by L. D. Davis
The kids were growing on me. Sometimes they were bratty, and I considered the multiple uses of duct tape, but overall, they were just…kids. They ate, they whined, they played, they farted and they watched television, like every other kid. Natalie got into my shoes, makeup, and hair accessories, and Alex harassed her, but then there were nights when I’d let Natalie paint my nails or I’d do her hair. Sometimes I would sit with Alex and help him with his models while chatting about everything Star Wars. Those were pleasant times, comfortable times. I was glad for them.
After my mini freak out the morning after our first sleepover, Grant and I had cooled off a little bit with our petting and deep kissing. We still kissed, and we still…petted, but for the first two weeks, he always pulled back when it got too heavy. He never asked me about it, and never brought it up in any way, but sometimes I would catch him looking at me as if trying to figure me out.
Things had started to heat up again in our third week together, though. I wanted it to heat up, but I was afraid of having another flashback. I was afraid of being forced into talking about it. I never talked about it, not directly. The only person who even knew of the scattered memories that visited me in the form of dreams was Kyle, and I only told him about it during a moment of weakness.
Although our relationship had been going well, I knew I was holding back. Deep down, I was still bitter. Grant told me to stop thinking and stop analyzing and to follow my heart, and I was honestly trying to do that, but my fear did not just go away. My crazy side didn’t just stop being crazy, and no matter what, I still had a lot of baggage and it wasn’t going to go away. As serious as I was about Grant, I felt as if we were in a temporary situation, and I couldn’t escape that notion. Sooner than later, he’d actually see me, and that would be it. It would be over.
“You ready?” Grant asked, sliding behind the driver’s seat.
“I’m never ready to see my mom,” I answered as we began to back out of his mom’s driveway.
“You’re not going to see your mom. You’re going to see your sister.”
I shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Did you tell them you were bringing a hot date?”
My eyes widened with mock surprise. “I have a hot date?”
“Smartass.”
I smiled a little. “No, I didn’t tell them I was bringing a date. They don’t know much about my life, so I don’t know who they think I gave the second ticket to.”
“You haven’t told them about us?” He glanced away from the road at me.
“I don’t talk to my mom,” I reminded him. “I definitely don’t speak to my stepdad. Taylor and I will sometimes text, but we don’t get very personal.”
“Have you told anyone else? Your cousins?”
I shook my head. I had been very vague with my cousins when they asked about my lunch date with Grant, and I managed to keep them off that topic most of the time. They stopped asking after a while. They probably assumed it was another failure on my part.
“No. If I tell them I’m dating you, they’ll start planning our wedding and naming the babies we’ll never have.”
He laughed, but asked, “So, you’re never going to tell them? I’m starting to feel like you’re ashamed of me.”
“I’ll tell them eventually. Maybe after our beach vacation so I won’t have to listen to their henpecking the whole time.”
He reached for my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Thankfully, he changed the subject.
When we arrived at the theater, I began to feel a little nervous. I hadn’t brought a guy home since I brought Grant home more than fifteen years ago. As much as I disliked being in my mother’s company, there was a secret part of me that wanted her approval. I didn’t think she’d disapprove of Grant, but I couldn’t be sure.
My hand was clammy inside his as we walked into the building. Our seats were fairly close to the stage, so we were able to see my mom and Aaron before they saw us. They spotted us just as we reached their row. My mom’s eyes opened wide with surprise—which surprised me since I never saw any emotion on her face. Then her mouth opened in surprise as well before she managed to fix her face and look a little more like herself—remote and stony.
Both she and Aaron stood to greet us. The men shook hands, but Grant held my mother’s hand and kissed her cheek as if they were old friends.
“Jasmine,” he said. “It is nice to see you. You look beautiful.”
I think my mother actually flushed just before she smiled at him.
“Grant, thank you. I…I’m so surprised to see you. I had no idea that you and Mayson…” She trailed off and looked at me briefly with questions in her eyes. “I didn’t know that you were back from Texas.”
Putting his arm around my waist, as if to leave no question about what I was to him, Grant, my mom, and Aaron chatted for a few minutes. I mostly remained silent, watching the way he easily fell into conversation with the same people I struggled to speak to. After we sat down and the lights went down and the music began, my mom whispered in my ear.
“I am very pleased to see Grant. Surprised, but very pleased.”
Of course she was pleased. She was always pleased to see everyone else but me. For anyone else in the world, my mom managed to have some kind of emotional response besides the blank dead fish stare she had for me. One of the few times she’d given me anything more was at Emmy’s wedding years ago, and I think that was only because she had a few too many glasses of champagne.
Taylor had been perfect as Odette. Despite the lack of relationship we had, I was very proud of her. I tried not to feel cynical when my mother fawned over her afterward, hugging and kissing her and telling her how perfect she was. I thought she was perfect, too, but it was in a different context. When my mom said it, I heard, “You’re so perfect. You’re the daughter I was always meant to have, not Mayson.”
The small well of resentment that I harbored for not just Taylor, but for their whole three-piece family unit as a whole, grew a little deeper.
When Taylor had asked Grant and me to go to dinner with them, I was on the verge of declining, but Grant accepted. I had given him a murderous look when Taylor’s back was turned, but my mom had caught it, of course, and frowned.
Dinner wasn’t too horrible, though, not with Grant there as a buffer, but then my mom invited the kids and us to the monthly dinner—AKA, monthly drug check—at her house. Again, I started to say no, but my boyfriend—who seemed to have had a death wish—accepted that invitation as well.
“We could have discussed it first,” I said when we got back to his place.
“What is there to discuss? It’s your mom. It’s your sister and your stepdad.”
“My mom doesn’t even like me,” I pointed out, pulling off my shoes. “Aaron barely tolerates me, and Taylor…” I couldn’t think of anything bad to say about Taylor, so I just stopped talking.
Grant grabbed Dusky’s leash off the key hook by the door.
“Your mom loves you, and Aaron probably loves you in his own way. Taylor adores you, I can tell.”
“Do you not remember my relationship with my mother thirteen plus years ago?” I stared at him incredulously.
He connected the leash to Dusky’s collar and scratched him behind the ears, but his eyes were on me.
“I do. But, I remember a lot of things you don’t, and my memories are clearer than yours.”
“I don’t think that I’ve forgotten or misinterpreted my mother’s coldness toward me, Grant. I have some memory problems, but I remember that. In a way, I don’t blame her. I was a rotten kid who did rotten things, and I…” I was going to say, “And I killed her husband,” but that wasn’t something I admitted out loud, even if everyone already knew it was true.
“Mayson.” Grant said my name softly. “I understand where you’re coming from. Do I think that your mom could be a little less rigid? Absolutely, but I am telling you, you don’t remember things as clearly as you think you do.”
He end
ed the conversation by walking out the door to take Dusky for a walk.
While he was gone, I carried a bottle of wine and two glasses to the nook. I didn’t want to fight with him about it. It was pointless anyway. He didn’t know my mother like I knew her. Maybe he would start to see for himself how it really was. We had a kid-free night, and the last thing I wanted to do was argue about my mom or talk about my mommy issues.
After they came back in, Dusky wandered down the hall, his nails clicking against the floor. His favorite place to sleep was in Natalie’s bed. Grant removed his jacket and tie and came into the nook, holding his hand out to me.
“Come dance with me,” he quietly commanded.
I stared up at him for a few seconds before consenting.
He pulled me into his arms, softly singing “Whip Appeal” by Babyface. He looked down at me cravingly, heat and desire evident in his eyes. I stood on my toes, pulling his face down to mine at the same time, and dragged my tongue along his lower lip. He growled softly before taking my mouth in a fierce, hot kiss.
Grant’s hand smoothed up my bare arm, over my shoulder, down my chest, and stopped on my breast. He continued to kiss me, but his hand was still for several moments, giving me the opportunity to push him away. I didn’t.
His thumb slowly moved over my nipple, making it rise and press against my dress. I moaned when he did it again. I was a little disappointed when his hand moved away, but then I realized he was slowly unzipping my dress. The sound was surprisingly erotic and I kissed him deeper.
I felt the cool air on my back as my dress parted open. He traced lines down my spine and his fingers grazed the beginning contours of my rear before moving back up my spine. He stopped kissing me and took a step back. As his fingers slid under the fabric of my dress, he met my eyes and held my gaze.
The gauzy dress was carefully pulled forward off my shoulders and pulled down until I could slip my arms out. Only seconds later, the dress fell to the floor with a soft, whispery sound, and I was left standing before him in only a black, lacy bra and matching panties.
My heart pounded a million beats a minute, and once again, I trembled with nervousness, but I didn’t want to stop. In fact, I wanted to pick up the pace.
“Take your shirt off,” I demanded breathlessly.
He raised an eyebrow but eagerly obeyed. A moment later, his shirt fell away, revealing his muscular chocolate chest. He was in perfect shape, which made me really appreciate the early morning workouts he did four days a week.
“Now the pants.”
He looked amused with a sexy smile pulling at his lips. “I don’t remember you being so demanding in the bedroom.”
I raised my chin haughtily. “We’re not in the bedroom. Now off with the pants.”
“Take them off your damn self,” he countered. “I took your dress off for you. Fair is fair.”
“You know I don’t play fair.”
He reached out and circled my nipple with the tip of his finger. I barely swallowed back a moan.
“You will tonight, Baby Girl,” he said, his voice soft, but firm.
I narrowed my eyes at him but reached for his pants. I pulled the belt out first and threw it aside. Then I released the hook and began to pull down his zipper. My knuckles brushed over his erection as I went, making him suck in a breath. I let his pants fall and stepped back while he kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the puddle of pants.
I opened my mouth to say something sarcastic, but he put a hand on the back of my head and roughly pulled me to him before kissing me hard. It was relentless and powerful, stealing away my breath and senses and bruising my lips.
I let out a startled squeal when he put his hands under my ass and lifted me off the floor. I wasn’t used to men plucking me up like I weighed nothing. I clung to him as he chuckled and carried me to the couch. He put me down carefully, laying me on my back as he carefully lay down on top of me.
My body shivered beneath him. I was still nervous. I wasn’t a born again virgin, but my sexual encounters had been few and far between over the years. It was hard for me to let someone have any kind of control over my body, even if he was just trying to give me an orgasm. So for years, I’d stuck with the same guy for my sexual needs because he knew how not to touch me, and he didn’t try to be my boyfriend. We were strictly benefits with friends, seeing how the friendship part really didn’t matter to me.
Did I trust Grant with my body? It made sense to trust him, as he had never given me a reason not to, but…
I was thinking too damn much. There shouldn’t be so much thought while I was more than half naked with a more than half naked man that I was pretty sure I loved on top of me. There should only be action, attraction, and passion.
I turned my brain off and tried to slip back into the moment.
“You went somewhere,” Grant said, peering down at me. “Are you okay?”
I smiled. “Yes, I’m okay.”
My fingers eased down his back and slipped under the waistband of his boxers. He moaned softly and lowered his head to my breast. He kissed down the slope and discovered my nipple with his teeth. Moaning, I lifted my hips to meet his and moaned again when his erection pressed against me. He nibbled and sucked on the pert nipple through my bra as he rocked against me until we were both panting.
We kissed frantically, each of us battling for control. His fingers manipulated the tips of my breast, sending waves of pleasure straight down and between my thighs. I tried to reach between us to stroke him, but he took firm hold of both of my wrists and pinned them above my head, growling salaciously in the back of his throat before nipping at my jaw.
Then it happened. The images slammed into me. Voices and laughter from the past. The scents of beer, cigarettes, weed, and something musky.
I fell into my broken memories, melding with them.
“Stop,” I said in a panicked whisper.
I didn’t know who I was telling to stop. Grant in the present or them in my past. Them…those motherfuckers. Motherfuckers!
“Stop!” I screamed it. I screamed it again and again until I felt the pressure leave my wrists and body.
I came up out of the fractured memories as if I had just swum up for air from the bottom of a deep pool. I sat up gasping and clutching at my chest.
“Mayson,” Grant said my name like a lost child as he stood close by, watching me helplessly.
I didn’t have it in me at that moment to feel sorry for him. Something inside me cracked.
“You can’t just hold someone down!” I screamed at him through tears that I had only then become aware of. “You can’t just hold me down like that!”
I got to my feet and frantically searched for something to cover myself with. The first thing I found was Grant’s white dress shirt. I held it to my chest as my body heaved with sobs. Dusky trotted onto the scene, barking and whining warily as he watched.
“Mayson, what the fuck is wrong?” Grant said, his voice firm and demanding behind me.
I whirled on him and shoved him away from me with one hand. He stumbled back and I shoved him again and again as Dusky barked behind us, until he finally caught my hand.
“Let go of me!” I screamed, snatching my hand away. “You can’t violate me like that!”
His eyes widened and then grew stormy. “Violate—what the fuck are you talking about? Tell me what happened to you, right now,” he demanded, pointing at the ground between us. “Tell me what the fuck happened to you!”
“You happened to me!” I screeched. “You! You left me. You abandoned me by myself and I had no one. No one! And then they hurt me and it’s all your fault,” I sobbed. “It’s all your fault, and I hate you for it. I fucking hate you for it.”
Grant stared at me, confused and scared, and angry. His hard stare registered in me and I began to come to my senses. My cloud of fury and hate began to dissolve and I realized what I had done, what I had said.
I covered my mouth and muffled a wail. Grant looked li
ke he wanted to come to me, but he was afraid to touch me, afraid of how I might react.
Moments passed, and I thought it would stay silent but for the music playing in the background. I thought music would be the only sound we’d hear forever, and maybe that was preferable to the conversation that was about to happen.
“Tell me.” His voice was steady and soft, but he was over the bullshit. There was no getting out of it unless I threw myself out a window to escape it.
“T-two years af-after you left,” I stuttered tearfully. “I-I was hu-hu-homeless and-and desp-desperate.”
I was homeless and had no one but Tack, which was as good as having no one on most days. My mom and most of my family wanted nothing to do with me. Sharice was dead and gone, and Grant may as well had been dead and gone. So, when Annie—an old friend I had known back when I’d dated Randy—told me I could come stay with her down in North Carolina for a while, I’d jumped on it. She’d claimed that she had cleaned up her life, and I thought that maybe I’d be able to clean mine up, too, since I’d be away from all my usual influences.
I’d packed up my little tiny, piece of crap Honda, and went to North Carolina. I’d quickly realized that Annie wasn’t as clean as she had claimed. Her small dilapidated house had been nothing more than a drug house. People had come and gone all hours of the day and night. It was hard to stay clean in that environment, probably harder even than it had been when I was back in New Jersey.
Annie left one night to go stay with her boyfriend a couple hours away. I remember sitting with a group of guys whose faces I can’t remember, drinking, and smoking. After several weeks in that house, it wasn’t an unusual occurrence to find myself getting messed up with strangers. Someone had handed me another drink in a pink cup, and I’d taken it. Just like that. I drank it. And then my nightmare started.