by Lane Hart
“Well, that little bastard said he was in graduate school now and knew you personally when you were an attending student. Ohhh, he droned on and on about how you were a party girl and liked to cozy up to all the frat brothers, drinking beer, and shaking your little ass. No wonder you got kicked out.”
“I didn’t get kicked out, Mom. I withdrew, remember?”
“Who gives a shit? Either way, this is all YOUR doing, Michelle. You should have known better than to run around town acting like a slutbag. You’re nothing more than a common whore.”
“Mom, please, I’m begging you. I never meant for any of this to happen. It wasn’t my—”
“It was ALL your fault, Michelle,” she hissed in my ear. “Next time, keep your legs closed and your clothes on, then perhaps you’ll avoid getting yourself in trouble and causing more embarrassment to this family. If I’d known you were going to be such a failure, I would have aborted you the minute I found out I was pregnant.”
She was acting completely unreasonable over something that wasn’t my fault and had had no control over. Whomever she spoke with was a complete liar and a fraud. I never did any of those things she mentioned. If she wouldn’t believe me, I had to convince someone I was telling the truth. Anyone.
“Can you put Dad on the phone? I want to talk to him… please.”
“No way in hell, young lady. I won’t allow you to cause him any more stress than you already have. Do us all a favor and don’t ever call this house again. You’re dead to us.”
Click.
I got out of the car and stood stiffly in the middle of the driveway. My purse dangled haphazardly from one hand, and my phone was gripped tightly in the other. The words my mother had spewed played on repeat inside my head while my heart crumbled to pieces on the asphalt. Death was imminent, and I welcomed it. There was a weight inside my chest, a heaviness that wouldn’t allow for the circulation of air to fill my lungs. I felt as if I were drowning on solid land. Not much longer now. The pain was nearly over. Time passed, a few minutes or perhaps hours, yet I was rooted in place happily convinced that it was all finally over. The fear and shame I’d once felt disappeared into the quiet of the evening breeze. My soul disintegrated in a puff of smoke, and I celebrated the relief, the finality of it all. Death meant I was no longer the prey or the victim of my circumstances. I was finally free to just be… me.
“The fuck?”
“What’s wrong with her? Like… Is she high or something? Ask her if she has any more.”
“Get the fuck outa here. Find your own way back to town. Done with you.”
“Really, Dread? Thought you wanted to party. What is this shit?”
“Stupid cunt!” I heard roared. “I said, get the fuck lost.”
“Humph. Looser.”
Heaven wasn’t at all what I’d thought it would be. That annoying high-pitched squawk coming from one of the other angels was enough to make me grind my molars until they cracked in half. Not to mention all the profanity allowed in this joint. If this was the hereafter, purgatory must really be live and kicking. I could get used to a place like this! I remembered a sermon I’d heard once in church when I was a kid. The pastor had said that when you stepped inside the Pearly Gates, you’d feel the love and comfort surrounding you from everything and everyone you’d ever cared for in your life. He’d said that when you finally opened your eyes, you’d see your spirit guide, and that person would be with you always on a righteous path through paradise.
I took a deep breath and raised my head to gape at the image before me.
He was beautiful everywhere, from head to toe.
Jerome Red. Rome.
Death hadn’t arrived to save me this night. Instead, the gods saw fit to send a woman-hating manwhore to steal the last of my soul and suck the last droplets of life from my body. Death would’ve been the lesser of two evils. One blink, and reality came crashing back down, rendering me boneless, unable to hold steady upright on shaky, listless legs. Before Rome could comment or walk away, I lunged for him, or more to the point, fell into his chest and wrapped my arms around his neck for support. I rested against him, limp and defeated.
I silently prayed he wouldn’t deny me his comfort.
He was the only thing I had left.
Dread
Jesus fuck.
My skin burned as I yanked the thin sheet from across my body and attempted to sit upright. The mattress was dislodged from atop the box spring and hung sideways from off the bedframe. It was a wonder I didn’t fall over headfirst and bust my ass. Four used rubbers lay scattered around the nightstand while another was draped upside down from the lampshade with a gob of half-dried cum sticking from its opening. I scrubbed a hand over my face and took a look around the room at the rest of the damage. The chest of drawers was turned over on its side, the blinds were suspended from the window sill busted to hell, and there was a goddamn hole the size of a grapefruit through the otherwise perfectly spackled drywall. The only thing that surprised me about that whole scene was the fact that I was alone and couldn’t remember when that happened. Bitches were allowed to leave when I said so, not before. Not after.
Jesus fuck.
Everything ached.
I slowly climbed to me feet and stepped inside the bathroom, turning on the light along the way. I caught sight of my naked body in the mirror and sucked in a sharp breath when I realized why my skin was on fire. Raised scratches crisscrossed the front of my chest in angry lines, both horizontally and vertically, from my neck to my torso. I stood there staring with a wicked smile on my lips as I replayed the turn of events that happened the night before over again in my head. The client had flipped his shit over my last abstract design and had paid me in crisp one-hundred-dollar bills right there on the spot. Fox couldn’t believe his eyes when the saw the final project. His praise of my work had made me feel uncomfortable; it was foreign and unfamiliar, but it was also real. He was proud, and I much preferred that look on him than the previous scowl of disappointment after our heated argument. The tattoo artist commissioned to do the work was called Dead Man around the studio, and the name was well deserved. He was one of the best I’d ever seen in the business, a journeyman who had a permanent station at Masonry Ink but didn’t call Remington his home. I found that strange considering the shop’s reputation for keeping the best artists in-house. When I’d questioned Fox about it, he’d said, “Not all who wander are lost.” Whatever the fuck that meant.
I’d let it go.
Silently, he went about his work in meticulous detail worthy enough to be hanging in the Gagosian Gallery instead of inked across some asshole’s skin. The extent of his approval was a chin lift and a bump of the client occupying his chair, so he could start immediately instead of waiting for his next trip to town. The feeling of accomplishment was indescribable, and I knew just how I wanted to celebrate.
Knee deep in some hot, wet pussy.
Maybe a beer or two. What the hell.
I went to my new favorite spot and easily picked up a willing body anxious to go home with me. Kim or Karen, I think her name was. By the end of the night, she’d have to settle for baby girl just like all the other women who made it to my bed. I hit her with the same rules I always did when selecting a strange cunt to take home and bone. No kissing, no back talk, and no staying over once the fucking was done. She readily agreed. No surprise there; they always did until the time came to hit the bricks. That’s when the real trouble started. Kicking and screaming, calling me all types of motherfuckers, hoping I’d change my mind, begging for a fucking do-over. I’d heard it all before and never took a second look.
Tonight would be no different.
They all wanted more than they deserved.
We pulled up in front of the house just after midnight. The bitch next to me was already creaming in her panties, begging for the promised fuck. I was momentarily distracted by a figure standing in the middle of the driveway; head down, shoulders slumped, not moving a muscle. Once I
realized it was my housemate and was able to rule out an intruder, I stepped from the car and approached. She didn’t acknowledge me, nor did she lift her eyes to see if I was a rapist or a fucking ax murderer. She just stood there like a goddamned zombie, lost in her own little world, quiet as a church mouse. The skank I was with slithered up beside me, running her mouth about partying, doing drugs, throwing attitude around. Bitch royally pissed me off, so much so, I opted to send her packing without so much as a smell of my hairy balls. Gave her ass five seconds to get gone, or I was gonna make her gone. Trust when I say, she did not want that to happen. Bitch took the hint and got the fuck outa there and fast. I didn’t give two fucks how she made it home.
That’s when things got really strange.
My housemate finally raised her head and looked at me as if she’d never seen me before a day in her life. Before I could open my mouth to ask what the fuck was going on, she lunged at me. Her tiny arms shook violently as she held me tight around my neck and sobbed uncontrollably. I didn’t return her embrace. She picked the wrong one if she thought I was that guy. She smelled like the fresh outdoors mixed with coconut. The combination made my dick twitch inside my pants, and a moan escaped my lips. Her soft tits pressed against my chest felt like heaven, but I had to make her stop. What ever happened to cause her little emotional breakdown was none of my business. I had my own shit to deal with and certainly didn’t have time to play nursemaid for some chick I’d only known a few short weeks.
“Let go, baby girl. Pull yourself together and go inside the house.” She shook her head no against my neck and held on tighter. I felt wetness running down the front of my shirt, and my body stiffened.
“I said, get the fuck off me. Now!” I demanded, leaving no room for argument.
She finally released me but not before spouting gibberish about spirit guides and going to hell. The shit made no fucking sense. Add that to the naked truth that I was now minus a cock sock for the night, and my patience was running thin. I stomped inside with the hysterical woman hot on my trail, sniffling and sucking in air. I didn’t pay her any mind. I knew what I would see if I did, and that scared me more than I cared to admit. Those eyes that graced the last few pages of my sketch pad and were now red and bloodshot would pull me in, bamboozle me into doing something stupid, like give a shit. No fucking thanks. A date with a bottle of Jack Daniels sounded real good right about now, just as soon as I made it to my room.
“Rome?”
The way she said that name did something to me. I stopped moving but didn’t turn around to face her. She sounded so shattered, so lost. Why couldn’t she just let me go?
“Do you know what it’s like not to feel wanted or loved? To wish you could go back in time and change things, not make costly mistakes that ruin everything?” she asked brokenly.
“No, I don’t,” I lied. “Why the fuck should I?”
“Of course you don’t. The world is your playground, Rome Red. Different women in your bed every night, bad boy good looks, and a shitty attitude perfect for keeping outsiders away. Yeah, I’d say you got it all figured out, and the rest of us are just flies in the ointment.”
Attitude.
Helluva bad time for that shit.
I heard something hit the floor in a clank. She’d dropped the purse along with the phone in her hands and left them in a heap by the door. That’s when I saw them, those beautiful doe eyes of hers. The ones that had drawn me in once before when she’d stood nearly naked in her bedroom wearing nothing more than a towel. This time, they were empty, void of any real life. Not even her usual uncertainty shone through. That was all kinds of fucked up, and for some reason, it shook me to the bone. Everyone had a story. I knew mine frontwards and backwards, but this woman? No fucking way could things be that bad. Bitches instinctively knew how to bounce back when shit didn’t go their way. They cried foul to the first person who’d listen or play stupid like they didn’t know what the fuck was going on. Worst case, they convinced some other dumbass motherfucker to take the ride while they went about their merry way. Yeah, bitches were adept at flipping the script, just like the one boo-hooing beside me. Soon enough, my consideration turned into rage, and I snapped before she tried to run any more game on me.
“Yeah, life’s a bitch, and then you die, baby girl. Get over it. Yesterday’s gone, and tomorrow ain’t promised to no motherfucker, so pack up your skirt, dry up the waterworks, and save your bullshit for Sunday dinners,” I snarled.
“Sure, Rome, whatever you say,” she breathed out harshly. “Keep doing you.”
She shouldered past me up the stairs to where our bedrooms were located, leaving her delicious coconut smell lingering in the air. Good. Great. Terrific, I thought, even though my dick had other ideas on the subject. She didn’t get to say when the conversation was over. I was in charge. I made the rules. Fuck that. I grabbed her by the arm and swung her around before she reached her door handle.
“What the fuck do you want? A bullshit pity party? Want me to braid your hair and polish your nails while we talk about an episode of Friends? Do you know what kind of man I am?”
“YES!” she fired back. “And I know what you can do!” Her shoulders slumped, defeated. “Look at me, Rome. I’m nothing, nobody, just the way you like it.”
“You don’t know shit about me, woman.”
“Ha.” She laughed humorlessly. “I don’t need to know you, Rome.”
Then it dawned on me what she wanted.
I shoulda’ fuckin’ known better. When was I gonna learn?
“You want me to fuck you?” I asked skeptically. “You wanna’ ride my cock, baby girl? Is that what you want?”
“I want…” She blushed. Her eyes shifted away quickly.
I pressed her for more.
“You want a hard fuck like all those other bitches?” I leaned into her. “Tell me!”
“No.” She shook her head. “I want to feel something, anything. Don’t you get it? I’m so tired of chasing my life only for it to move further away. I’m never going to be what I once was, so I might as well yield to what they all think I am. It’s over,” she ended with a wave of her hand.
Of course, I didn’t get it.
For that to happen, I’d have to put myself out there, invite her into my fucked-up world, and forget about the merited distrust I had for the entire female persuasion, which I never would. She carried herself as someone different than the average woman, shy and unassuming, vulnerable and modest, but I knew better than to fall for the swoop and swap. Did it once before. Never going there again. Her name sat thickly against my tongue: Michelle. I’d known it since the beginning. It wouldn’t be said out loud. Not tonight. Not ever. She wanted to feel something? I’d make her regret ever asking. She thought she knew what I could do? Funny. Bitch had no idea what I was capable of.
“One night,” I growled. “No kissing, no arguing, you do what I say when I say it. Leave when it’s done. You down with that?” She nodded her head.
“Need to hear the words, baby girl.” I looked her up and down.
“Yes, Rome,” she breathed. ”I understand.”
“Inside.” I’d flicked my chin toward my bedroom door. “Ass up, face down on the bed.” She’d paused momentarily, then followed my instructions woodenly.
“Make me feel, Rome,” she’d spoken quietly with her back turned. “Make me remember.”
Staring in the mirror at the man looking back, all I could think was damn. I’d never expected any of the shit that had gone down in my bedroom the night before. She had been the one who’d wanted to feel, not me, yet I was the one left with more unanswered questions than I knew what to do with. How was she able to get to me when so many others had failed or crashed and burned trying? Bent all my rules. Hell, I’d broken those motherfuckers across my knee for that warm, wet cunt that had held me like a glove. Her coconut smell, the taste of her delicious pussy, the way she’d moaned my name as she came over and over again. Jesus fuck. That woman had ta
ken all I had, met me stroke for stroke, as if she were made to be fucked by my dick and my dick only. My bedroom had been our playground, the backdrop for sexual indulgence, all in the search for feeling. I wasn’t that man. The one who indulged bitches’ needs and wants. A night with me meant hard cock and a good orgasm if they were lucky. She’d never asked for more and had been gone before morning without being told to leave. What was I supposed to do with all that shit now that it was over and finished?
Michelle.
Why couldn’t I say it out loud?
The better question was, did I want to?
The only thing that would take my mind off what had happened and settle the chatter inside my head was my artwork. I realized I’d left my pad in the car, so I threw on some sweats and trekked outside to get it. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t wipe the ridiculous smile off my face as I remembered the sweetest pussy I’d ever had in my life. Stepping closer to my ride, I noticed a piece of paper flapping against the windshield wipers, desperate to break free. At first, I thought it was from my housemate, a thank-you for the good dick she got the night before, or worse yet, a fucking parking ticket. Neither of which made me happy as I approached and yanked it from glass. One look, and things became blaringly clear who it was that left the note and what it really meant. A lipstick print in bright red stain creased the outside, forming a perfect kiss, intricate yet neatly written cursive scrawled inside with a single word: TOGETHER.
She’d kept her promise made years ago.
She’d found me.
About SH Richardson
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