by Eros, Marata
I swing open Kiki's door, and there she lays, a dark shadow against the off-white bed linen. My chest feels tight as I walk forward.
Her face turns toward me, and she holds out her hand.
I take it and fall on her.
Her arms wrap me.
“I thought he had you.”
I pull away. “Nah, you were giving me some pretty good body signals.”
She gives a shaky laugh, and I notice she still has a hoop in her ear.
Only one. I touch the dangling circle, the diamond cuts are sharp underneath my fingertips.
“That was so fucked up, Faren,” Kiki says.
I nod, my hand dropping. “So.”
I watch her think. “Is peanut okay?”
I smile.
Then I cry. I nod over and over.
“Come 'ere, girl.” Kiki sits up, and I perch at the bed's edge and she holds me while I cry.
When all my stuttering cries are done she says, “Like I said earlier, should've used the whole can of pepperspray on his ass.”
I laugh. “Yeah, one can was not enough for him.”
“It's crazy, y'know?”
Our eyes lock.
“It is. I can't believe who he was...”
“What he did,” Kiki says.
I nod.
I move a long curl behind her ear. “Are you okay?”
“Me?” Her hand splays on her chest, two nail tips torn off. “Hell yes! That peckerwood didn't have a chance.”
She sees my face and looks away. Kiki sighs. “Bruised some of my ribs... but he wanted to tie me up worse after that text you sent me.”
I grimace at the thought of Jay, a.k.a. Dmitri, roughing up Kiki. Then tying her up. Gooseflesh swarms my arms.
“The one where I say it's not Jay?”
Her finger goes up. “Yeah, he didn't appreciate that memo. And why the hell did you come inside when you saw the door was open?” She puts her hands on her hips, her face moving side to side in indignation. “You should have called the boys in blue. 9-1-1 duh.”
“Ah...”
“You were like some dumbass girl from one of those hack and slash movies.”
Yeah.
Kiki's lips turn up. “I guess you kinda saved me.”
I almost touch my index finger and thumb. “Maybe this much.”
“Team effort.”
We high-five instead of crying again.
Tagger walks in, and Kiki crosses her arms. “I'm not quite on board with you being a good guy yet.” She gives him the stink eye.
He grins.
“It's all in the name of justice.”
Kiki makes a rude noise. “Would've been great to know before dipshit Dmitri Bunce almost wiped the floor with my ass.”
“Yes. Well, he's done now.”
“Good,” Kiki says.
I ask, “How's Butch?”
“Still in ICU, but things look good. He's a tough SOB.”
Tagger's eyes move from me to Kiki full of amusement. “You're in good hands, I'll be seeing you soon.”
She scowls at his back. “Don't bet on it,” Kiki mutters as Tagger exits.
“He's a good actor,” I say.
“Hmmm... I still think we were fed shit like mushrooms.”
I give a sideways smile, though I'm not nuts about how we were kept in the dark either. “Ready to go?”
“No. My ass has a perma-breeze. Let me dump this ugly-ass hospital gown and get into some tight jeans and I'll be good as gold.”
I wait as Kiki gets dressed.
Lost in my thoughts.
*
Henry inclines his head as Kiki and I walk toward his car.
“This is so many shades of surreal. Like an out-of-body experience,” she says.
I don't tell Kiki how many times in the past six weeks I've felt the same way.
Henry opens the car door, and I glance back at the plainclothes cops behind us.
We slide into the limo.
Henry gets in the driver's seat and slides the partition window open.
“Miss Mitchell?”
“Home please, Henry.”
He gives a Mona Lisa smile as he slides the glass shut.
Kiki wears a grin. “You're getting all used to this, Faren.”
A little bit.
I put my hands in my lap to stop the left from shaking.
“I need a pill,” Kiki laments, leaning back against the plush seats.
I cock an eyebrow. “For what?”
“I won't sleep a wink after psycho coming after me, almost killing you and seeing that poor bodyguard laid out with a plastic tent over him.”
Kiki shudders at the memory of Butch in ICU.
“Yeah.”
A lone tear escapes down my cheek.
“He'll be okay, Faren—don't worry.”
Her eyes lock onto my face, easily discerning my conflicting emotions.
“It's not that. I was a stinky ass to him.”
“You were, were ya?”
I nod miserably. “He was just doing his job and I was a big fat walking prego hormone. I beheaded him with a butter knife.” I balance my elbow on my knee as I cup my chin.
Kiki laughs and claps. “Oooh... don't make me laugh. It hurts like hell!”
I feel myself frown.
“Look at us! All giddy and shit because of our near-death experience!” She cackles as I stare at her.
She's lost it.
Kiki busts up again, alternately howling and crying.
Finally she collapses, gasping. “God damn that sucked! If Bunce wasn't dead, I'd kick his ass!”
“Morbid, Kik.”
“Whatever.”
We slow in front of the Millennium garage. The limo sinks under the concrete, and Henry crawls toward the elevators.
He lets us out, and I have an overwhelming urge to hug him.
There were moments when I thought the last human contact I'd have would be death by Dmitri Bunce's hand.
Henry must see something in my face because he squeezes my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re well, Miss Mitchell.”
I nod as he makes every effort to not notice the tears rolling down my face.
*
Kiki and I hold each other for a long time outside her condo, my damp locks from the shower cling to her arms like angel's hair.
“Is stud waiting for ya?” Kiki asks.
My face heats. “Yes.”
She smiles, then grabs her side. “No poles for awhile.”
“I guess you're going to have to go legit,” I say, not bothering to keep the humor out of my voice.
“Who? Me? Nevah!” She slips her card through the entry slot and turns to me. “I'm going to go lick my wounds in private. But text me when you get to Mick's. I have to know you're okay.”
“I will, but I need to call my mom first. I'm sure this is all over the news. She knows I'm alive, but she'll worry.”
“Yeah, she will.”
We look at each other, so many things unsaid. The current of our friendship has changed course, gotten deeper, braver—more.
“Love you, girlfriend.”
Not more than me. “Love you too.”
*
He's there waiting for me when I slide through the front door. The people who made his condo return to normal have left.
I move past where I tripped over Butch. My eyes flick to the location where Kiki was bound to a chair.
Mick's eyes watch me. Letting me get used to it.
I walk into the bathroom. The remaining towel holder sticks out of the wall like a broken tooth the repairmen must have missed it. My gaze sinks to the spot where the tiles were broken and are now whole again. They skip back to the towel holder.
I back away, trembling.
“I can't.”
His arms go around me. Then I'm in the air and being walked out of the condo.
I close my eyes because Mick has me. I'm safe.
I feel my body float as he takes me to th
e elevator and I cling to his neck, breathing in a smell I associate with sex and safety.
Love.
My eyes are open as we walk through his new penthouse.
I don't know how Mick did it all when I was in the hospital for barely twenty-four hours, but he and his army finished it. The place went from eighty-five percent complete to one hundred percent in a day.
I begin to breathe again.
There's not a nail gun in sight.
~ 12 ~
I lay underneath Mick as he smooths both hands down my head. Trapping me.
I'm willing beneath him. So very willing.
“So?” he says as he presses his mouth to the tip of my nose. “How is my Faren?”
I close my eyes in a long blink. They’re full of water when they open to look at him.
Mick shuts his eyes and sighs. “I wanted to tell you. I didn't know Bunce was after you. I thought he was my sister's killer, that this would come full circle. Justice, revenge—all of it.”
He swipes his thumbs over my cheekbones as the water of my sadness spills over.
“It seems more than coincidence.”
He fans my hair around our bodies. “Yes. Our fortuitous first meeting.”
“When you ran into me with your bike.”
I suppress a smile with effort.
Mick grimaces. “Looking back at everything I don't know why you're with me.”
“I do,” I say.
The very air holds its breath.
“Why?” he asks, as though afraid of my answer.
It's the simplest one I can give. “Because I love you.”
Mick circles me with his arms, bringing me into his neck. “I don't deserve you, Faren.”
I breathe him in, his sharp, clean male scent. “I deserve a chance. A second chance.” It's not an answer, but they’re the words I want to say.
He lowers me into the softness of the bed. “I still want to kick that doctor's ass.”
I put my finger over his lips. “There's been enough ass-kicking for a lifetime for me.”
“Let's do something more constructive then.” His eyes darken, studying my face.
I wind my legs around his waist and he gives a small shake of his head, easily scooting out of my hold.
“What?” I half-laugh, my legs falling apart. The laughter dies in my mouth as Mick skims my yoga pants off my hips, bringing my panties along with them.
There's no pause, no slow time-release of our passion.
His mouth dives to my entrance in a sweep of desperation, as though our bodies have been lost to each other and found again through circumstantial luck.
I don't believe that.
We were meant to be. Fate is a fickle master—it played with my life like a fine instrument and smiled on me.
By all rights, I should be dead—twice.
But for a meeting of a motorcycle and a killer whose ambitions lay at my feet, I survive.
To live another day.
Mick jerks my hips against his face as his mouth moves from the top of me to my entrance. Worshipfully, he brings me to the peak with just his lips and tongue, his precision so slow and deliciously evocative. I yell into the unfamiliar room with an abandon born of pent-up emotion and relief. My thoughts fly away like wisps of smoke.
He glides up my body, my heartbeat still racing, the juices of my arousal coating his face, and he kisses me. I taste myself on his lips and writhe beneath him in anticipation.
His hardness comes against the center of me, and I dig my heels into the bed, my hips rising to meet his first thrust. Our bodies line up, and he sinks into me, his shoulders rippling with tension. We shout out together.
Mick goes to his knees as his hands grip my hips, and he pulls me deeper against him. I groan at the tight fit, our flesh married together as if it has never been apart.
I push up as he pulls, our flesh smacking in our frenzied lust. His large hand comes around the back of my neck, and he pulls me upright.
I sit for a frozen moment, perfectly impaled on him. I look down into his face and he rocks within me until I gasp.
Deeper still he moves, swirling his hips as he pushes upward, and I feel myself spiraling out of control. I release my inhibitions, closing my eyes and concentrating on the sensation of Mick inside my body.
“Look at me, Faren.”
My eyes snap open, and Mick's hands land on my shoulders. He pushes me down as his hips lift, hitting me exactly where I need the depth, the friction, the pressure.
Mick's hand slides down my sweaty back, holding me against him, and I feel the answering throb of his own release. We cry out together, his hands spasming against me as my arms convulse around him.
He nuzzles my neck as my cheek rests against the top of his head, my fingers pressing into his sides.
We hold that position until pie wedges of light move across our skin, fading to shapelessness, turning to shadows.
Mick's arms curl around my ass. He walks us across the bed, gently lowering me beneath him.
Right where I began.
Right where I'll always be.
*
Four months later
“Oh my god! Mom!” My hands cover my mouth then clap. I'm near-hysterical, tears springing to my eyes.
She's walked the rails.
Sweat runs down from her temples, dampening her tee, but her smile is all joy. All accomplishment.
“Slavedriver,” she accuses.
I nod. Accurate assessment.
I grab her at the end of the railroad and hug her fiercely.
“Hey, careful with your old mom,” she says.
I lean away. “I think you'll be okay.”
“Somebody's got to walk you down that aisle.”
I put the sweaty strand of hair that's escaped her hair tie behind her ear. “You're very non-traditional, you know.”
“I know, gorgeous girl.” She glances down at my growing belly. “And gorgeous boy,” she whispers.
“Did you tell anyone?”
She shakes her head. “Not for a lack of Kandace trying every way she could think of to wheedle it out of me.”
Kiki's so determined to know the sex. She's turned into a surprising mother hen.
Could be the lack of mothering she had when she was growing up.
But I turn away from sad thoughts.
Today's my baby shower, and I'm going to have happy ones.
I no longer allow sad to find me. I choose happy.
Each day.
*
“You can't peek, Faren,” Kiki says, loving the suspense.
We're on our tenth kitschy baby shower game, and she promises this is the last one.
Liar, liar tits on fire.
The blindfold makes me hot, and I squirm in my chair. I’m wearing the beautiful gray tunic-length top Kiki got for me months ago, even though it's too warm.
I love it.
A good memory from when everything was bad.
“Ready?” she asks.
I nod.
She tears off the blindfold, and I take in the quilt hanging from a wood pole.
Pictures of me.
Mom.
Kiki.
Mick.
Each snapshot represents my past. They also represent my future. I have one now.
My eyes run over each photo, applique stitching expertly twining the perimeter of each square to secure the memory forever.
The square in the center holds my most recent sonogram.
I look at Kiki. “You're so sneaky.”
Kiki stands and points at a tiny penis. “It took some doing.”
I laugh.
“I don't know what you had to do to get ahold of that photo.”
She winks. “You don't wanna know.”
We laugh.
Sue from work brings out the food. Mom shifts in her chair, doing ankle rotation exercises as she smiles at me.
I stare at the proof of life in front of me.
Mine.
> And my baby boy.
~ 13 ~
“Stop squirming, you pain in my ass,” Kiki reprimands.
I bite my lip, staring at the three images of me.
“I don't know if I should be wearing white, is all.”
“Oh, horse puckey.” Kiki rolls her eyes, and the seamstress wisely says nothing, rolling the hem as I stand on a dais-like platform. “It's off-white anyway.”
“You know what I mean.”
The seamstress smiles. I see her traitorous expression in the reflection. I grump, folding my arms.
“Arms hanging, please,” she says from the floor.
I sigh and drop my arms.
The waistline is slightly empire. It’s very fitted and flares only slightly below my huge breasts.
The bodice offers them up like two pieces of succulent fruit.
Kiki's eyes follow mine.
“Girl, you do have the tah-tahs now.”
“Hmm...” I think I look kinda... I don't know… oozy.
“You look awesome. Mick's gonna pop a boner when he sees you in that.”
“Ouch!” the seamstress mutters.
We watch her suck blood off the finger she stabbed.
Kiki smirks.
I stare at the reflection. My hair spills along the short-sleeved top.
Kiki walks up behind me, lifting my heavy hair into a twisty temp up-do.
“There,” she murmurs softly.
My creamy skin contrasts with the light coffee of hers. She lays her cheek against my shoulder, one hand buried in my hair.
I watch my hand rise in the mirror and cover her head, tucking it against my neck.
“I love you,” I say.
Her large brown eyes meet mine in the mirror.
“Love you more.”
The seamstress fusses at the hem, but Kiki and I stay wrapped together. Our gratefulness for life supersedes everything else.
Kiki promises I'll be the most beautiful bride who ever lived.
I agree.
There probably isn't anyone more grateful for the chance.
*
Thank God I'm awesome on heels because Kiki's choice are skyscrapers.
Mick's so tall that he still has me by a couple of inches.
I'm so cliché. I want June, and that's what I get.
Mom pushes her walker forward, and I take a step.