by Lila Felix
He cleared his throat. Sally meowed, parroting her new owner. “Tomorrow, Eric is going to give me that swamp tour. If you’re not busy, maybe you can come?”
The question halted my steps. “If you don’t want to, it’s fine. I just thought it would be a good opportunity to get some new pictures. You know, for my agent.”
For his agent. Of course.
“What time?”
“Eight in the morning. Blake will be here in the afternoon. Something about his wife.”
“I’ll be there.” I took up going back to my apartment when he started up again.
“Hey, Lyra.”
“Yeah, Crown?”
“Do you know how to cook chicken?”
Chapter Seventeen
Crown
Gators versus Crocodiles
“Stop it, Tip. Poor girl. She just couldn’t help it.”
Tippi was funny. Her punky black hair was indicative of her feisty personality. She had Lyra rolling in laughter.
Okay, maybe me too.
“So, it was the shoes?”
Lyra took up the slack of the conversation since Tippi was now gripping her stomach with laughing pains. “They were making us walk in platform heels on one of those eggshell mattress cover things. It was supposed to be emulate space or something. I took it real slow. But this girl—I don’t even remember her name—she went out there¸ full force and just plowed face first into the camera. Her face was bloodied. The camera fell over and broke. It was insane.”
I felt like such an idiot here. What were platforms? Those things that preachers stood on?
“What are platform heels?”
My question caused Tippi to bounce up and down in her chair, her mouth now full of wine. Eventually she swallowed and nodded yes in Lyra’s direction while Lyra was shaking her head no.
“Lyra has the pair—in her closet—right now. She always buys something from each set. Usually the dresses, but this time, she bought the shoes.”
“Ahem! I have the dress too. Give Me Some Space.”
Not only did I want to see the shoes—I assumed they were talking about shoes—but now I needed to see the shoes.
“I think I need to see the shoes, as a visual to the story.”
Tippi smiled and blushed. “Yeah, Lyra, he needs a visual. You know how men are visual.”
Lyra stared at me for a few wordless seconds. “Hold on.”
She raced into her bedroom leaving Tippi and I alone.
“She names her dresses.”
“Huh?” I was so eloquent around these people. Not really. Something happened when I landed in this horrid place, my knuckles were practically dragging the floor.
“It’s a quirk of hers. She names her dresses.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” Lyra entered and on her fingers hung a pair of shoes that caused a shudder to rip through me.
Damn, how that woman must look wearing those.
“I was telling Crown about you naming your dresses.”
She ignored her friend.
“These are the damned things. I nearly broke my ankles.”
Tippi got up from the table and grabbed a second bottle of wine. I didn’t miss the look of disapproval Lyra gave her.
“Me thinks the model needs to model the shoes.” Tippi said, pouring herself a third glass, maybe a fourth.
“Did you not just hear me say that I almost broke my ankles?”
Lyra popped her fists up on her hips.
“But you didn’t, so put them on before I tell Crown all your other secrets.”
I thought Lyra growled. She did growl.
“I’d like to see them on you.” I choked out.
Lyra stroked her neck as she and Tippi had some kind of conversation with their expressions back and forth. The motion of her hand reminded me of earlier in the day. I’d felt her lips on my neck before when we were taking the picture. Technically, it wasn’t breaking her rules. It wasn’t my mouth.
If Lyra kissing my neck felt like that, kissing her mouth might just kill me.
“Nope. I like my ankles and the last thing I need is a busted lip or a black eye. Anyway, it looks like you need to be driven home and I have an early morning.”
Lyra drove Tippi home and I went home alone. I didn’t want to. For the first time, I’d wanted to invite Lyra over and just talk to her more. My time here was limited. I had an unexplainable hunger to get my fill of her before I couldn’t anymore.
I’d never known anything like her. She was nice. She wasn’t nice to me because I paid her to be or because she wanted something from me.
It was everyone. The woman was nice to everyone.
She gave without hesitation—like it was what she was born to do.
Her naïve nature attracted me to her more and more by the day. The only reason I did things was to receive something back. The only reason I gave was to get. The only reason I ate was to get performance from my body. The only reason I ran was to play and get paid.
Everything I did was about give and take.
Everything about Lyra was give and give and give.
I didn’t have anything to give back to her.
After a shower, I went to bed, plugging my phone in first. The picture I’d taken of us earlier had gone wild on social media. The likes and comments on it were outrageous. I’d even gotten an email from Gina saying she needed more to work with, but it was a good start.
Leaned over the phone from my bed, I stared at the picture for an hour at least. Even without showing her face, there was no doubt how beautiful she was.
I’d chosen one picture in particular that showed me in a different light. I was almost unrecognizable to myself in that picture. My hair was disheveled, without my usual gel and hair to keep it cemented in place.
I looked normal.
And happy.
I made it my wallpaper on my phone, thinking it would be good if anyone were to see my phone.
Good for the deal.
Good for our agreement.
Rolling over, I got comfortable and waited for her night call to me. When the first sounds of her cathedral of shutting cabinets and closing windows began, a smile rose on my face.
Only a few more weeks.
That whisper of remembrance used to comfort me. But that night, along with its reminder that I would be getting back to my life came with a hint of regret. This lullaby I’d gotten used to hearing night after night would end soon and I’d be left to my own devices to fall asleep.
Getting out of bed, I sat next to the wall I shared with Lyra and pressed my ear to the wall. If I didn’t have very many of these left, I would savor the ones I did have.
With all the cabinet shut and the windows opened and shut, I heard her move to the bathroom. Her bathroom cabinet made a raunchy squeak when opened, so I knew where she was that moment that I first heard her scream.
If I hadn’t been hobbling, I would’ve made it to her sooner. Her door was locked—she’d done it three times, it had better be locked.
The flowered curtain on the window pulled back and she looked absolutely terrified.
“What is it?” I practically yelled at her.
“The mirror.”
All the lights were off. I could only see what she looked like by the light on the porch.
“Turn on the lights so I can see.”
Her arms were wrapped right around herself, her hands making her robe come up tight around her neck like a turtleneck. She shook her head no, but it looked like more of a nervous tick than a real answer.
“Do you have a flashlight?”
She plucked one from her pocket and thrust it in my direction.
“The bathroom.”
“Yeah.”
I shone the light around with Lyra fisting the back of my shirt like a lifeline. She walked with me, her face pressed between my shoulder blades. If she wasn’t careful she was going to get us tangled and nothing would be solved.
“What is it?”
“Look.” She grabbed the flashlight from me and pointed it to a corner of the cabinet. It was the tiniest bit crooked and a screw was missing. I took the light back and flashed it around the room, finally seeing the missing screw on the floor.
“If you did this, just tell me. At least I’ll know.”
“I didn’t break your mirror, Lyra. It’s just a screw.”
“The towel was down too.” She pointed to the brazenly lavender towel that covered the mirror once again.
“Maybe Tippi did it. She was a little—tipsy.”
“Let me call her.”
The whole time she’d never unwrapped herself from me. Once we’d hit the bathroom, her arms had flown around my waist and stayed there ever since. She was shaking like a leaf. I didn’t understand, for the life of me, what about a mirror would scare someone that badly, but clearly it had. When Tippi answered the phone, Lyra could barely get the question out of her mouth. Even her voice was shaking.
While she talked, I inspected the mirror thinking I would find a snake or a roach carcass. Nothing was there. Nothing.
“It was her.” The admission caused her to collapse to the floor in a heap.
“She broke the mirror?”
“She says yes. She wouldn’t lie. Not about that.”
“Okay.”
Looking down at her, I couldn’t help but empathize with the fear she obviously felt. Panic took over. The desire to comfort her swelled in my chest.
There was only one problem. I didn’t know how.
Every cell in my body demanded that I ease her pain.
She began to cry again. I slumped down beside her and grabbed her up, pulling her into my lap. I held her as tight as I could, wrapping my arms around her waist and around her shoulders.
“It’s just a mirror.”
That only made her cries grow louder.
God, why did I have to be that helpless? I knew nothing of comfort, especially comforting a woman. I only knew one thing about a woman and it only bordered on comfort.
The thing about Lyra was—she was always there to help me.
With her arms now around my neck, she turned, winding herself around my torso. Her face went to my neck again and I thought deep down that my neck was made for this. It was made for Lyra to hide from the world.
Lyra had given me a purpose I didn’t know I was searching for.
Maybe I was there to protect her.
After a while, I thought she might be uncomfortable, so I shifted. But her arms just laced around me tighter. “Don’t go. Not yet.”
She needed me. No one needed Crown Sterling—no one. They wanted me to play making myself and them money in the process.
But no one had ever needed me—my presence.
“I’m here. I’m just gonna move us.” Well, that’s what I wanted to do, but my knee wouldn’t let me bear that much weight. “Let’s get up and get you off the bathroom floor.”
Lyra got up but even in all the shifting and moving to the living room, she never let me go completely. She fisted my shirt, held my arm, and even once my hand—but never let go.
I’d had my ego built up before—mostly bloated out of proportion by my own words and actions. Lyra needing me and my touch gave me a pride that went beyond cheers and applause.
Lyra needing me made me want to become whatever she needed most.
I sat on the big chair in her living room and she didn’t hesitate to climb into my lap and curl every part of her around me, avoiding my knee. Even in her distress, she was considerate and kind.
How did she get that way?
There were so many questions I wanted to ask her. I wanted to know why the mirrors were covered in the first place. I wanted to know her routine inch by inch and the whys behind it.
Mostly I wanted to know how a woman as beautiful as her could not want to see her own reflection.
She shivered in my arms. There were blankets all over her house. Every chair, every couch, and even one of the tables had blankets and quilts tossed and folded on them. Either she was really cold all the time or she had a blanket fetish. If she did, it sounded like a good one to have. Maybe they made her feel safe. I used to do that—tuck myself so tightly into the blankets that nothing could get me.
There were two draped over the chair we sat in, so I pulled and tugged until it covered her.
She was asleep.
Her lids were closed, giving me the best view of what I thought were the longest eyelashes I’d seen. She must do something to them to make them that long. Her lids fluttered and I wondered what Lyra dreamed about.
I wondered if it was a nightmare or a fantasy.
After a while, she warmed and fit against me like a second skin. I could’ve held her like that all night. This whole thing was completely foreign to me. It was like I was in a different world and I’d become a different person around her.
I wasn’t sure if I liked him or not.
He certainly wasn’t the Crown Sterling I knew.
Not that Crown Sterling was much to know.
This girl scared so easily—once before with the window and that night with the mirror. It hit me that she may be frightened if she woke up with me. The last thing I wanted to do was see fear on her face again.
It took almost a half hour to maneuver myself from under her. It didn’t matter. As she curled up around the chair pillow that I’d just been sitting on, I knew the flaw in my logic.
Lyra didn’t need me.
She needed warmth.
Anyone would’ve done the job.
Hell, a heating pad could’ve comforted her better than I had.
Then my world shattered. The world could’ve opened up and swallowed me whole at that moment and I would’ve died a happy man.
Lyra called my name in her sleep.
It was my undoing.
And Crown Sterling was never undone.
I finally tore myself away from her, walking backwards through her house until I hit the door. I would see her the next day.
Chapter Eighteen
Lyra
Eye Boogers
Everything from the night before was a blur. It wasn’t surprising. Most of my fits left me with bits and pieces of the memories. Maybe I blocked it from my memory as a defense mechanism.
What I did remember, I recalled early the next morning, was Crown. He was the last person in the world I’d expected to ever come to my rescue.
For someone that selfish and self-absorbed, he’d pulled me through perfectly. He wasn’t scared to use his strength to hold me. Most people may have thought it was too tight, his hold, but it made me feel secure, like he was strong enough to contain my fear and not allow it to get the best of me.
Then I woke up and he was gone.
My first reaction was hurt, but after three cups of coffee and some good old fashioned female mulling over—I was livid.
I was a practiced professional at over analyzing these things and I’d done it to Crown’s actions until I couldn’t separate fiction from fact. At what point had he decided I wasn’t worth the time or the effort and just left me there to sleep on that chair? What reasoning did he give himself that would justify my hurt in the morning?
Probably the same logic he used on every other girl.
That’s the main point that I was forgetting.
I was just another girl to Crown. Part of a deal, part of his plan. As soon as he was finished with me he’d put my bags by the door and call me a cab—that was his pattern and I was just another stitch in it.
I was stupid to think otherwise.
As I folded up the blanket he’d slapped on me, I steeled myself once again against him.
This was about business. That was it.
I didn’t even sound convinced in my own head.
After showering, I slipped on a pair of cut-offs and a purple tank top. My hair got thrown up into a ponytail and I grabbed my cute polka dot rubber boots.
I would go forward with this plan so I could
move ahead with my own plan. Everything was set, I just needed more money.
Yes, I could do this.
I grabbed my purse and locked the door behind me, making doubly sure it was closed well. One day it would all stop, the paranoia, the worrying—all of it would stop.
“Good morning.” Crown sat on his front stoop, tying his sneakers. He didn’t look rested at all.
“Good morning.” I checked my watch. “We are a little early. Did you want to stop for coffee?”
He chuckled. “I haven’t had coffee shop coffee in weeks. That would be great. Thank you.”
Three weeks in the South and the boy had grown a full set of manners. Imagine that.
“Where’s Sally?”
He smiled just a tinge before answering. “She’s in a laundry basket. I need to get her some food. She got my last can of tuna this morning.
I giggled, imagining the tiny snowcap nose deep in a can of tuna overseen by her new friend. “Yeah, we can do that.”
I didn’t say a word from our homes to the coffee shop. I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about how adorable he must look daunting over that kitten or how much of a spazoid I must’ve seemed like crawling all over him.
He must’ve thought I was pathetic.
We pulled up to the coffee shop a few minutes later. I used to come to this place all the time, but then after the date with Houston, I gave it up. He was the manager there and the whole thing just felt uncomfortable. But it was on the way to Eric’s dock, so it would have to do.
“What do you want?” I asked Crown.
“I’m getting out. I wouldn’t even begin to know what to order. You’ll have to help me again.”
But I couldn’t get out of the car just yet because after he finished speaking and before he got out, Crown Sterling winked at me.
Winked.
Like he had feelings and shit.
By the time I collected myself, he was already at the counter talking to Houston. He turned as I entered and with two fingers beckoned me to join him. He probably used those fingers to beckon all the help—and other things.
“What do you want?” Crown asked me.
“She drinks a cinnamon latte, whole milk.” Houston answered before I could.
Crown looked between us, not once but twice. I nodded in response to Houston’s quick memory. I moved to pay for my own drink, but Crown clamped down on my hand when I reached for my purse.