Target on Our Backs

by J. M. Darhower

  Over at the deli? Strictly off limits.

  But there one is, hung up on the wall, tuned into the twenty-four-hour news station, utterly silent but still playing away. Strange.

  Shaking it off, I look around, seeking Karissa out. She sits at a small table in the middle of the deli, across from my father, the two of them chatting. What they're saying, I'm not certain, but I can make a guess that the conversation is probably about me. Because as soon as they notice my presence, all conversation ceases.

  Karissa smiles, relief shining in her eyes, as she calls for me. "Naz!"

  Slowly, I approach, pausing beside the table. I reach toward Karissa, cupping her chin, tilting it, as my thumb strokes her cheek. Leaning down, I kiss her softly. "Sorry it took so long."

  "Oh, it's fine," she says, her cheeks flushing as I pull away. She waves across the table. "Gave your dad and I a chance to chat."

  "About?"

  Karissa starts to speak, her mouth opening, but my father beats her to it, uttering a lone word: "Memories."

  Memories.

  "Interesting." I look at him. He doesn't look very happy. He never is when I'm around, but usually it's anger and disappointment I sense. Today I see exhaustion. "Care to share any with me?"

  He leans back in his chair, regarding me for a moment, before nodding. "I got one for you."

  I motion for him to go on.

  "It was twenty years ago," he says. "You were still a teenager, barely eighteen, just a kid yourself."

  Worst year of my life.

  Memories from that year are cast in a haze of pain and loss. It's hard to remember the sun even rising back then, hard to remember a day that wasn't dark.

  I almost tell him not to bother. Almost tell him not to go on. But whatever he has to say, I'm going to let him say it; I'll let him say his piece and then I'll be gone.

  "I remember the year well," I tell him. "Kind of hard to forget it all."

  "Then let me tell you something you might not know," he says. "One morning, on the way to the deli, I ran into Raymond Angelo. He told me his daughter was expecting a baby, that he was going to be a grandfather. Now, I wasn't a fool… she was your wife then, so I knew the kid was yours. I congratulated him, since that was what he wanted. And I went home that night, and I told your mother the news."

  Okay, he's right… I've never heard this story.

  I'm not sure I like where it's going, though.

  "Your mother, she was ecstatic. She said you'd be a great father, because you learned from the best there ever was. I agreed with her, you know, because she was your mother, but I didn't believe it. You see, by then, Angelo already had his claws in you, and judging by his reaction, he wanted his claws in that baby, too. Figured the kid was doomed."

  From my peripheral, I can see Karissa squirming.

  She isn't so sure about this conversation, either.

  "But, you know, what happened happened, and twenty years later, here we are… another baby. Your mother's not around now, not here for me to share the news, but I know what she'd say if she was."

  He pauses, staring at me.

  He doesn't say the words, but I know what they are.

  You'll be a great father, because you learned from the best there ever was.

  "I've got a memory for you," I say. "I was twelve or so. It was the summer you brought me here to work."

  He nods. "I remember it."

  "You taught me how to use a knife. I spent all summer in the back, chopping everything up for you. I loved it, you know, but I needed more practice. The knife slipped sometimes when I lost my focus. One day, the last day you let me back there, I made a mistake and cut my finger. Blood was everywhere, all over me, all over the table, all over everything I'd been chopping that morning. I thought I was bleeding out. I felt woozy. I yelled for you, and you ran back there. You took one look at me, and do you remember what you said?"

  He just stares at me. Of course he remembers.

  "You said, God damn you, Ignazio, you're ruining my food! Point is, based on that, my parenting's probably going to need some work."

  His expression cracks when I say that. A small smile plays on his lips. Shoving his chair back, he wordlessly stands up, leaning over and kissing Karissa on the cheek. "If you ever need me, you know where I am."

  He steps toward me then, pausing in front of me, and reaches over, squeezing my shoulder. It only lasts a few seconds, as he looks at me with the closest thing to pride as I've seen in his eyes since that summer years ago.

  Letting go, he shakes his head, muttering as he walks away. "Get out of here, Ignazio, and for everyone's sake, please don't ever come back."

  I just stand there as he walks away, disappearing into the back. My gaze shifts back across the deli, toward the television. I'm instantly greeted with a peculiar headline. It's scrolling across the bottom of the screen: Fatal Attack in Long Island

  Leave and never come back. That sounds about right.

  "You, uh... um..." I look at Karissa when she talks, stammering a bit. She's motioning toward my chest, pointing with her finger. "You've got grass on your shirt."

  "Oh." I look down at it. "Yeah."

  "Do I want to know?"

  "Probably not."

  "Well then." She stands up, pushing her chair in. "How about we get out of here?"

  "Got everything you want?"

  Naz's voice is quiet as he asks that question, standing behind me, in the doorway to the den. A duffel bag lay at my feet, my pictures stashed in it, along with enough clothes to probably last me a week. Killer is running around out back, home from the vet, feeling much better. Nothing was broken.

  Is that everything I want?

  I'm not sure.

  But I certainly don't need anything else.

  "I think so," I reply, not wanting to lie. "Honestly, I don't really know."

  "Take your time," he says. "We'll leave whenever you're sure."

  Whenever I'm sure. If that's what we're waiting for, we'll both die of old age right here in this room. I've never been sure about much, really, except for him.

  I'm sure about him.

  He might boil me alive before it's all over with, but I'm here, with him, because I'm sure this is where I belong.

  "You really don't want to take any of these books?" I ask, glancing around the packed room. Nothing looks out of place. It's all just there, where it has always been, maybe where it'll always be, unless we come back for it. "Like... none of this?"

  He lets out a resigned sigh. "No."

  I turn to him. He's got a duffel bag, too, but it's only filled with clothes and shoes. "Not even The Prince?"

  He smiles softly at my question. His favorite book. "It's got a bit of water damage, remember?"

  "Ugh, don't remind me," I tell him. "I still feel bad about that. I almost bought you another copy for your birthday, but I figured it probably wouldn't be the same."

  He doesn't agree, but he doesn't deny it either.

  "Don't feel bad. Besides, I don't need it anymore. I've told you before, it's all up in here." He taps a finger to his temple. "Everything's up here. All of my memories, good and bad. I forget none of it. I don't have to take this stuff along with me to remember any of it. Memories are all that matter."

  Ironic, really, since some of my memories I'd love to forget. Naz, though, embraces it. He doesn't let his memories define who he is. While I always envied Melody's resilience, it's really Naz's tenacity that I wish I had. Nothing ever holds that man down.

  "I think I'm sure, then."

  He laughs. "You think?"

  I turn to him, turning my back to the bookshelves, and smile. I know how ridiculous it sounds. "Yeah, I fear that's as good as I'm getting."

  "Well then." He reaches into his pocket. "Before we go, there's something I want to give you."

  Stepping closer, he pulls something out, holding it up. It catches the bit of light streaming in through the windows, the shiny metal sparkling.

  I recogniz
e it right away.

  My necklace.

  "I found it the other day. It was lying on the floor, the chain snapped. I took it and had it fixed. Figured you'd want it back."

  A smile touches my lips as tears burn my eyes. I looked for it, when I made it back home, but the thing was gone. I thought I'd lost it forever.

  I've never in my life been so happy to be wrong.

  Wordlessly, I turn around, pulling my hair up, out of the way. Naz slips it around my neck, his rough fingertips brushing against my warm skin.

  "There's just something about you, Karissa," he whispers, "something I've sought for a very long time."

  Jesus Christ. Don't cry. He's about to turn me into a blubbering mess. The swell of emotion that consumes me is intense. "Is that right?"

  "It is."

  Leaning down, Naz kisses the nape of my neck, before I let my hair drop. I go to turn around, to look at him, but instead he wraps his arms around me, pulling me back into him. I relax into his touch as I reach up, toying with the sparkly pendant. "I love you, Naz."

  "Not as much as I love you."

  "Pfft, yeah right." I let go of the necklace. "I don't think that's humanly possible."

  He doesn't argue with me.

  Neither of us says anything for a while.

  We just stand there, reveling in the silence, enjoying the moment. Is this what forever will feel like? Just me and him...

  And the baby, of course.

  Our own little family.

  A fresh start. A new beginning.

  "Do you wanna, you know, play around one more time before we leave?" I ask, slipping around in his arms, gazing up at him. "Go out with a bang, so to speak?"

  There's a twinkle in his eye as he looks down at me. "What do you have in mind?"

  "Maybe you can fuck me like you hate me again."

  He reaches up, nudging my chin, his thumb grazing my lips. "I think that kind of play will have to wait… for another couple months, at least."

  I smile, feeling the blush on my cheeks. "Darn."

  "I can, however, give you something even better."

  "What's that?"

  "I can show you how much I love you."

  "Hmm, I like the sound of that."

  He leans closer, pausing just a breath from my lips. "Thought you would."

  Instead of kissing me, he pulls away, grabbing my hand to lead me from the den. I follow him upstairs, my heart pounding hard in my chest, my skin prickling from anticipation.

  As soon as we're in the bedroom, he shuts the door, even though it's pointless. Killer is outside. Nobody's going to burst in the room.

  "So beautiful," he says, pulling my shirt off. I raise my hands in the air, making it easier for him. He tosses it to the floor, like its nothing, before reaching around and unhooking my bra, getting rid of it.

  Kneeling, Naz unbuttons my jeans, tugging down the zipper, before his hands slip in. He cups my ass, slipping inside my panties, and pulls it all down at once, shedding me of them. The second I kick my pants off, leaving me naked, Naz's mouth is on me.

  Holy shit.

  My knees nearly buckle.

  He licks and sucks, his tongue working magic, as he pins me there in front of him. Tilting my head back, I let out a shaky breath, spreading my legs wider, making it easier for him. My hands somehow find their way to his head, and I stand there, legs trembling, gripping tightly to his wavy hair, as he makes love to me with his mouth.

  Jesus Christ, he ravishes me.

  I can barely take it.

  Can barely handle the sensations flowing down my spine.

  It's a jolt of electricity, a strike of lightening.

  It almost takes me down.

  I'm moaning, gasping. It's heaven. It's torture. Just when I'm on the brink of losing it, Naz picks me up, moving me over to the bed.

  He throws me down on it, not wasting even a second, his lips trailing down my stomach before finding my sweet spot again. He works magic, the kind of magic only he's capable of. In less than a minute, I'm writhing, crying out his name. "Oh God, Naz... Oh God..."

  Orgasm rips through me. My back arches. My body shakes. It takes my breath away for a second before I gasp for air. As soon as the sensations start to fade, he moves up in the bed, his lips trailing up my stomach, kissing and caressing, before he finds my mouth.

  I kiss him deeply, desperately, as I paw at his clothes, and he tolerates it for a moment. Just a moment. Long enough for me to unbutton his shirt. In a blink, his hand snatches ahold of my wrists, pinning them together, pinning them down to the bed above my head. Pulling back some, he looks me in the eyes.

  He says nothing.

  He just stares.

  Studying me again.

  It's almost a minute, as I count the torturous seconds in my head. It should been awkward, but it isn't. It's erotic. His gaze penetrates me, effectively fucking my soul.

  He lets go after a moment, sitting back on the bed. He strips then, taking it all off, leaving him stark naked.

  The second he's back on me, he's stroking himself, finding his way between my legs. I feel him, hesitating at my entrancing, pausing there.

  He pushes in then, slowly, deeply, stroking a chord inside of me. My breath hitches. Oh God.

  "I love that sound," he whispers, his voice gritty. "It's the best music in the world."

  I wrap my arms around him. "Maybe that should be your ringtone, then."

  He laughs, his face nuzzled into my neck. "That wouldn't work."

  "Why?"

  "Because others would hear it. That sound belongs only to my ears."

  He makes love to me then, like only Naz can, alternating between slow and deep and rough and hard, sending me into a tailspin. It's a breath-catching, skin-slapping, soul-capturing kind of love. The man owns me. He consumes me. Every part of me was made for every part of him. It's the kind of love I can't imagine ever living without. It's raw, and real, and it's ours.

  It's ours.

  It goes on forever.

  Life flashes before my eyes.

  We're old and gray and happy. We're happy.

  Nothing is going to get in our way now.

  He shows me that, and I feel it, as he holds me tightly, making love to me. I'm sweaty, and exhausted, by the time it's over. My body is spent from orgasms, and my heart feels like it goes to explode. I say nothing, though, afraid to speak, afraid to offer him any words. Because if I do, I might spew a fucking rainbow. I might spout out the kind of nonsense found in Napoleon's romance novella.

  Naz lies on top of me for a moment after he finishes before finally pulling out. He stands up, gathering our clothes, tossing mine to me as I lay on the bed.

  "I'm sure now," I manage to say, as I watch Naz getting dressed.

  He turns to me. "Yeah?"

  I nod as I sit up, clutching a hold of my necklace. "I've got everything I want."

  I'm going to tell you a story, a story about a hunter that killed a powerful lion not long ago. The hunter gave no thought to the consequences, gave no thought as to how it would affect the future.

  You see, the hunter only cared about one thing... her.

  To him, nothing else mattered except for her safety. He would've slaughtered entire prides, caused mass extinction, if it meant saving the one he loved. Because while the hunter might've learned his lesson, while he might've ultimately put down his gun, there's something innate about survival.

  Something instinctive about protecting her.

  I stand on the second-floor terrace at the back of the beach house, facing the dark blue ocean. The water blends into the night sky, a wall of darkness accentuated by crashing waves. This stretch of beach is quiet, very few strangers ever wandering this way. It's isolated, most of the neighboring houses vacant, used sparingly for vacations.

  It's like our own little world out here.

  Karissa stands on the beach, barefoot, no longer pregnant. She's wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a flowery bikini top tied arou
nd her neck. She's beautiful, her long brown hair whipping in the wind. Even with sand clinging to her sweaty body, stretchmarks marring her tanned skin, she's still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

  I can hear her laughter the whole way up here. It's light and carefree. Happy. She never used to laugh that way. Not before. She's throwing a tennis ball down the beach and watching as Killer excitedly chases after it, showing no fear as he dashes toward the water.

  She glances up at the terrace, smiling, as she pushes her hair out of her face. The beach house is two-stories, open and airy, the entire back wall made of glass. We can sit in the living room and look out at the ocean, can lie in bed and stare up at the starry night sky.

  Karissa stares at me from her place on the beach, and I stare back, taking in the sight of her in the moonlight. I almost want to go down and join her, but a noise behind me, in the house, rules that out.

  Turning, I make my way inside, out of the main bedroom and across the hall, carefully heading into the only other bedroom. It's dim, only a small lamp on, illuminating the white wooden crib by the door. I step to it, pausing as I look down in it.

  Looking right at him.

  He's wide-awake, his big bright blue eyes open, zeroing in on me the second I appear. He looks a lot like his mother, I think, although Karissa claims he's a miniature version of me. He's quiet, maybe unnaturally so, rarely ever crying.

  Happiness seems to radiate off of him.

  Fabrizio Michele Vitale

  He's three months old today.

  He's perfect.

  "Hey, little man," I say, reaching toward him. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

  He smiles at the sound of my voice, flashing his toothless grin, and grabs a hold of my pointer finger, wrapping his fist around it. Picking him up, I cradle him in my arms as I walk through the house, rocking him to sleep.

  It's so quiet in here.

  It's almost too quiet.

  I find myself humming.

  What can I say? He likes it.

  I hear Karissa come inside, hear her approaching. I stop humming and turn to her when she enters the kitchen where I am, but it's too late.