by Allen, Sara
“Here you go.”
“Took you long enough.” AJ snatches the makeshift-like cold pack from my hand and places it over his eye. “Sit down.”
I swallow slowly, afraid of what is to come next. As I bury myself into the old wooden chair, I feel more confined than ever. “Yes?”
“Don’t fucking look at me!” He screams as he slams his balled fist into the table. My eyes quickly shift to the fruits that tumbled out of the tipped over basket; apples and oranges.That’s who we are; apples and oranges, completely separate in all facets of life, yet tossed together. And, yet again, I ask, how the hell did my life get this complicated? Eager to leave, but held against my will. My life is fucked up, and there is no escaping.
“You’re going to be spending some time with Rolo.”
My eyes fly up to meet his face. “What do you mean?”
“You’re going to be one of Rolo’s girls, just until my debt is cleared up. I don’t want to hear that you’re causing problems over there either. So if he tells you to fuck him, you do that.”
The blaring sound of alarms going off in my head fuels my answer, “No.”
“No?” AJ questions.
“I’m not going,” I whisper. “I may be many things, but I’m nobody’s whore.”
Yet, as the words left my lips, I knew that there was a line that I just crossed; a line that is sure to strike a nerve. But damn it, he just crossed a line with me too. I am lucky enough to be just the object of his control and not the woman that he lusts for. No, that job is taken—by who, I don’t know. I don’t need to know who, what, where, or when. It just feels good knowing that I don’t have to screw this asshole.
As I rose from my seat, I knew that there was no coming back from what I’d just said. So I did the next best thing…I ran.
“Kaylee, you fucking bitch! Get over here!”
If I’m fast enough, maybe he won’t catch me.
As I push through the rickety wooden door leading into our bedroom, my eyes scan the room immediately, in a desperate search for anything to put behind the door. But I could feel AJ, painstakingly close enough to grab ahold of my hair or tackle me to the ground.
Run, Kaylee! Run!
Even as I run, I can’t help but to look at this scene. It was a broken record on repeat, a chapter in my never-ending memoir that was destined to repeat itself yet once again. And like any other time like this, my mind drifted off to Madison, Georgia. More so, it drifted to Jaxon Right.
“You thought you could get away from me?”
He got me; slamming my body against the wall, I lose my balance and drop to the floor.
Pow!
It was the first series of punches that landed in by stomach.
I know what you’re going to say; didn’t you recognize all of the signs? Weren’t you educated enough not to get caught up with the likes of AJ Steiner?
Yeah, I should’ve paid closer attention to all of the signs, but my mind was wrapped around the idea of moving on. AJ came into my life at a time when I felt abandoned. I welcomed companionship as opposed to love; love, which had swallowed me whole the last time, but not again. This time I kept my love under wraps, harboring the emotion deep into my heart where no one could reach it again; not with sweet words or tender kisses that could make you get lost in love’s abyss. When Jaxon Right left, I made the decision to kill off anything that reminded me of him and the life we shared once; starting with my name, Ashley Francis.
“Didn’t I tell you to stop fucking with me? Huh?”
AJ’s balled up fists, precise in marking my skin with hateful strikes, sent me into a fit of tears. “AJ,” I cry out. “Please! Stop!”
“Shut the fuck up!” he seethed through an uncanny voice. His fist lands on my cheek, causing me to bang the back of my head against the wooden floors.
Lord, please help me escape this man.
The saltiness of my blood splashed against my tongue as the inside of my lip tore open. AJ is now breathing hard as he wraps his fingers around my neck. With weakened strength, I try to claw at his fingers to loosen his grip, but that only entices him as he releases a bellyful laugh that rings in my ears. I’m in danger, and no matter how many times this scene has replayed, the feeling of death peeking around the corner is always a fresh thought.
What if one day he never stops? What if one day my body finally expires after one too many blows? As scary as death has always been for me since witnessing my mother’s death at the hands of my father, I think the fear of how I will die is much scarier than death itself. Though these days, I’ve lost much faith in other things, I still have an ounce of hope that I’ll make it out of this dungeon that AJ has caged me in.
As the light became a far distance, blackness takes over the crevice of my sight. Still, I can feel his breath brushing against my skin like a crossfire spreading against California trees. His fingers push into my flesh, his fingerprints branding my skin.
His breath releases a silent whisper against my skin and haunts my thoughts as I float away. “You’re fucking going tomorrow.”
*~*~*
“Hey, Jax.” Lucille Anne Berfond throws me a pearly smile the moment I approach the bar. The pretty blond bartender, who is probably in her mid to late twenties, bartends every night at Kisses At The Pub, a local tavern down here in Madison. Besides her skill in brewing a damn good Long Island Ice Tea, Lucille is also known to be a strumpet around these parts. Legendary for flaunting her ass around and sleeping with half of the town, Lucille has been steadily trying to add me to her body count. It isn’t like there’s a way of escaping her either. With the population of Madison being less than one hundred people, it is easy to come across the same faces every day. Unlike New York, the bustling city that never sleeps, Madison is not a town that one can easily get lost in.
“Evening. I’ll have two glasses of your top-shelf whiskey.”
She leans forward, probably hoping that I will catch an eyeful of her bust poking out of her low-cut shirt. But I keep my eyes on hers. Through pursed lips and slow batting eyelids, revealing her sky blue eye shadow, she says, “Only a whiskey…”
It was not quite a question, but more of a failed attempt at being seductive. If it wasn’t for the fact that I need a shot of whiskey every now and then—really each time I can’t handle the thought of her — I would never come to this backwoods pub.
A month after settling here, I purchased a bottle of bourbon whiskey. It was a rough month and nothing could take the edge off. I wasn’t up for seeing anyone other than my Uncle James, and even that had not been by choice.
Shit had gotten crazy the moment I drained the bottle of its contents. I chuckle to myself even now as I think back on it. I can laugh now, but shit wasn’t funny then.
Let's just say, I nearly burned down my ranch in a fit of rage and was close to driving back to New York in search of her. Uncle James stops me however, or at least the butt of his rifle did. I always laugh at the thought of how I woke up in the bathroom tub with a gaping gash in the back of my head and a stiff neck.
The sunlight showers the bathroom with a ray that causes me to squint my eyes in pain. As I walk out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, I come across Uncle James tearing through his breakfast with his rifle, named Betty, sitting beside him. And the only advice he shares with me is, “I know you own the ranch now, but if you’re going to burn it down, make sure I’m dead first.”
After that incident, I made a vow to just keep it at two glasses and to only drink at the pub.
“Jaxon? Are you there?” Lucille’s husky voice pulls me back to the reason I’m here.
“Each week, I come for the same thing; two glasses of whiskey and no conversation.”
She places two tumblers in front of me and douses each glass with her top-shelf whiskey. “Week after week, I watch you come in here by yourself, you order your two drinks, finish em’ and leave. No ‘Thank you, Lucille’ or ‘You’re looking mighty pretty, Lucille.’ Nothing.”
“My tip should thank you enough.”
“That ain’t the point. You come in here acting like you don’t need no one.”
I wrap my hand around my whiskey, wishing Lucille would just move the hell on. I cut my eyes away from hers and stare at the liquid brown contents that have been calling my name all day.
This has been the third time this month that I dreamed about Ashley. I was so sure that that form of torture had ended a few months ago when I suddenly stopped dreaming about her beautiful brown eyes looking up at me as I slid into her; her soft moans purring against my ears, as I make true of my promise of taking her body to new heights. I’d look down, admiring her dark flaps welcoming my cock with a wet greet. The sound of her juice waxing my shaft always drove me to dive deeper into her, touching all corners of her drenched walls. The dream always ends with her walls clenching close to my shaft as if they are afraid to let go before getting to experience the orgasm I brewed up with each stroke.
Cold showers and jerking off did nothing to ease the boner that appeared each time I woke from the dream to realize that Ashley was gone.
Lucille places her fingers over mines, covering the top of my hand loosely. “I could be the person you need.”
I move away from under her soft grasp and lean back. “Lucille, there is nothing that you have that I need. Just go back to serving, and let’s pretend that this conversation never happened. And for the future, if I ask for two whiskeys, that doesn’t come with a conversation.”
Her teeth lightly sink into her bottom lip. “Whoever caused you to be like this, really fucking made a mess out of you.”
I shrug, not needing to confirm or deny. The truth is, Ashley really did fuck me up; like really twisted me and reshaped me into a man that I no longer recognize. But I didn’t need Lucille to remind me. I didn’t need to be burdened with the trudged up memories of the woman who still has my heart even though she’s nine months and eight hundred and sixty-four miles away from me. It's not like Ashley feels the same. Five months after arriving here, I finally worked up the nerve to write her a letter. I mean, I really put my bullshit ego to the side for once. And the shit bit me in the ass when the letter never received a reply. Two fucking pages of me pouring my heart out to her, and she didn’t even respond. It was then that I realized that Ashley was gone forever.
And you’d think I would move on and forget about her… Nope!
“Well, whenever you’re ready to forget about her, I’ll be here.”
“Tsk.” I shake my head. “Lady, it would have to take a million of you for me to even consider the thought.”
Lucille tosses a white hand towel over her left shoulder and glares at me as if what I just said to her burned her pale skin.
With a quick dismiss, I focus on the only thing that can get my mind off of her…whiskey. It wasn’t a quick process either. There was a science to how I emptied these two glasses. The first glass usually involves me becoming acquainted with my whiskey. I reintroduce myself and welcome its flavor. As I swoosh the booze in my mouth, I appreciate the mellowness that it brings me.
When I take my final gulp from my first glass, shit changes. No matter how hard I try to bring back the connection between my whiskey and me, I cannot. Instead, I’m forced to remember her final words. “I’m not ready to give up my dreams and my life here just because your career is over.”
She was right. Nine months ago, I was spiraling into a deep hole since learning that I had to leave the force after serving only five years. I couldn’t fathom the idea of my career ending early all because of my fucked up shoulder. “Its either desk duty or retirement kid,” said Captain McManus during my final evaluation.
Four months before that final evaluation, I got shot while following up on a call that we received about shooting in the Pink Houses in East New York. It was a day that I will never forget. 5:45 AM had been the time. I know because I always counted to sixty each time that I followed up on a lead. It was a technique that I used while on patrol. Daybreak was starting to peek through the moment we arrived on the block.
Gunshots erupted the moment I stepped out of the patrol car. Somehow, it all seemed to be aimed in my direction. As I duck on the opposite side of the car, Lenny Rigs, my partner at the time, leaned in and radioed for help. Even as I took the safety off and prepared to fire, there seemed to be no down time for me to even do so. Shots just kept coming in, as if they never even had to reload their clip. After a minute of non-stop shooting, I hear a faint cry that sounds like it came from a woman. I look to my right and see an elderly woman pushing her a little boy to the ground.
There was a moment in which there was a brief pause, and that is when I aim up and start shooting in the direction that I believe the bullets came from. As I did that, I ran to the elderly woman and pushed her to the ground, shielding my body over hers and the little boy’s. And that is when the barrel of a gun sinks into the back of my left shoulder.
Pop!
That had been the first bullet piercing into the back of my shoulder. Even then, I had refused to go down. I turned around and came face-to-face with my shooter and aim my gun.
Pop!
Pop!
One bullet had been for my shooter and the other bullet had been for me, as he managed to shot me. As I blink in and out of consciousness, the image of Ashley’s face keeps me going. I later learned that the bullet damn near grazed my heart.
A few weeks after, as I lie in my bed, I put the pieces of the puzzle together. Things didn’t add up. Where the fuck was Lenny throughout all of this? The motherfucker walked away untouched.
He had always been suspicious, like most of the other men in my squad, but I never knew how low they’d go to disrespect their badge and part ways with their honor. As I think back about the weeks leading to my attempted assassination, I’m brought back to a particular incident that occurred between me and self-proclaimed “God of the Pink Houses”, Rolo, the infamous drug lord who polluted the community for years, but was not even on the police’s radar. When I had been assigned to patrol the Pink Houses, I was completely shocked at the gaudiness of this fucker.
We met once, Rolo and I. But our encounter had been anything but brief. It all started while I was on my scheduled summertime foot patrol in July. Since the summertime was when the most crime occurred, the mayor had kicked down his new idea to the force and we had all been assigned to walk throughout some of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Brooklyn. By that time, I had already caught wind of the do’s and don’ts while patrolling the Pink Houses:
“Don’t go around digging for shit. Keep it moving and you’ll be alright,” Lenny Riggs, my partner at the time, had advised after witnessing an exchange go down between one of Rolo’s guys and a fiend.
Shit just didn’t feel right. How the hell did all of us vow to honor and protect; yet we allow motherfuckers like him to terrorize the streets?
It had been my third week of patrolling when I got to meet Rolo. He’d been the name whispered amongst my squad mates for the past few weeks. From what I gathered through the quiet stammers, Rolo had influence beyond the Pink Houses. Yet, I still couldn’t understand why there seemed to be a fear circling this fucking man. But, whatever it is, if left an impact.
As Lenny and I walk through the housing units, I become suspicious after hearing a deafening wail coming from behind building 190.
“What goes on behind that building…” Lenny points out. “…is none of our business.”
Disregarding his last statement, I follow the sounds of the dirge pleas that came from around back. The smell of trash thriving from the scorching heat was the first to meet me as I carefully tread. Moving my feet to the left and right, I try to find a smooth surface that’s free of broken pieces of glasses from liquor bottles and syringes that covered the pavement leading into the back of the building. As I drew my gun out of my holster, I quietly stumble upon Rolo beating the shit out of some naked woman who wore a veil of bruises and blood.
A tug at my arm draws my attention away from the scene to look behind me. I look down and see Lenny’s fat fingers clenching tightly over my forearm. As I meet his pleading eyes with a hard stare, I can’t help but to grow more disgusted of the man I called partner.
“Jax, come on, man,” he murmurs through clenched teeth.
Ignoring him, I snatch my arm from his grip and walk up to the scene. “Police! Step away from her!”
Rolo looks up and laughs before continuing his assault. “Take a walk boys,” Rolo says after punching the woman in the face.
“Let it go,” Lenny’s steady voice was brought down to almost a whisper.
“Yeah, let it go, Jaxon Right,” Rolo says as he wipes his hands with his handkerchief. As if reading my mind, Rolo continues, “Yeah, I know who you are. I make it a point to know all fresh meat that walks through my hood. I guess now is a better time than any to finally introduce myself to you and possibly discuss future employment.”
My eyes remain on his, never once wavering from the motherfucker. “You’re Rolo?”
“That’s me,” he responds with a smug look and a cocky attitude. He had reason to be. After all, people were afraid to touch him.
“You lookin’ at me like you’re infatuated with me,” Rolo smirks, causing the men behind him to snicker like little schoolgirls.
“No infatuation. I’m still trying to figure out what people are afraid of. You look harmless to me,” I say, putting an end to their reign of giggles. It was the truth, Rolo looked to be about 6’2”, give or take an inch. His back hunched over slightly, and he looked to be a lot older than I suspected him to be. Hell, the man wore his receding hairline proudly, as if he was waiting until the last strand of hair was gone in order to realize he was bald.
Rolo snorts. “Lenny, get your partner out of my face before I treat him like this whore right here.”
“Jaxon, let’s go, man,” Lenny says from behind.