Morrison

by Chelsea Camaron

  From the moment I roll up in my ride, I smile at the pimply-faced kid who takes my keys. I hand ’em over, and I give him respect in the form of trusting him with my ride.

  They all know me ’cause I treat ’em well. I tip, I talk, and I treat them with respect.

  Chapter 4

  Hailey

  One thing about appearances, they are always deceiving. In order to appear to be the happy family we aren’t, some things must be done like a regular couple, one of those being grocery shopping.

  Monte has people, sure, but given that his income isn’t what one would claim as taxable, I don’t have a staff. Things like grocery shopping are left as wifely duties. Add in that the majority of Monte’s money is cash, and I needed to find a way to tip the scales, and I did.

  Men should never underestimate the power of a mother. I will take a lot of shit—and I mean a lot of shit—for the sake of survival. There is nothing I won’t do for my baby girl, even if she did come from him.

  Years of verbal assaults left me weak. He beat me—not physically, never. No, he reminds me even now of the night he beat me, how he bested me at my very own game. While I was fighting for my momma, he didn’t give a second thought to using my naivete, my false bravado, my stupid schemes, and my desperate attempt to break the ties that bind to tip the scales in his favor.

  Momma paid her penance for bad choices. Now I pay mine.

  I can handle anything he throws at me. He can say whatever he wants, put me down, rip me to shreds; I can take it all and not miss a beat. Day in and day out, Monte finds a way to remind me of where I come from. I take that. I deserve that.

  I play him. Checks and balances.

  Give me your worst, Monte. I’ll withstand. Momma didn’t raise me to be weak. She didn’t raise me to break. Sure, I may be a product of my circumstances, but I am not broken.

  Yet.

  Warriors in battle keep their weapons close, and my weapon is time. The opportunity to escape free and clear will come. I just have to give it time, to endure until the situation changes and my opening presents itself.

  In time, I will escape. Only, nothing has gone right from the beginning, and now I have Marisa to think about. Seven years of hell I have endured, buying my time, and with it came the last three years of the heaven I see in my little girl’s eyes.

  Monte isn’t an active dad. He has only held her when we have an audience. Behind closed doors, my daughter is nothing but another mouth for him to feed, another debt for me to repay.

  Reasons and excuses—they are like checks and balances. We all have reasons and excuses for everything we do or don’t do.

  Marisa is his excuse for keeping me around. She’s a way to manipulate and control me.

  However, she’s my reason for everything. No excuse is acceptable for letting her down. I won’t fail. The cycle ends with her. I have to put her first.

  With that in mind, I started my housewife hustle, played my part. Every chance I get, I score my load, hide it away until the time is right to make my escape.

  I have had seven years to earn some freedoms like the grocery store, my greatest adventure. Although Monte gives me cash and a grocery list, he didn’t make it far in this world without being a smart man, so of course he wants the change and the receipt. The items have to match.

  He has one area of ignorance, though—women’s needs. Once I realized he wouldn’t attend my gynecology exams, I had my doctor insert an IUD that makes my period practically go away. Since Monte didn’t care if we had more children or not, he wasn’t concerned with my not taking birth control pills. This created the perfect cover.

  Each month at the grocery store, I purchase feminine products in bulk, and he never questions the purchases. I buy double, sometimes triple what I would normally need. Then, using a calendar, I make sure to use the smallest amount so the trash can shows the use of some of the products.

  Before he gets home on shopping days, I make a copy of the receipt. I’ve scanned my rewards card so the receipt can be looked up in the computer. Since he isn’t home when I leave for the store, he doesn’t see me return the items for cash.

  I cut the liner of Marisa’s suitcase and hide my stash there, being sure to keep the opening hidden, the money flush against the fabric. It took time, but every little bit counts, and in three years, I have managed some savings. I’m not nearly ready, but something is better than nothing.

  Things were actually going pretty well, all things considered. That should have been my first clue that something was off. How did I miss the clues before this moment?

  I return home from the store, and as I unload the groceries, I hear a noise upstairs. Marisa is away with Jamie, my one real friend in this crazy life. Jamie’ll keep her until I get the groceries put away, and then she’ll bring her back to me. As a result, there shouldn’t be anyone home to make noise except me.

  Trying to tell myself I’m hearing things, I keep at my task. However, the moans sound again, and I follow the noise, thinking someone broke into the house.

  Only, they didn’t.

  No, I make my way to the bedroom, the very room I have shared with Monte, night in and night out, for years now, and tied to my bed is a very pregnant, very young blonde.

  “Hailey, what the fuck?” Monte roars as he continues to thrust into the woman on the bed without missing a beat.

  My mouth opens and closes like a fish’s. This whole mess just goes from bad to worse. What the hell do I say? I don’t give a shit that he’s fucking around, except for the fact that he doesn’t wrap it up even with me standing right there, and he’s in my damn bed!

  The girl bites her bottom lip, moaning like she is a well-practiced porn star while watching me as my husband continues his rhythm. Standing there, motionless from shock, I can only gape.

  Then the chick shakes her head vigorously, as if she is fighting her climax, and Monte turns his attention to her, then slams into her hard as she wails out her pleasure. All the while, I fight to keep from hurling.

  “Don’t worry; the baby isn’t his,” the girl reassures.

  “You think that’s what I’m worried about?” I laugh at them both. Then, without another word, I turn and walk out of my bedroom. Trying to calm my trembling hands, I attempt to think.

  What next?

  What a mess!

  Is he using protection?

  What does the future hold?

  I am a hooker, one with a single client. He has belittled me to this point. Once, he told me I was too much to resist, that he did this because he had to have me. Feeling like a prize is better than feeling like a possession. I’m no one’s prize, though. I am a whore, and with every thrust inside of her, that is one less pound to my pussy that could go toward my debt.

  What a sick and twisted life I live. What a giant clusterfuck of manipulation.

  Rage boils inside me, and shame washes over me as my final thought hits me.

  Will my daughter be subjected to seeing this? He doesn’t know she’s not with me. What if she came barreling into the room like she does most days when she is looking for me? How would I explain any of this to Marisa?

  “Oh Ris Priss, Daddy is just having special time with a friend…in Momma’s bed. No worries.”

  Regardless of his lack of fatherly adoration, regardless of my fucked-up marriage, no child ever needs to walk in on one of their parents committing adultery in their home. Mess my life up completely, fine by me. Fuck with my daughter’s head and it’s done, son!

  Now what the hell am I going to do?

  Absently, I tap my fingers on the granite countertops as I stand in the kitchen, trying to come up with a plan, because waiting is no longer an option.

  The clicks of the stranger’s heels on the hardwood floor of the entryway let me know she is leaving, at the same time I hear a cab honk its horn. I suppose Monte drove her here and originally intended to drive her home. He comes and goes without rhyme or reason. With the multiple vehicles in the garage and out f
ront, I wouldn’t have a way of knowing he was inside when I returned with the groceries.

  He enters the kitchen and washes his hands, and I say nothing, nor do I move. When his arm comes around my waist, pulling me against him with my back to his front, I freeze. My stomach churns as he moves my hair off my shoulders and behind my neck. He inhales my perfume, and then his moan vibrates against my exposed skin.

  I want to hurl.

  “Did you like watching, Hailey? I liked you watching.”

  “Are you fucking serious right now?” The words escape my mouth before I can stop them.

  I grip the countertop as he pulls me tightly to him, his grip now firm, and getting painful.

  “Quite serious. In fact, I don’t want you to just watch; I want you to participate.” He nips at my earlobe, and I lurch forward, trying to get space between us. However, he is bigger and stronger, and my attempt is a failure as he growls in my ear, “I want to see your golden locks spread across her thighs as you lick her pussy like a thirsty man in the desert.”

  His erection pressing into my back lets me know just how serious he is, and the room spins as I fight to keep my stomach contents at bay.

  “And if I refuse?” I boldly question him as fear creeps into my veins.

  His hand leaves my waist and slides up my body until he wraps it firmly around my neck, not squeezing but warning me.

  “You don’t have a bad life, Hailey. You’re no longer living the ‘hard knocks,’ and yet you really want to deny me something?” His grip on my neck tightens. “You want to make me the villain here…”

  I say nothing while he continues to squeeze my neck, my lungs burning as he cuts off my air supply.

  “I’m your motherfuckin’ hero, Hailey.”

  I can’t breathe. The room spins. It hurts—the burn, the sting. The adrenaline kicks up inside of me as my body instinctively fights, my mouth opening and closing rapidly, but no oxygen is coming in. This is how it’s all going to end.

  Then there is a noise to my left at the side door, and Monte suddenly releases me, then pushes away as I hear Marisa and Jamie walk in.

  My future flashes before my eyes as I turn to the sink to hide my tears from my only friend and, more important, my daughter. My lungs painfully fill with air as I slowly catch my breath.

  “Momma, Momma.” Marisa rushes to me and hugs my leg while I wash my hands and splash water on my face.

  She can’t see me in this moment of weakness. I will be strong for her.

  While I pick her up and hug her, Jamie looks at me and shakes her head just as Monte comes back in the room.

  “Well, well, well, if you don’t have perfect timing, Jamie.” At his words, my friend visibly flinches, and my eyes grow wide as I look between the two of them. “Alex tells me you want to leave him. He explains that you are having a trial separation.”

  Jamie does want to leave her husband; it’s no secret. He’s not like Monte, though. They just aren’t in love anymore. The trial separation is something I purposely hid from Monte, in the fear that he would cut me off from my friend. Obviously, I misjudged Alex and his ability to keep his mouth shut.

  “It also seems as if my wife doesn’t want to continue her duties here.” He turns to me. “I have a meeting with a client. If you want out, be gone before I get back, Hailey.”

  My stomach drops to the floor. I pass Marisa over to Jamie and follow as Monte walks to the garage without even looking back at his daughter.

  “Are you serious right now?”

  “I’ve been serious all day, Hailey.”

  “I can leave?”

  He smiles maliciously at me. “Of course. Have I held a gun to your head to make you stay? Did I threaten your life to marry me? No, this is a business arrangement, one that is no longer working. You can leave.”

  I want to squeal in delight; only, I know better.

  “What’s the catch?” My body trembles in anticipation.

  “No catch. You owe me, and you will repay me. If you don’t, the price will be too high for your precious heart to take, dear Hailey.” He turns around and steps into me. Toe-to-toe, he looks down at me, and tipping my chin, he adds, “That little girl in there was my gift to you so you could have something of your own, but she can be taken just as easily as she was given. I’ll be in touch.”

  I gasp.

  “Welcome back, Hard Knocks.” Without another word, he turns and climbs into his car.

  Fuck, what have I done?

  Chapter 5

  Morrison

  The Strip.

  As I walk into the Aria, I think about how it gives a guy like me, someone who loves the finer things, an eye-gasm. Love the place. It’s home to the Cirque du Soleil show Viva Elvis. The fucking place is full of cougars with too much damn money and lady wood for Elvis. Add alcohol to that mix, and you could grab some settled ass.

  Settled Ass married her high school sweetheart because she was in love. Then she had kids while working full-time. Settled Ass is ass that more than likely has a house, two-point-five kids, and an old man at home with the late-teen kids while she’s taking a “girls’ weekend” because she finally figured out she settled her ass into the stereotypical life every chick is raised to believe she should want.

  The fucking fairy tale that hardly ever comes true ends with twenty pounds of junk settled in that ass because her man at home no longer really has to try to tap that ass. That ass is settled. The man at home is fucking up his responsibility to that ass and more than likely is sitting in front of his laptop, playing tug-of-war with Cyclops while watching some young thang.

  Settled Ass is the chick at the tables, surrounded by three or four friends who are encouraging her to drink a few too many drinks to loosen herself up so she gains enough liquid courage to come on to a guy like me.

  Settled Ass is the woman who raised her kids with love while her husband was hanging with his boys, still enjoying his youth. When he ultimately tires of that lifestyle, she is ready to finally live a little for herself.

  Her kids are grown enough to wipe their own asses, blow their own noses, clean up their rooms, and maybe even help out a little around the house. Her husband is lying on the couch, watching UFC as he eats a slice of pizza and drinks a beer before falling asleep. Meanwhile, she is in the tub, making her lady parts trim and tasty, only to find his ass asleep when she is ready to take the slob to bed, hoping she’s gonna get to come tonight.

  She not only wants to get fucked, but for it to be worth the cheat. She wants to come, and not just once. She wants to be finger-banged in the elevator, then have her clothes start coming off in the hall before she even makes it to her room. Then she wants to be bent over the bed and fucked so damn hard she explodes multiple times, so that for the next twenty years, while her husband is taking his ten-minute obligatory pump and dump, she will think of “that time in Vegas.”

  I am damn sure more than a few women have pictured Caldwell, the only name I ever give them, when their old man was busting a nut way too fucking soon inside the woman he had promised to cherish.

  Fuck that. Fuck marriage. Fuck disappointing people you’re supposed to love. The tables are my bitches.

  I came here first to win some cash, get my ego stroked, and then move on to the next place. I walk out nine hundred dollars ahead, not a bad start to my evening.

  My car comes to a stop in front of me, and I look her over. She is perfect, so my guy gets a pat on the back and a fifty. It may sound like a lot, but I’ve worked for tips, too.

  I roll up to the Cosmopolitan and do the same drill: I hand my keys over, I tip, I talk, and I treat them like humans, ’cause they are.

  I decide to change things up a bit and play a little roulette, followed by some blackjack. I do well, make some bank, and get a finely dressed lady trying to distract me with her cleavage and her hand under the table, on my thigh.

  “You find what you’re looking for?” I ask as her hand makes its way up my leg.

  “Not
yet. But I will.”

  “Oh, I see how it is. You wanna be boss, do ya?”

  “I love to be the one calling the shots,” she says before her teeth rake her lower lip.

  Chick is a biter and pretty damn dominant, too much for my taste.

  “Look at me, beautiful,” I command.

  “I am. I’m looking, and I’m feeling,” she replies.

  I stop her hand before she hits gold by covering it with my own. “Look deeper. Do you see a man who likes to bottom?”

  “I promise you’ll like my bottom,” she says as she tries to pull her hand away.

  I hold tighter and pull it to my lips, give the back of her hand a kiss, and then place it on the table.

  “I don’t like to be given anything. I like to take it.”

  She is put off by this. How do I know? Her tell. Her shoulders square, and then she looks straight ahead to the dealer.

  Dominant-ass women are not my norm. I’ve had them, and it was always an experience. You lie down with a hardcore, kinky feminist, and she thinks she’s not just gonna ride your dick, but drive it. Well, she’s got another think coming, but she herself ain’t gonna be coming.

  The last dominant chick I played with, honest to fuck, tried shoving a pinky in my ass.

  No thank you.

  To get to me, there needs to be a softness about you. I’m all man. I like the game, a little hunt and capture. If a woman shows interest, that’s cool. If she comes on too strong, I tend to shy away. I love strange, but not that fucking strange.

  I want to work a woman up. I want her wet and wanton. When I lay you down, you better be all woman: mind, body, soul, and desire. You better be ready to be pleasured and give pleasure. I haven’t had a woman yet who wants to take charge, because she is too busy taking me.

  The body is a beautiful thing, and I love beautiful things. I want to make sure, when you walk out my door, you know you’ve had it good and plenty.

  I look down and lift my cards just enough so I can see them—two aces. I split ’em up, add some chips to the bet, and then the dealer hits each one.