Blank Canvas

by Coopmans, Kathy

  I want to scream ‘Fuck you’ to them all. Stand in front of an oncoming car with both middle fingers in the air and dare the cocksucker behind the wheel to end my misery and plow me over.

  I lose my footing and trip when I reach the sidewalk. Blood drips from my head, lands on my fingers, and I couldn’t care less. I push myself up, convince myself I’m fine, and head for that divine smell that overpowers my own ripe stench.

  “Go on, hide away with the garbage. You piece of white fucking stealing trash. Do you have any idea what I do to people when they steal from me, Amelia?” Oh, shit. I look up to see Ricky standing there. My bloodshot eyes dart from him to the end of the alley, where one of his cars is now blocking the entrance. I gulp, my high increasing.

  “Ask me if I care?” I spit at him.

  Even while facing the eye of the storm, all I’m worried about is hiding the drugs I have left. He won’t get to them. It’s all I’m worried about. I need the high to survive.

  “Cunt, you will.”

  The follicles of my hair breach from my head as he drags me back further into the alley. There should be a stinging sensation, but I feel nothing. Other footsteps join him in the deserted area. My body slams back against the cracked asphalt with my head bouncing off the hard surface. Blood, I welcome all of it.

  “Where are they?” Ricky slowly bends over and then spits in my face.

  “Fuck you.” The two words slowly leave my cracked lips.

  I’m rewarded with a fist to the jaw. The sound of it cracking fills the air, but again, still no pain. I have two choices. Play dumb and hope he gives up, or I go for the drugs, getting the rest of the pills down. In still moments like these, it makes me sick what my life has amounted to. Rare but real thoughts.

  “Going to play hard, are we, Amelia?” He kneels next to me. “I’ve had this cunt plenty. I’m going to teach you a lesson. The sad thing is, you won’t get the opportunity to learn from it. You’ll be an example for others.”

  It’s the slight opening I need. I go for it. Ricky turns back to his goons, and I move quickly. My fingers trembling and arm movements sloppy as fuck. The pills bounce in my palm, and I’m able to throw them into my mouth. The only problem is, it’s dry, causing the pills to lodge in my throat. I start to gag.

  “You bitch.” Ricky’s hands wrap around my throat.

  His fingers are digging deep into my flesh. The pain finally registers with my brain. My lungs are collapsing fighting for air. My throat is swallowing hard under pressure to get the pills down. The menacing look on Ricky’s face should be my first sign that I’m about to die. I don’t care.

  “Not going to make it easy on you, you dirty whore.” His hands disappear from my throat.

  When I gasp for my next hit of fresh air, the pills slice the inside of my throat going down roughly. Ricky pulls out a pistol, laying it next to my head. He waits for my reaction thinking I’ll go for it. I’m not. He can use it for all I care.

  Then my nightmare really begins to happen as each of his goons grabs an arm. They place their boots on top of my palms, forcing their whole body weight down onto them. My bones crack between the asphalt and the bottom of their boots.

  The sound of the bones shattering registers with my brain. It’s slicing and maddening torture and only the beginning of my hell. The high rises, and yet the things I’ve done, it suddenly all becomes too fucking much. The night my bedroom was invaded kicked off the vortex of my living hell. Everything else spiraled downward from there. Why doesn’t he kill me?

  Ricky flashes a shiny blade in front of my face with his gleaming smile framing the whole fucked-up scene before me.

  “If, and that’s a big if, you live to tell about this, then this scar will be your brutal reminder of what happens when you cross fucking Ricky Valdez.”

  He slices up the middle of my grimy T-shirt in one movement. The cold blade runs from my belly button all the way up to the base of my throat. Warm liquid oozes out onto my skin. Pain muted, but it’s the wild look in Ricky’s eyes I fear the most.

  He reaches into my pockets grabbing the remaining meth then passes it to one of his goons. I want to scream for him to give it back. I’m too caught up, my mind moving backward in time. Oh, God. I hope these men don’t rape me.

  “Just one more sweet kiss, Amelia.” He leans down like he’s going to kiss me. He’s never kissed me before. No one has.

  My eyes slam shut with old memories of unwanted touches invading me from my childhood. However, his lips never touch mine. His spit coats my face, and then he begins lightly carving a kiss on my lips with the sharp blade. The desire to cry out and beg for forgiveness never tempts my thoughts. This just may be the best answer to my problem. Death.

  “My dick is hard, but never dipping into that rotten pussy again.”

  “Ricky,” I whisper through the blood running from my lips and the razorblades scratching my throat. “Just kill me, please.”

  I cringe using the word ‘please,’ but death is my only wish at this moment. There’s nothing left in my life, and the reality is, it’s been that way for years now. Why wasn’t I smart enough to think of this before?

  “You want death? You think you should be able to choose your punishment for being a double-crossing, stealing cunt? Wrong.”

  His fist slams down hard. My face flings to the side, teeth flying from my mouth. He doesn’t stop sending his punishment one right after another. Ricky signals his goons to join in on the fun. Their boots assault my sides with grilling kicks. The ribs caging my organs snap one at a time. Breathing becomes a struggle. Something heavy lies on my chest, stifling the ability to gulp in oxygen. I need air.

  Mustering up enough courage, I look back to Ricky, who has the bloody knife in his hand again.

  “Please.” It’s barely a word floating off my lips and my greatest mistake.

  His palm covers one of my breasts. “You’ll never be able to use your body for drugs again, bitch. I’m making fucking sure of that.”

  The cold metal of the blade lands on my skin. He pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The silence before chaos combusts ensues with everything becoming crystal clear. Radiating pain from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes causes bile to rise up in the back of my throat, and the fight to gulp in air sends me into a panic.

  The sharp blade of the knife slices through the tender skin of my nipple. A bright light flashes, blinding me. I want to scream for help, cry for the pain, but everything is trapped inside, leaving me to battle the pain all on my own. My world begins to go black until I’m slapped in the face to keep me alert. Ricky smiles down at me, dangling my nipple above my face. He inches the bloody mess toward my face, forcing me to open my jaw.

  It’s locked on its hinges. Ricky is unable to get my mouth open. The bile is rising further and further up the back of my throat until it fills my mouth. I’m choking on my puke. One of the goons leans over, places four fingers in my mouth, ripping it open. The bones crack, and my screams finally escape. The sound gurgled by the liquid vomit in my mouth.

  Ricky shoves the bloody mess into my mouth, but everything is going dark way too quickly. I hear a scuffle and new voices yelling, but I can’t hold on. It’s happening fast, my own chest suffocating me, my own vomit choking me, and the pain killing me. I’m finally going to die.

  “Hey! What the fuck is going on down there?”

  “Shit,” Ricky whispers. “Run to the end of the alley, circle the block, and meet back at the car.”

  He sends one more kick to my side. It’s the magic touch my body needed to trigger the remaining effects, making it impossible to breathe. Everything goes black, and it’s better than any high I’ve ever experienced.

  2

  Zeke

  “Dining alone tonight, doc?” Piero, the son of my favorite restaurant owner, asks when I pull up to valet in my BMW M6 Convertible.

  “I’m meeting a few associates to go over a charity I’m helping run.” I huff, smile sm
ugly, and step out of my car. Piero is a damn good kid. One of the most respectful teenagers I’ve met. His parents are teaching him well, having him start by working his way up the family business the hard way. It’s one of the many reasons I enjoy coming here. The food is top notch, the service impeccable, and they treat me as if I’m family.

  “That sucks, dude. I enjoy seeing all those beautiful women on your arm. Makes me dream,” he says in a way only a horny sixteen-year-old kid would.

  “Keep it in your pants, buddy.” I pat his shoulder, turn around, and wrinkle my forehead when I feel eyes on me from the alley across the street.

  I know it’s her. The mysterious woman who barely allows me to see her. She’s homeless. I know this to be true, because I’ve asked about her a time or two. Everyone in the restaurant knows who she is, even though none of them have spoken to her. They say she keeps to herself, never bothers the patrons or disturbs the peace, so they let her be. She intrigues me, and I have no clue as to why.

  There have been times I’ve wanted to reach out to her, to see her face up close, to offer my help, but every time I’m here, I’m with a woman. Which is a piss-poor excuse, but it’s the damn truth, and I’m ashamed. I feel those eyes on me just about every time I’m here, as if they are seeking me out for help. It’s the natural fixer in me. It’s what I do for a living. It’s ultimately my passion, and yet I turn a blind eye to the blond woman with crystal cascade-blue eyes I memorized the one and only time I saw her. I’d recognize her anywhere.

  “Take care of my baby,” I tell him, toss him my keys, and enter the restaurant. The girl long forgotten with my mind set to business mode.

  “Your usual table, Doctor Hartley?” Daniela, the very sexy hostess, asks.

  “I told you to call me, Zeke.” I wink and watch her tight little ass in her black skirt as she leads me to the table.

  I’ve tapped into her sweet pussy a time or two. She knows the game, and I could go for a taste right now. I can’t, and my balls ache from it. I need to get this meeting over. Get my ass home to bed. It’s been an excruciating couple of weeks with one of my good friends, Katch, being shot, cleaning up his mess, and working my long hours in the ER. I love all those guys. My brother Saxon, or Brick to his club, too, but fuck all if this shit isn’t wearing the hell out of me. Not sure how much more of dealing with the club I can take.

  The cold truth is, I’ll do anything for them. They took my baby brother in when we were both halfway down the gates of hell after our family fell apart, and that’s one thing I’ll never be able to repay. Saxon couldn’t pull out of it. He was coasting down the highway of hell leading straight to a life sentence in the state penitentiary.

  “Call me,” Daniela whispers in my ear when she stops at my table, pulls out my chair, and places a napkin in my lap. I won’t. I gesture with a simple nod of thanks.

  “Gentlemen,” I acknowledge the mayor, his son, and the CEO of the hospital.

  “How are you, Zeke?” Mayor Dickinson asks.

  The real answer weighs at the tip of my tongue. I would love nothing more than to tell him I’m tired as fuck and he doesn’t have to kiss my Goddamn ass to get me to help or to write a check. I make more money than I know what to do with. Every dollar I get from the club goes into charitable contributions. I keep none of it. I don’t need it.

  “Ready to get down to business.”

  I typically hate organizing shit, but when it comes to my charity, Lost Angels, it’s my passion. Any other charity or event I’d rather attend, do my part, and go home and fuck whoever I have on my arm. It’s as simple as that. Even with the extra demand at the hospital, I’ll never give up on this charity. It’s grown slower than I like, but the important part is, there is growth. I’m stepping up my game with this plan of a charity ball with hopes of millions going to Lost Angels, a women’s shelter in the state of California with the hopes of going nationwide. Rape and abuse victims. Their scared little children. These women need all the help they can get. It’s hard enough when one comes into the ER all beaten to shit. Raped by her husband, boyfriend, or a stranger. If I can help in any way, then I’m sucking my piss-poor organizational skills up, the memories that haunt me and what’s pulling my weight to have me here.

  “Great. I brought a file with all the information you will need to support the ball. We put together these charity events all the time, Zeke. This one will bring yours a lot of money.” He places a file on the table. “My office will do most of the work. If you could attend our monthly meetings until we get closer…what the hell was that?” The mayor raises his voice. Startled. As am I.

  We all abruptly stand to the loud shrilling scream from outside of the window. I don’t hesitate to get up and run out the side door. Doctor instincts on high alert from the blood-curdling scream.

  “Hey! What the fuck is going on down there?” I yell, my feet trying to keep up with my sprint.

  Several men dodge past me, but I can’t look at them. All I see is the bloody, beaten mess of a woman lying lifeless on the ground.

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” I rip my jacket off, grab my phone, and dial 911, dropping it on the ground while I check for a pulse.

  “I need an ambulance at 5th and Dexter, now!” I yell to the operator before she gets all her wording out. She rattles off questions, while I answer and scan the half dead woman.

  “I’m a doctor. All I know is, this woman is going to die if you don’t have them here within five fucking minutes.”

  Her pulse is barely there. Vomit and blood foam out of her mouth. I’ve seen a lot of wicked shit pass through my ER room, but nothing holds a candle to this. It takes me long beats to digest how mangled her small frame is. When she begins to seize on the ground choking, my instincts finally kick in.

  Her airway needs to be cleared. I reach into my pockets for gloves and realize I’m in an alleyway and not in the hospital. I don’t hesitate to swipe in her mouth, pulling out the bloody mass, and then secure her safely during her seizure. Her breathing is labored and becoming less and less.

  “Fucking ambulance now!” I scream into the phone.

  There’s a growing crowd behind me, but I ignore them. The fact I know there are nurses and doctors inside that restaurant who work in my field and haven’t stepped in to offer a hand really pisses me off.

  On cue, the howls of the ambulance fill the alleyway; their screams to tell people to clear out of the way ring out in my stinging ears. The paramedics are quick to react as they carefully lift her lifeless body off the ground. I shout out the orders from beside her, helping them get her into the back of the ambulance. They don’t blink twice when I climb into the back, shoving one of them out of my way, and pull out a knife to cut her shirt off the rest of the way in order to access the damages. Track marks are everywhere. On her arms, the little bit of her stomach that’s visible. She’s a junkie. “Goddamn it, woman. You are not going to die on me. Do you fucking hear me?” I screech. Her face is so messed up. Long, blond hair coated in blood.

  “My God, what the fuck have they done to her? Control the bleeding on her left breast,” I bark out. Jesus, if I had to guess what that mass of shit was in her mouth, it would be her nipple. “I need a 14-gauge needle, or she’s going to crash.”

  The paramedic follows orders as I race to get a chest tube started. Her body coated in grime and blood makes the task nearly impossible. I wipe away the blood with the sleeve of my shirt. She needs air right fucking now. I straddle her body while working over the top of her. My hands work naturally, but it’s my mind playing fucking tricks on me, taking me back to places I keep locked away in a tightly sealed box.

  Is this how my sister was left to die? Barely hanging on for her next gulp of air with her own body drowning her? She was abandoned in a ditch on a lonely highway. Was she scared after her attacker brutally raped her, or was there no time left for her to be scared? Her bright blue eyes used to once shine with happiness and carefree thoughts, but all of it was taken away in one night. Her
life was gone in a flash. All of our lives ripped apart. Broken.

  When the girl’s eyes flash open and I see Clara’s bright blue eyes shining back at me, I have to look away from her face. It’s all too much flooding inside of me all at once. The paramedic takes over trying to talk to her. The blood coats the gloves on my hands I never knew I put on, taking me right back to the reason I became a doctor, and it’s all centered around Clara. God, she was a bright light in our world. The one who walked through life without a care in the world. While all I wanted was to get the hell out from under our parents’ thumbs. Saxon was always getting into trouble. The loss of our sister only heightened his ways. Fucked up. We all were, except her. The innocent victim of a dark and horrendous crime.

  After she had died, my family fell apart. Saxon was destroying himself, and his life was one bad decision after another. My parents leaped off their own deep end by soaking their grief in booze and hurtful accusations. I was the oldest of the siblings and had no other choice but to leave. Joining the Army sculpted my future. Gave me opportunities to escape my reality and the grief our family was enduring, but it also opened up an entire new box of shit. All too quickly, my heart became steel holding my brothers as they died. I was there to save them but couldn’t. Their blood coating my own body. Their hearts were pumping out the last ounces of their blood onto my skin. I became reckless in the war zone, giving up on life until my four years were up and I came home. Went to college and became a doctor.

  That black box of memories was sealed tight and locked away until her. She’s bringing it all back as she struggles for her life.

  “Heart rate and blood pressure way too high,” the paramedic announces.

  “Find a vein and get fluids going. Get her blood pressure down.”