed Blue time, and no one’s disturbing it.
Except Sasha, in her fire-engine red bikini, who plops in, shoving me over and stealing my jet. “Hey! There are fifty other spots you could sit in! Why do you have to have mine?” But I move.
She winks and settles in. “Because you were keeping it warm for me. What do you think of the new girl?” She gestures towards Gretchen and Hollister, deep in conversation under an umbrella, relaxing on chaise lounges and enjoying strawberry-blended somethings. Just like Sasha’s my big sister in the house, I take it Gretchen is Hollister’s.
They see us watching and both give a wave with not even a break in their conversation. Hollister seems to be hanging on every word out of Gretchen’s mouth, who appears to be grandstanding. Extolling all of the virtues of the Chubby House.
I look toward Sasha. “She’s really pretty. Where’d you find her? Slumming the NutriSystem boards now?”
Sasha giggles, but then a dark cloud passes over her eyes. “No, Gretchen knew her from before. She’d been talking to her for months, trying to persuade her to give our way of life a try. It may take a while; she’s been really battered emotionally, but at least she’s here now, safe. And that’s all that matters.”
Hmmm, I want to ask more about the place that both Gretchen and now Hollister came from, but I’ve got more important things to discuss.
I nod. “Thanks for setting up the—” She closes my lips with a full hand over them, shaking her head. Her eyes are pleading with me to shut it.
“Garage. Now,” she hisses, and before I can get over the shock of it, she’s out of the pool, wrapped in a black towel with flames on it, and padding her ass to the sanctity of the garage.
I look around, sure her dramatic flair has drawn everyone’s attention but her sudden departure goes unnoticed.
Grabbing my own fluffy, oversized, baby-blue towel, I follow Sasha’s wet footsteps, left behind on the pool deck and meet her in the garage.
“What was all that about?” I ask, chilled and slightly put out that we had to leave the heat of the Jacuzzi jets.
She gestures to the patio chairs. “Sit.” And I do as she pulls two Diet Cokes from the fridge and joins me. She holds a black kitty claw up to pause me as she swigs her soda. I give her a minute, but it takes everything I’ve got not to bite that finger off!
“Dammit, Sasha. C’mon! What’s up? And why the need for the dark room?” I say, gesturing around the garage, no cameras in sight.
She lets loose a large belch, a real belly-buster, and grins. “Ah, I needed that. Too much indulgence at the feast.” She leans into me, even though no one can hear. Why didn’t this woman become a world-class actress with all of her theatrics?
“That thing with Maria stays between us.” She looks into my questioning eyes and nods her head resolutely.
“Not even Gretch—” Before I even finish, she’s shaking her head.
“Not even. The walls have ears. If any of what I did for you last night got back to our resident psychopath, I can assure you I’d be tied up and fed to within an inch of my life.” She mimes slicing her own throat with one of her kitty claws while grimacing. “Without mercy.”
I nod, but my brow furrows. “What do you think he’d do to me if he found out?” I can’t help the uneasy feeling that’s burrowing into my soul as I think of last night and the graphic details I learned about Javi’s past from his forbidden mother. What would he do? Order another hospital bed and strap me to it? Hire yet another nurse to keep this fatty in line? No, thank you.
An involuntary shudder runs down my spine, and chill bumps pop up all over my damp skin at the thought. Sasha, in tune with my dark thoughts, nods her head with a meaningful long look into my eyes. “Right?” she asks; to which I respond. “So right.”
She leans away, our dark moment has passed it seems as she nods to my soda. “You gonna drink that?” I shake my head. The last thing I need to do is pour caffeine over my nervous stomach.
She shrugs. “More for me then. C’mon, race you back to the Jacuzzi!” She’s off, but I just wave her away. I need a moment, maybe two, to think about what I’ve done. Betraying Javi’s trust to satisfy my morbid curiosity. Thinking about it in the light of day makes me feel like I need a steaming hot shower and a scouring pad more than another soak in the hot tub.
Javi
I’m trying, I really am. But sitting in this group with all these fruit loops is boring as shit. No wonder most of these guys are here, I think, watching the guy next to me suck on his dirty, sweat-stained sock. Ugh. My stomach turns just from the smell. I don’t wanna even imagine what that thing tastes like.
This is a safe place to vent. Or so we’ve b
een told by Kevin, our group leader. “Talk about anything you want. Let it out. Don’t let it fester inside, eating away at you. Clear your thoughts and just chat about the first thing that comes to your mind.” He turns his sane eyes on me. “Javi, you’re new to this group. Why don’t you start? What’s eating at you?” he asks earnestly, like he’s really interested.
All eyes, bleary and bloodshot, turn in my direction. Their stares crawl over my skin. I close my eyes to the prying and think of only one thing. “Blue,” I breathe out, a balm for my tortured soul. I instantly feel calmer, forgetting the leers from my groupmates.
Kevin nods. He thinks he knows me. “Yes, blue is a very soothing color. Can you expand a little on that thought for us, please?”
I open an eye and glare at him. “Not the color, you ass. As in capital B...lue? She’s the love of my life, my Bonita, yet I’m trapped in here with all of you limp dicks. Don’t you understand? My world is shrouded in tones of black and white without my most favorite color in the rainbow!” I glare him down, daring him to disagree.
He hems and haws while avoiding my challenging eyes, and finally just mumbles something to the effect of thanking me for sharing. I nod, leaning back in my chair, and close my eyes. I focus on the vision of her sweet smile that’s seared on my brain, just behind my eyelids.
My neighbor goes next. Using his sweat sock-covered hand to talk for him, as a puppet. I know him. I’ve seen him taking that sock for a walk down the gray corridors every day, whispering and mumbling things to it, since the first day I got here. He talks in a squeaky, high, granny voice through the sock’s mouth. I’m so intrigued I sit up and pay attention.
“Hi everyone. I’m Benjamin.” Everyone nods, more than a few giggles stifled as he continues. “I’m here because I’ve been bad. I made Jared,” he turns the sock around to look at the sad owner of the hand, “do things he normally wouldn’t do. I’m a very bad influence. I should be thrown in the dryer on the high heat setting without fabric softener.” The sock voice drops to a low granny whisper.
Kevin and the rest of the group lean forward, eagerly anticipating what caper this sock was the ringleader of.
His sock hand straightens and moves slowly from right to left, peering deep down into each of us with its drawn-on, crooked eyes. “I made Jared peek into bedroom windows, just before bedtime, to watch women and little girls undress, and I touched his privates without his permission.”
“That’s enough!” The owner of the hand jumps to his feet, his uncovered hand grabbing the socks throat and strangling it. Muffled, the sock opens its mouth, and in that same weird voice, says, “You liked it!”
Jared grapples with his own sock-covered hand, throttling it, spit flying, causing a real ruckus. The loud clang his folding chair makes as it falls to the linoleum floor hurts my teeth. In the melee, our fearless leader, Kevin, gets bumped. A no-no. The doors fly open and in come the orderlies to quiet the ruckus.
Kevin’s eyes are wide, his glasses askew, as he calls for order. But Jared’s not listening as he tries to claw his own hand from his body. I can’t stop staring at the sock on his hand as its “mouth” attempts a scream. The two beefy orderlies pull Jared from the group. He’s crying, his sock’s begging for the police, as he’s removed from the room. We all sit, stunned, listening to the sock’s screams fade down the hallway.
Kevin rights the recently vacated chair, giving us all a worried look. Wondering if crazy’s catching, no doubt. In a shaky voice, he tries to get us all back on task. “Mark, you’re next. What’s eating at you?”
Mark smiles without humor. “That stinking fucking sock is eating at me. I’d like to steal it from Jared, stick my long, black dick into it and use it as a cum dumpster. Then I’d set it on fire, right in front of his pudgy, little Peeping Tom ass!” His shifty eyes scan the group, ensuing bedlam with his murderous thoughts.
Some of the men agree, nodding their heads, and the volume in the room increases considerably. Thoughts of violence are what spur these men on, and my peaceful images of Blue are shattered.
Kevin stands, hands in the air, attempting to regain order, but it’s too late. Mark, a monster of a man, is here for—surprise! —Battery. He’s itching for a fight, and it looks like he has a taker.
A skeletal crackhead, looking for anything to break the monotony of this charade, steps forward with a fucking death wish. Mark’s got a hefty hundred pounds on him. The constant tremors of withdrawal wrack the druggie’s body, but they stop long enough for him to issue a challenge. “Stop eyeballing me, asshat, or I’ll come over there and give you something to look at.”
“Oh, yeah.” Marks tone is deadly as he stands and hulks his way over toward the skinny crackhead, who doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone.
“I’m out,” I say, and get to the doors just as reinforcements arrive. The orderlies are getting their workout today; I think as the sick sound of meat punching bone makes my feet step a little livelier. I’ve got no interest in a face rearranging today.
Blue
I attempt to find the mood that had me skipping out to the Jacuzzi earlier, but it’s gone. My guilt kicked it out. I didn’t really think what I was doing was so bad while I picked Maria’s brain for information without even a thought for Javi’s feelings. My fingers prune in the hot water. I’m flushed, frustrated, and just plain no fun to be around.
Gretchen took Hollister in for a baby Favor, just to get her feet wet, and Sasha’s too busy chatting on her cell to Tatted to notice my black mood. Esmie felt like her alabaster skin was turning a darker shade of white, so she exited the pool just as I was coming out. Girl-time has officially come to an end, I think, as I lean back against the wall. But the jets do nothing to relax my burdened mind as they drill into my back. Thoughts of the depths Javi was willing to go to for acceptance weigh me down. Doing any menial thing his wicked mother asked of him, seeking a kernel of kindness for his efforts. Then it hits me. He’s still the same boy. Only now he performs menial tasks for the Ladies of the house. Still searching for that love and acceptance. This truth is too much for me to bear while lounging in the Jacuzzi.
I sigh and haul my ass out, grabbing my damp towel. I wave to Sasha, who gives a worried look to my haunted eyes, but lets me go in peace. She’s not my keeper, I complain to myself as I head to my room.
I’m weary. Once there, I see the feeder couple are blinking rapidly for me on the screen. I grab the remote, putting my status as away, without the energy for even a cutesy message and head into the shower to try to shake the cloying smells of chlorine and treason. Tomorrow, I think, as I drop onto my bed for a nap. Sunday, I’ll go and see him, talk to him, tell him what I did.
Javi
Well, group therapy was a no-go. Total fucking waste of time. I head into the psychiatrist’s office, for once making my daily appointment, and stand at attention in front of his desk. He looks up over his glasses, surprise etched on his features. “Javier! How nice of you to make your scheduled appointment. Does this mean you’re turning over a new leaf?”
I grin and spread my arms wide. “Hell, I’m ready to chop down a whole fucking tree!” I take the seat in front of his desk. “Go ahead, Doc, pick my brain.”
He smiles and leafs through my chart on his desk as I take in his office. Dark oak and stately, just what I would expect the office of a pompous ass to look like. Heavy brown drapes block out the sun. The muted ticking of a Newton’s cradle, swinging to and fro on his desk, is meant to soothe the savage beast. Me.
His overstuffed brown couch, just begging sickos to lie on it, only adds to the surreal nature of the shrink’s office. A Persian rug, trying to make it homier, no doubt, only rubs his wealth—gained from the unbalanced minds of others—in the invitee’s face. Gilded pictures of battlefields frame the walls, an analogy, no doubt, of the inner battle his patients face daily. The one that wages in all unstable minds. Good versus evil. Insanity versus sanity. Imprisonment versus freedom. Remembering versus forgetting.
A pipe, stinking of some no-doubt expensive tobacco, rests on the edge of his desk. Can he be more of a fucking stereotype? I think, as I take in his inner sanctum.
There is one thing, however, that doesn’t fit into the pipe-smoking, easy-talking doctor’s charade. Behind him, on a bookshelf, sit superhero action figures in various fighting poses. Huh? I lean a little closer and see that he’s got Marvel characters mixed right in with DC guys.
Superman’s got a plastic arm slung around Spiderman. Blasphemy!
All of his characters are intermingled. I frown, sure this is yet another analogy for the way his patients should be treated. I’m pulled from thoughts of dueling superheroes by the clearing of his throat.
I look at him, but have a hard time finding his eyes behind the glare of his glasses. This concerns me, as the windows to his soul are shuttered from me.
“Kevin mentioned you went to group therapy today. Bravo,” he says, without a hint of a smile. “I’d like to talk about Blue today, if that’s alright.”
I sit up straighter at the mention of my beloved’s name. A smile crosses my lips. This will be easy. I could talk about my Bonita all day, and I do.
“Where should I start?” I ask, the tension leaving my body at the opportunity to talk about my favorite subject.
He holds up a recorder, a question in his glance. “Sure,” I say magnanimously. Positive there’s no Blue in his sad, little, superhero-loving life to keep him warm at night.
He clicks the on button, steeples his hands in front of his chest, and says, “Why not at the beginning, Javier.”
Blue, Light and Dark (Chubby Chasers, Inc. Series Book 2) Page 8