by Heidi Lowe
She cut him a scathing look. “I bet it's real easy for you to stand there and pass judgment on me, when you haven't had to deal with the shit I've had to deal with.”
“You really believe that? You think it's easy for me to watch you slowly destroy yourself? After everything we've been through, you think that's what I'm doing, passing judgment?” He shot her a pained look to accompany the hurt in his voice.
“I don't need you or anyone else to worry about me. I just want to be left alone,” she yelled. “Is that too much to ask?”
“As long as you have people in your life who care about you, it is.”
She snatched the bin bag from him. “You've seen that I'm alive. Now you can leave.” Accepting her own pity was bad enough; accepting other people's was a travesty. She didn't deserve their pity, not after what she'd done. That she'd ever reached a point of justifying her choices enough to drug her girlfriend, made her sick to the stomach even now. Somewhere along the way she'd lost her humanity, to the point where she now questioned whether she'd had any to begin with.
He threw up his hands and turned to leave. Then he stopped. “Whatever this is, you need to get it together. If you keep dropping the ball, don't expect Trent not to pick it up. We both know he thinks you're just keeping the seat warm for him.”
“Well maybe I am,” Willa shouted after him as he left.
Layke woke with a start and sat bolt upright. It may or may not have been the noise that woke her – that scraping noise, like nails across a blackboard. Because as soon as she was up, and the noise was no more, she sensed she wasn't alone in her apartment.
Her gun was where she always left it – in the drawer of her bedside table. Even with her lamp switched off she could get to it with ease; she'd trained herself to do so in case of an intrusion.
Silently, moving like an acrobat on light feet, she crept to the door, pulled it open quickly in order to avoid the creak. Only she knew that that was the only way to get into her room undetected. Light spilled out of the kitchen. Tiptoeing along the hallway towards the room, she raised her gun the way she'd been trained to do when entering unknown danger, her breathing so heavy she was certain the intruder could hear her coming. She scolded herself to hold the gun straight and stop shaking, and be prepared to shoot the person bold enough to break into her home.
Even when she saw who it was sitting at her kitchen table, smelled the alcohol on her, saw her hand clasping a glass tumbler, she didn't lower the gun immediately. Willa didn't flinch when she saw her. She laughed drunkenly.
“Do it and save me the trouble.” Her words were slightly slurred. “Maybe if you're lucky, some liberals will call you a murderer, and you'll see how it feels.”
“They could call me anything they want, but it wouldn't make it true. If someone breaks into my home, it's trespassing. I get to shoot them,” Layke fired back, but lowered her weapon anyway. This girl wouldn't be a threat to her, not in this state. She cast an admonishing look at the glass in Willa's hand. “Don't you think you've had enough?”
“No.” She turned the glass to her head, finished what was left in it. “It's water.”
“What are you doing here, Willa?” With every line she delivered, the effort to keep the concern, the love, out of her voice grew more difficult. Seeing her again after two weeks, hearing her voice, seeing that beautiful mouth she'd kissed, and kissed, and kissed without restraint, it tugged at her heartstrings. She'd tried not to miss her, but her heart, her body, wouldn't allow it. Thus, there she was, standing in her kitchen in the middle of the night, trying to pretend she didn't care.
Willa shrugged sluggishly. “What is anyone doing here? Why are any of us here?” She laughed at her joke, seemingly unfazed by the fact that she was doing so alone.
“You didn't actually drive here in this state, did you?” Layke asked, appalled. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Somewhere between I can't remember and I don't give a shit.” She laughed again. “What's it to you anyway? I'm just a villain, the bad guy that never changes and never gets the girl.”
“You had the girl, and then you drugged the girl.” Layke observed the way Willa narrowed her eyes at her, and from that she expected her to launch into a verbal or even physical attack. So when Willa burst into tears instead, she didn't know how to respond.
“Have you any idea how many times I've played that night over and over in my head, wishing that I could change it? Wishing that I never crossed that line?” she sobbed. “Sometimes I leave the bottle at home. Sometimes I take it with me but don't pour it into your wine. Sometimes I pour it, but when you fall asleep I stay with you the whole night, holding you in my arms, listening to you breathing and snoring ever so gently.”
Even though it still involved her being drugged, she loved the sound of the last scenario the most. “Why couldn't you have just done that?”
“Because I'm the worst kind of general. I'm the kind who knows how to win battles theoretically, but crumbles in practice. Theory always ignores humanity, never prepares you for the type of monster you'll become when you're done. I learned how to fight but forgot how to be human.”
Layke could only gawk at her, this sobbing mess that was once the infamous Willa di Blasio. It took every ounce of strength within not to cradle her then, to banish her tears with words of forgiveness.
Willa sniffed, wiping her runny nose with the back of her hand, but letting her tears remain on her damp cheeks. “At first I wished it had been me who killed Ambrisi. I thought I was ready to take someone's life if I had to.” She started sobbing again. “But then you called me a murderer. The way you looked at me, the way you said it, I never wanted you to look at me that way. It broke me.”
“What way?” Anger had driven her that night; she could scarcely remember shouting those words, and certainly didn't remember a look.
It took a while for Willa to stop crying enough to speak again, and when she finally could, she said, “Like you could never love me.”
In some ways it would have been easier if she had been the one who killed Ambrisi. Reducing her to a mere monster would have made it easier to hate her. But seeing this broken woman before her, absent her dignity, absent the arrogance her family was known for, Layke knew in her heart she wasn't a monster.
“But I already did,” she said quietly.
Willa's sobs fizzled out. She peered up at her, questioningly. “What?”
“I said I already did. Do you really think I would have risked everything if I didn't?”
Willa turned away, brought a hand to her face to hide her tears, a little too late. “I'm sorry, for everything. I want to be better. Loving you makes me want to be better.”
Layke made her way to her, placed the gun on the table, and cast aside every remaining inhibition that had kept her wavering in the doorway. It was real. Two weeks of wondering, agonizing over it, had finally come to an end. Every hand had been played, every chorus sung.
She flung her arms around Willa, and Willa buried her face into her stomach and sobbed and sobbed like a baby. Layke felt her nightshirt dampen, but the sensation only made her smile as she held the woman she loved close. Willa's tearful I love yous were muffled in the embrace as Layke stroked her head.
TWENTY-TWO
Two Months Later
“I'm trying to decide if I like the front or the back more.” Willa was resting on her elbow, in Layke's bed, admiring the view – that being the pert, round buttocks of her lover. The early morning sun poured in from the window, acting like a spotlight on the two naked women in the room.
Layke giggled as she buttoned up her shirt, sweeping her hair to the side and out of the way. When getting dressed it never occurred to her to put on panties first, not when Willa was staying over. She'd tried it once – they only ended up on the floor a couple of minutes later. There was just something about mornings, particularly those when she needed to go to work, that made her girlfriend insatiable.
“On the one hand,”
Willa continued, “the back certainly does make a good case for itself. But on the other, well, you know how much I adore the front.”
Layke tossed her a look over her shoulder. “Yes, so much you named it.”
Willa gave a dirty laugh. “Something that delicious, that wonderful, should have a name.”
“I think you get dirtier with every passing day.”
“That's probably because I fall in love with you a little bit more with every passing day.”
Layke never grew tired of hearing that. She'd heard it for seven years from Dustin, so much so that it had lost its meaning long ago. But from Willa's mouth the words had taken on new connotations. It was as though they'd been fashioned just for them, just for their love. If she woke up beside Willa, she started every day with a smile that never left her face.
“How is it possible that you're both the crudest and sweetest person I know?” Layke said, chuckling. She turned to face Willa, still naked from the waist down.
Willa sat up with a Cheshire-cat grin that almost reached the ends of her face. “Hey, what did I tell you about calling me sweet? Don't you know what that does to my street cred?” Before Layke could escape, Willa grabbed her and wrestled her to the bed.
“Get off me! Stop it.” Layke giggled hysterically, not putting up much of a fight at all. She didn't want Willa to stop or get off, and they both knew it, but keeping up the pretense was part of the game.
“I'll show you how sweet I am,” Willa said, laying rough kisses on Layke's neck while pinning her down.
“I'm going to be late for work,” came Layke's giggly, now slightly gasping pleas, as she watched her girlfriend descend.
“Too bad.” No one and nothing could have made Willa feel bad about what she intended to do, not even Layke's admonishments about being made late for work. This was how one started the day right: devouring the woman you loved while her moans filled the room, and her body writhed and twisted beneath you. As she spread Layke's legs and bore her mouth down on the already moist cavern, she was captured by a feeling of rapture, of ecstasy, as if there was nowhere greater in the world than here, and no one better than the woman beneath her.
“Oh yes, yes,” Layke whined, her eyes fluttering closed, the back of her head grinding into the pillow, as Willa worked her magical tongue; flicking, stabbing, circling and finally sucking on her bean to send her into a euphoric frenzy.
Willa sought out one hand and clasped it in hers, their fingers slotting together and interlocking. She flexed the fingers on her other hand, preparing them for their next task. Her tongue went a little easier on Layke's stiff nub, knowing that what she had planned next would send her over the edge immediately if she didn't. She painted strips with her wet muscle, lightly touching the bean, giving just a little before taking it away again.
When Layke felt the fingers slide inside her, her body jerked, startled by the suddenness and the coldness of the two fingers. It didn't take them long to warm up, however. Her own juices moistened and warmed them on their rapid entrance and exit of her sex. She didn't last much longer after that, and expired noisily, powerfully, Willa's lips still wrapped around her bean as the spasms came and went.
Willa laughed and let the vibration hit Layke's sex, which sent more spasms Layke's way. She was far too sensitive down there now, Willa knew it. Still, she loved knowing that her tongue and fingers – such small, yet extremely powerful tools – had almost incapacitated her lover, and would probably make her late for work, again. This was like Willa's screw you to the police. She smiled victoriously.
“That was mean,” Layke sulked, glaring at Willa who now lay on top of her. “And you're not sorry, are you? Sorry for making me late for work?”
Willa grinned, pressed a tender kiss to her lips, eradicating Layke's scowl. “Nope, I have no remorse. My conscience is clear.”
“I'm going to stop inviting you over on work nights.”
“You wouldn't last three days.” Willa laughed then kissed her again. “You know, you could always ditch your job and come work for me. It would make a nice change to have some eye candy on the team.”
Layke raised both eyebrows. “Okay, it's official, you've completely lost your mind. You're obviously delirious, asking a cop to ditch a steady job, with healthcare benefits, and work for you running an illegal gun trading business.” Layke giggled to herself, finally pushing Willa off her, though gently, and climbing out of bed. She fished out a pair of panties from her drawer. All the while Willa watched her silently, pensively. “I'm crazy about you, Willa, but I'm not crazy.” She tugged on her jeans.
“Maybe that's not the direction I want to go in anymore.”
Layke looked at her suddenly. “What do you mean?”
Although she had never outright confirmed her involvement in the illegal gun trade to Layke, a sort of unspoken confirmation existed. Skepticism ran generations deep in the di Blasio family, and thus Willa was always careful with what she said. It wasn't about trust, it was about being smart.
“My father set things up that I'm not proud of, and when I took the reins, I was too much of a coward, and too wet behind the ears, not to depart from that.”
Layke sat on the edge of the bed beside her. She was already going to be late, what difference would another five minutes make? This was important.
“I know what the business was built on,” Willa continued, “and it wasn't the blood, sweat and tears of hard-working, law-abiding men. But it doesn't have to be that way forever.”
“Be the change you wish to see. I think Gandhi said that,” Layke said, taking Willa's hand in hers. “Would you really do that? Could you do it?”
Willa forced a laugh. “I'm the queen of Miami, I can do anything I want.” Though her lips were smiling, her eyes were not. They were as unsure as the rest of her. Getting out of the gun trade, the business her father had made his initial living and the bulk of his money from in the early days, was a risky proposal, a move so bold it gave her goosebumps and chills just thinking about it. But there was Layke, her beautiful lover, her girlfriend, the woman who had opened her heart to her, had made her want to be better, to be good. She had always known that if they stood even the smallest chance of going the distance, something would eventually have to give. This seemed like the only option. And hell, she had never liked the gun trade.
Layke leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. “I'm proud of you, baby,” she whispered. That was all Willa needed to hear to do what she had to do. Breaking the law wasn't nearly as appealing as it had looked growing up.
“Will I see you tonight?”
Layke smiled, letting her lips brush against Willa's. “I don't know. Do you want to see me tonight?”
“I want to see you every night. And day. And afternoon,” Willa said between kisses.
“You know what would make my day? If I came back this evening and you were lying in exactly the same spot, naked, waiting for me.”
Willa laughed a smoky laugh. “I bet it would. As much as I like the sound of that, I've got a few things to take care of today. I'll swing by when I'm done.”
Parting often caused a pang in their hearts, the type that only ceased once they were reunited. The feeling was especially gruesome for Willa, knowing that the world she had to return to had lost its appeal. She collapsed back on the bed and lay with her arms sprawled out, enjoying her final moments of elation before she had to get dressed, leave, and resume her real life.
Velazquez fished out a ten-dollar bill from her inside pocket and paid the street vendor while Layke picked up their kebabs, stuffed with onions and mustard and all sorts of other unhealthy goodness. The sun was relentless in its shining, and had only grown more powerful since the morning.
“Is it crazy that we're buying hotdogs on a day like this?” Layke asked as they found an empty bench outside a park, a huge tree providing the much needed shade. “Shouldn't we be eating, like, I don't know, ice cream or something?”
“What's crazy about
eating food at lunchtime? Hunger doesn't care how hot it is outside,” Velazquez said before taking a gargantuan bite of her hotdog.
Layke laughed. This woman made any and every excuse under the sun to justify her large appetite. Looking at her svelte figure, everything so perfectly toned, Layke secretly envied her for her fast metabolism. She didn't have to work out to keep in shape, not the way normal women did. And she ate like a horse and got away with it.
Layke ate in silence and watched the passers-by shuffle past. Usually she despised the sun; with red hair and pale skin, it was her worst enemy. She couldn't tan, only burn, and that was with layers of sunblock on. But not today. Today she had much to be grateful for. Her girlfriend would soon be on the straight and narrow, doing what no one thought possible: cleansing the di Blasio name.
Velazquez turned to her after a moment. “You've had that same creepy little smile on your face for weeks. What's got you looking like that?”
Layke gave her a wide-eyed look, taken aback, though amused. “What's so creepy about my smile?” Not only hadn't she noticed she was smiling, it had never occurred to her that it could have been construed as creepy.
“Well, you just sit there smiling to yourself, like someone's whispering something dirty to you that no one else can hear. Creepy.”
Layke shoulder-shoved her a little. “You're just jealous because you haven't had anything to smile about in months.”
“That's because I haven't gotten any in months!” Velazquez made a face. “Usually when people smile like that they're getting freaky nonstop. So Mr Advertising's putting in over time, huh?” Her eyebrow wiggled suggestively.
Layke looked down, started fiddling with a piece of onion sticking out of her hotdog. “Actually, Dustin and I broke up.” This was the first person at the office she'd shared this with, besides her father. Announcing a break up was a stressful affair, one she had hoped to avoid as long as possible. Particularly when it came to breaking off an engagement, and a seven-year-long relationship, with a man who, on paper, was a catch. Too many questions would be asked.