by Sarah Dosher
“I don’t have anything going on, no plans. I just want to help you, please let me keep my promise.” I told her, even though it was a lie. I had every possibility at happiness asleep in the next room, but I would not forsake Angela. Never.
“Deacon, no. I can’t be your problem forever.” She croaked, and I knew the tears were returning.
“No baby-doll. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll be there to get you. Please don’t do this to me, just let me come – I need to.”
She exhaled a long, ragged breath. “I’m walking back to my apartment, I’m not far; I can see the door.”
“Thank you, was that so hard?” I exhaled harshly. “I’m on my way right now. I’m not far, I’ll be there in minutes.”
I hung up the phone and crammed it into my back pocket. I wanted to scream FUCK at the top of my lungs, and punch my fist through the wall, but I also didn’t want to scare everyone in the house. So instead, I did what I’d always done with emotions I shouldn’t have, I pushed them down as deep as they would go and tried to forget them.
Angela had done me a favor, though; she’d brought me back to reality. No matter how much I wanted to bury myself deep in Eli and let her wash it all away, getting mixed up with a low life like me would never be something she’d do long term, and I wasn’t sure I could accept anything less and maintain what little fucking sanity I had left.
Chapter Twelve
Eli Blue
My whole body shifted and I heard a vibrating sound, followed by footsteps. I opened my eyes and saw I was in my living room, on my couch. The TV was playing Tom and Jerry cartoons, but the sound was too low to hear. I sat up and saw Willow and Duke laying on the love seat across from me. The glowing clock on the wall told me I’d slept here all night, and I was going to be late for work. I rubbed my eyes, thinking back to how I’d gotten here.
My thoughts flashed back to the hallway and Deacon, our mouths moving, our tongues licking. After we’d been caught by Willow and Duke, they talked us into hanging out with them since everyone else had left. The only problem with that plan was they were actually more interested in dry humping on my love seat than they were in hanging out with us.
The last thing I remember was Deacon placing a pillow on his lap and pulling my head down. He ran his fingers through my hair and teased my face with light strokes. I fell asleep gazing into his clear blue eyes.
My heart sank when I looked around the room and saw he was gone – where was he? I remembered the familiar vibrating noise that woke me; it could have been his cell phone. I heard footsteps in the kitchen, so I slowly crept down the hall, listening intently. I wasn’t sure what’d I say if I found him, but I needed to know if he was still here.
I could hear Luci purring, which meant Deacon was probably close by.
“Damnit, Angela, just fucking tell me where you are?” I heard his voice echo down the hallway.
I peeked around the corner and saw him pacing from one end of the room to the other, with Luci feverishly chasing after him. His phone was to his ear and he didn’t look happy about whatever he was hearing.
“No baby-doll. Just tell me where you are and I’ll be there to get you. Please don’t do this to me, just let me come – I need to.” He said desperately, and my heart ached at the sound. Who was Angela…baby-doll?
As he paced back toward the doorframe I was hiding behind, I pulled back so he wouldn’t see me. I panicked, thinking he’d catch me eavesdropping, so I ran as silently as I could back to the couch and threw myself down. I could still hear his voice, but couldn’t hear what he was saying.
There was a slight scraping sound on the carpet and then Luci’s purr. I kept my eyes closed and tried my best to steady my breathing. He didn’t say anything at first, but I could hear his slow intake of air and long, steady exhales, the same breathing I had fallen asleep to last night.
“See ya, devil cat. Take care of her, okay?” He whispered and Luci meowed in response.
Then I didn’t hear his breathing anymore. I opened my eyes, but he was gone.
I didn’t move a muscle for a long time, I guess I thought if I didn’t move off of the couch he would come back—he’d said he wanted to hang out today, I knew I hadn’t dreamed that one up. After a while, I knew I was wrong, not only about him not coming back, but possibly about him all together, and I finally forced myself to my room. The reflection in my vanity mirror showed a true glimpse into what I felt like on the inside – sad and pitiful. Sad because I’d allowed some small part of myself to open up to Deacon, and the possibility of a future with him, however small that future might have been. Pitiful because I was sad, which was a total loop of despair. I finally had the balls to open up a little, and in less than thirty-six hours he’d already ripped my heart out, stomped on it, and then grinded it into the ground with his kick-ass rocker boots. And I’m sure he had no clue what he’d done—the male species never understands.
I shook my head, rolled my shoulders back and forth several times then pointed at my reflection, “Suck it up, Buttercup. He ain’t worth it, so drop it and move forward—never back.” I said to myself. Those words, “forward—never back”, brought flashes of my dream last night, which wasn’t what I wanted to think about or focus on. I pushed the images of shiny shards and faceless men out of my mind and put on a ton of makeup to keep my emotions from showing on my face.
I found the sexiest outfit I could, that was still work friendly, and slipped into it. Black capris, shimmery V-neck cami, my favorite blue sweater, and my black fuck-me heels. A girl’s best defense against sadness was looking good enough to eat, and that’s what I planned to do. I didn’t want to look good for anyone else, just for me—because I deserved it.
I crept down the stairs because I saw Willow and Duke still asleep on the love seat. They really were disgustingly cute. She was tucked perfectly in his embrace with her head resting on his chest. She shifted slightly and I saw his hand rub small circles on her back. A small part of my heart warmed.
I opened the front door to find the absolute last person I wanted to deal with today sitting on the steps.
“I didn’t realize you kept such odd hours. I think your father would have even been to work by now.” My mother said, as she stood and faced me.
“Hello, mother.” I said as calmly as possible, considering what I really wanted to do was scream at her to go away and never come back.
“Hello, daughter.” She replied.
I didn’t speak; I just waited for her to tell me what she could possibly want.
“I guess that’s all we got for small talk?” She asked with an eye roll.
“Yeah, I guess so.” I answered bitterly.
“I need some money, Elizabeth.” She finally laid it out there.
“I sent you money last week.” I pointed out.
“I need more.”
“What for?”
“I found some real talent, this guy’s got more talent in his pinkie finger than your dad ever dreamed of having. I can’t let him get away.”
“So you want me to fund your latest boyfriend’s dreams of stardom? Not gonna happen!” I said and pushed my way past her toward my car.
“It’s not like that baby-girl, he’s real good. It won’t be like the last times.”
I stopped, turning to look at her. She wasn’t the same woman I once loved. Life had battered and bruised her beyond my eyes’ recognition. The only resemblance this woman had to my mother was her small frame and bleach blonde hair. Even her once glowing eyes were now dull and lifeless.
“No. I can’t finance a musician unless I want Savage Man tied to him. I don’t know this guy, and honestly, mother, I don’t trust your judgment of what his talents may, or may not, be.”
I turned to walk away and felt her grab me by my long hair that hung down my back.
“You ungrateful bitch, you really are just like your father!” She shrieked as she spun me around. “The minute you gain an ounce of control, you forget about the one
s that made you. I fucking made him, and I made you. Ungrateful bastards!”
***
Deacon
The whole drive to Angela’s I felt the blood coursing through my veins and heard the whooshing in my ears—and it was fucking annoying as shit. I kept picturing Eli curled up on the couch with her sexy little shorts hiked up almost high enough I could see the curve where her legs met her sweet spot; I couldn’t stop licking my lips, wishing I was licking her. I rammed the heel of my hand into my forehead several times, HARD, hoping to rattle the nonstop sex fest from my brain. My focus needed to be on Angela right now, for just a little while, and once I got her straightened out, I’d allow myself to morph back into the dirty, perverted man I currently was and find someone to rid me of the ache residing between my legs.
I could see Angela’s curly afro dancing in the breeze before I even parked. She looked exactly like the day I met her, barely eleven years old, except along the way, her body matured and started drawing attention she couldn’t handle. Frankly, Angela was fucking gorgeous, and always had been. She could give a man a hard-on from a mile away with just a glimpse. But her looks had completely destroyed her, everyone wanted something from her because of her beauty, and she trusted people she shouldn’t. She’d trust the homeless drug addict to house sit for her if he offered. On the day God handed out the beauty genes Angela was present and stayed for overtime, but the day common sense was delved out, her ass must have been absent.
Angela was all dark chocolate skin, long legs, with a body that would kill any man. Her eyes were light gray with black-rimmed edges, and they were so bright, they almost glowed in the dark. She’d always left her hair natural, and it was actually one of my favorite things about her, it was big and wild. Her beauty didn’t rule her; honestly, I’m not sure she comprehended how beautiful she was because she’d been beaten down and screwed over so many times.
Just as I parked at the end of the block, a delivery truck moved, giving me a better view of Angela—she wasn’t alone. There was a short, fat man looming in front of her, and he looked pissed. I shook my head as annoyance filtered through me, just what I freaking needed to deal with today. Then, as I got close enough to see the sheer amount of fear residing on Angela’s face, my fists clenched and every muscle in my body prepared to strike. My balls kicked into overdrive, and I felt a rush of testosterone course through my veins screaming to pound that dick’s face into the pavement.
I was less than ten feet away when Angela finally spotted me, and I saw a different kind of emotion from her—shame. But I also saw something else on her face: a large busted lip and one of her eyes was swollen shut. The man had his hand wrapped around her arm and, almost in slow motion, I saw his hand fly up and slap her across the face. Her head jerked back, like she was in some cheesy soap opera, but I knew her reaction was real. I didn’t think; my entire body just launched. Luckily, I hit my intended target, and the man went smashing to the ground.
“Deacon!” Angela shrieked, but I didn’t hear anything after that.
He was still on the ground, but rolled to his back and glared up at me. I saw two things on his face—one, the fact he was a fucking coward, as if knowing he hit women wasn’t enough, his eyes were moving fast, from side to side, trying to find a quick escape; and two, he was an ugly motherfucker, so I knew the fight between him and Angela wasn’t a lover’s quarrel. Before he even had a chance to jump to his feet, I grabbed him by the collar of his dirty shirt and jerked him up. My fist clenched automatically and connected with the side of his face.
“How does that feel, motherfucker?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Not so fun when it’s happening to you, huh?”
“Stop, Deacon, stop!” Angela screamed, but once again I ignored her and pulled the man closer to my face, staring deep into his dead eyes.
“What the fuck were you doing hitting my sister?” I asked.
He laughed, “That bitch ain’t your sister.”
“She damn sure is!” I spit back.
“She’s the wrong fucking color to be your sister. If you’re fucking her, it’s alright with me, just don’t deny you’re fucking the-“
My fist cut him off before he could finish and didn’t stop. I hadn’t counted the number of impacts, but I knew my left hook had hit him thoroughly because of the ache in my hand and the blood dripping to the ground. I finally released him when my heaving breaths drowned out the sobs coming from Angela. His body was completely dead weight and made an ungodly crushing sound when it hit the concrete sidewalk below. But I didn’t give a damn about him; you don’t lay a hand on what’s mine. He just learned that the hard way.
I turned to Angela and saw her eyes focused on the man, which infuriated me even further. I wrapped my hand around her chin turning her gaze back to me.
“Don’t look at him, don’t fucking look at him again.”
She didn’t say anything, but her eyes answered “yes” for her, and the crying stopped. Her mouth opened, ready to speak, and I knew the only thing that was going to slither across her lips were lies. I put my hand up, cutting the words off in her throat.
“I don’t want to hear it, go get your shit, and get your ass back down here.”
She didn’t move an inch, she stood completely frozen.
“Angela, go get your shit, now! I’m not gonna stand here all day, I will haul your ass outta here with just the clothes on your back.”
“How long will I be gone?” She asked with a shaky voice.
“However long it takes for the drugs to leave your system, and for you to, once again, screw your goddamn head on straight.”
“It’s not like that, I’m fine.” She said with a reassuring smile only a lying drug addict could give.
I pushed the sleeve of her shirt up, exposing the tell-tale signs of a needle junkie, which was always her go-to method of delivery.
“If you’re clean, you should really have a doctor look at that.” I said, pointing to her arm.
She jerked it away and rubbed her hand slowly over the fabric covering her track marks. When her eyes met mine, she nodded, and turned to enter her apartment building.
The man coughed and slowly stood from the ground.
“It ain’t ending like this, you tell Angela she owes me, and I always get what’s mine.”
Chapter Thirteen
Eli Blue
“Get your hands off of her, Christie.” I heard come from behind me.
My mother’s eyes moved to look over my head instead of drilling into me.
“Fuck off, Shaw.” She snapped.
I felt Shaw’s hands engulf my waist and pull me to his side. Even though I didn’t want it to, it felt good—safe. I knew him, the feel of his entire being.
“I think you need to calm down, get in your piece of shit car, and drive away. Attacking your daughter won’t get you any favors.” He said coldly.
“Of course, take her side. Everyone always took their side, her and her shitty dad. No one ever listens to me. No one cares about me.” She whined, the sound raking against my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard.
“Grow up, mother!” I shouted. “Grow up and be an adult, for once in your miserable life, and then maybe someone would actually listen to what you have to say.”
My eyes were burning, and I could feel tears welling in my throat. Swallowing, I tried to push them down, but they felt like a hand squeezing tighter and tighter until I felt a single tear roll down my cheek.
“Fuck! Don’t cry. Not the fucking tears, I can’t handle them! Every single time.” She groaned then ran her hands through her greasy hair.
“Leave, Christie, right now!” Shaw demanded.
He pushed me behind him and took two steps toward her. Shaw wasn’t a violent man, but most knew not to fuck with him, or what he considered his. In all the years I’d known him, I’d never seen him in an actual fight, usually all he had to do was stand up and everyone backed down.
Shaw was a big guy, everything about him was lar
ge. He was 6’5” with broad shoulders and bulging muscles. He’d been tall and broad ever since I could remember, even as my best friend at the age of three he had been the one to sneak in cookie jar because I couldn’t reach it. But the muscles, they were an addition that came later in our teen years, and I’d appreciated them even more than the cookies.
My mother leaned around Shaw and pointed in my face.
“One day you’ll get what’s coming to you for dishonoring me, your father did. But you, little princess, yours will be even worse.” She snarled and spit flew from her mouth like a rabid dog.
“Enough!” Shaw shouted and pushed her away. A low guttural sound was coming from him, and I knew he’d had enough. Apparently, so did my mother because she quickly retreated and disappeared down the tree-lined road.
“Come here, baby, I’m so sorry.” Shaw pulled me into his strong arms, and I felt myself relax into him. He’d hurt me, but I couldn’t hate him. Not loving Shaw was like cutting my own arm off; I knew I’d never be able to live without him. No matter what happened between us romantically, he was still one of the only people I truly trusted to be there for me. I didn’t trust him with my heart anymore, but he’d picked me up, broken and battered, more times than I could count, and I knew he always would, no matter what.
I pushed my face into his shirt and inhaled his familiar scent and even that had changed about him with time. The tears were back, and even stronger than before. Everything was wrong. I didn’t know how my heart was still beating and hadn’t given up the fighting yet. The tears streamed down my face and pooled in his overly expensive button down blue shirt I was positive he’d worn just for me.
“Shh, baby it’s okay. She’s gone.” He said as he ran his hand under my cami to soothe my back, skin to skin. His touch was nice, exactly what I needed, even if it wasn’t who I wanted it to be.
Needs and wants are a strange concoction of carnality and common sense that were never meant to exist harmoniously. I’d lived my entire life focused on what everyone else needed, and never what I wanted. Then, the one time I gave in to my wants, they disappeared at the beck and call of a girl named Angela. I vowed to worry more about myself and less about everyone else because if I didn’t, then who would.