Love and War: Part One – Chapter 9

I stand at the kitchen counter, glancing at the clock: 6:58. I can hear footsteps tromping down the staircase like a damn Cyclops. If she’s going to go anywhere with me we’re going to have to work on some things, because that shit is not going to cut it. That kind of noise will give away a person in a matter of seconds; precisely the amount of time it can take to get your ass killed or caught. I pull two mugs down from the cabinet and fill them both with coffee from the pot.

She walks around the corner, hair on top of her head and dressed in a tiny pair of pink, spandex shorts with a black and gray band tee shirt to accompany a pair of sneakers.

Her eyes are heavily lined in black and her lashes look like spider legs they’re so caked on with mascara. I still don’t get women and makeup, no matter how much I age. They will never understand the term ‘less is more’ or the fact that all that shit painted on their face is the same as false advertisement for many.

She glances up at me as I slide one cup across the bar, her face in a pout. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Cursing like a sailor so early? Must be a good day.”

“Do you just wake up looking this hot? It’s a little insulting to those of us that look like crypt-keepers if we’re woken before like ten.”

I look down at myself and take a sip of coffee. “Looks like clothes to me. I’m not sure I see the specialty. By the way, they are made to cover. If you bend over your ass will fall out of those shorts. And it looks like a second skin.”

“What’s the point in having ink if you’re not going to show it off? I like my thigh tattoo. I saved for a long damn time for it. It’s getting seen.”

“Do you know how many guys will actually be looking at your tattoo? I’m going to say about five percent and that’s probably because they’re not into females.”

She rolls her eyes and picks up the mug, her eyes going for the coffee pot. “Have you never heard of a Keurig? That thing is old school.”

I glance at it, half full of coffee. “Who said old school was a bad thing? I’m a simple guy. It works just fine without me spending unnecessary money for a fad.”

“You would say that. It’s less wasteful, not a fad.” She takes a sip from her cup and immediately starts coughing behind the swallowing sound. “Poison. It’s fucking poison. What the hell is that? I don’t want hair on my chest.”

I’m already half a cup down, but as I take another sip I grab the bag of grounds and set it before her. “Coffee. That shit you pay a ridiculous amount of money for is not coffee.”

“At least it tastes good.” She picks it up and reads the writing on the black bag. “Well, you can’t accuse them of false advertising. Why would anyone buy coffee from Death Wish Coffee Company? Are you trying to find your way out peacefully or something? Although I must say, I like the skull logo on the packaging and black is my favorite color. Where did you find this?”

“Online. I’m up a lot.”

“You don’t say. I was starting to think you were secretly a vampire.”

“I can sleep when I’m dead.”

“Which could be soon if you don’t sleep enough. It’s fact that our bodies need six to eight hours of sleep to properly function. But I’m more of a ten-to-twelve-hour kind of girl. Why are we up so early if we’re taking the day off?”

“Because we’re taking one day off, not multiple, and we have shit to do.”

“I really don’t have that much stuff, and we have all day and night since you never seem to need sleep.”

“I work at night.”

“I thought we were taking the day off?”

“You talk a lot to not be a morning person.”

“You don’t talk enough to be a person.”

“I only say what I need to.”

She walks around the bar toward me, eliminating the great big counter between us. I watch her as she does. She glares at me, and then she grabs the bottom of my shirt and rubs her hand up the left side of my front, stopping over my heart. I flinch at her touch. “I’m still not convinced you’re human.”

Being touched leaves me in a state that I don’t like. I grab her wrist and remove it. “I never said I was. Are you going to drink that or let it go to waste?”

She steps closer, staring at me still. “So, you can touch me whenever you want but I can’t touch you? Is that how this is?”

“It’s nothing personal. I just don’t like it.”

“What if I said that’s not going to work for me?”

“I don’t know what to tell you other than to deal with it.”

She grabs my belt in her fist and pulls me toward her, forcing my cup back on the countertop. “I think you’ve underestimated me a little. I don’t back down that easily, Kross.” Her hands dip under my shirt again and slide slowly up the front. I swallow, trying to breathe through the fucking anxiety building with each inch she climbs.

A flash occurs, drowning out the present more quickly than I can blink it away.

“I thought I told you not to come out of your room without permission.”

“But I had to use the bathroom.”

She stalks toward me with the cigarette hanging out of her mouth, the belt ends in her hand. “You don’t get it, do you? No one wants you. Your parents didn’t want you and no one else wants to adopt you. You’re only here to make me money. This is my house. You abide by my rules.”

The leather swings forward and licks the center of my chest, stinging. I back up, but she follows me, the ashes from her cigarette falling on the floor. She swings again, harder this time. The belt hurts, but not as much as her words. She uses them often and most of the time laughs right after.

I continue to my door. When I turn the belt licks across my back, knocking me forward with the arch of my spine. The door slams and I can hear the keys jingling as she locks the door from the outside. I turn over, my hand rubbing along the red stripes now on my skin.

Tears fall down my eleven-year-old cheeks, trying to remember my parents. I’ve tried over and over again, but nothing ever comes. And the result is always the same. I bang the inside of my fist against my forehead repeatedly, angry that I can’t remember. Maybe it’s best that I can’t, because they left me here . . . in Hell with the devil’s wife.

“Stop!”

Her hands drop with the thunder of my voice, her eyes wide. She backs away from me. Fuck. I’m not used to this. I place my fists on the bar, my eyes downcast on the quartz, breathing heavily. “Come here.”

“No. That’s okay. Sorry I pushed.”

“Come the fuck here.”

“Kross, it’s fine.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

I can see her feet as she approaches. I grab her shirt and pull her in front of me, her back against the counter. She props her elbows on the bar, arching away from me. “I have issues,” I say.

“I understand. We all have demons.”

“I’ve never done this,” I continue.

“I won’t hold it against you.”

“I’ll try to be less of an asshole.”

“I’ll still be here even when you can’t,” she says, staring into my eyes.

That statement grips me in a way I don’t understand. “Touch me.”

“I don’t have to. It’s okay.”

I remove my shirt and lay it on the counter. She glances at my chest. “Your body is beautiful.”

“Touch me. Slowly.”

Her hand comes toward me, hovering about an inch over my skin. My breathing spikes again, but my eyes remain locked with hers. It finally becomes flush with my chest. My heart is racing.

“They can’t hurt you. Whoever did this to you.” Her fingers find my scar, covered in ink, and then it starts.

“You stole from me.”

“I didn’t take anything. I’ve been in here.”

“Don’t lie to me, you little bastard. Where are they?” She’s yelling in the doorway of my small, cluttered room.

“Where is what?”

She walks toward me. The smell of cigarettes filter through my nose. “You took them. Where are they?”

“I haven’t taken anything.”

“Maybe I just need to remind you of what happens when you lie.” The cap opens on the lighter and the flame stands tall at the turn of the metal. She continues moving toward me.

“I’m not lying.”

“Is that why your parents didn’t want you? You were a little shit-stirring liar, weren’t you?”

I watch the orange and yellow waving back and forth with the air in the room. When she reaches me, she squats to my level. “I don’t have parents.”

She laughs. “Everyone has parents. Yours just didn’t want you. You were a bad seed from the start. They saw it and ran. Now, I’m stuck with you.” An ugly smile spreads on her face, showing her off-white, slightly crooked teeth. Her blonde hair has taken on a yellowish color from the smoking. She’s middle-aged but looks older than her physical age by the tough texture of her skin. She’s skinny because her cigarettes are more important than food. “You like fire? Do you want to hurt me with it? I bet you want to watch me burn, don’t you?”

I remain still, ignoring her. The flame goes out and then the hot metal presses against my chest, adhering to my skin. It hurts. It smells bad. I want to scream, but I don’t. “He doesn’t even cry. I knew you were a little freak. I will find them. If my cigarettes come up missing again, it’ll be worse next time.”

She rips it away, as if she ripped the skin with it and then leaves, locking the door once more. My hand touches the place that hurts and my other one goes for my mouth. I bite down hard as I scream, trying to smother it.

My shoulders tense and bow as the anger moves through my body, looking for an outlet. She jumps on my front and her lips collide with mine. I can feel the metal from hers skimming my skin. Sounds of her frantic breaths come in steady waves. “Open your eyes. Look at me. I need you to see me.”

My hands grip onto the back of her thighs to keep my balance. I blink, unaware they were even closed. “I’m fucked up. I’m a monster in disguise. You should run while you can.”

“I think I want to stay.”

“You’re going to regret it. I can’t be the type of man a woman wants. I’ll never want the same things. I’ll use you. I’m a bad person.”

“Says the person that cares whether or not I’m homeless?”

“No one should be on the street. And no woman should be selling her body to stay off of it.”

“So, you would just let anyone move in with you?”

“No. You work for me. It’s different.”

“Any woman could work for you.”

I shake my head. “I don’t hire women in the studio. Conflict of interest.”

She starts to smirk, but then it falls back into place as if it was in error. “Well, I can’t be the type of woman a man wants, so I guess we’re on the same page. My heart was burned in adolescence, and all that remains is a black organ with barely a beat, so you don’t have to worry about me falling in love with you. We can just be two fucked-up functioning addicts together.”

“Okay.”

“Lux had terrors. I’m not new to this. Tell me what makes it better when they bother you,” she whispers.

My fingers slip beneath her stretchy shorts. “Tattooing.”

“Let’s go get my stuff, and then you can work on my sleeve. I’ll even let you choose what to add.”

“But first, do that again.”

“Do what again?”

“Chase them away.”

Her eyes fall to my lips as she leans in, and then she kisses me, her lips soft against mine. It’s something I’ve never experienced before, and something I never thought I would like . . . until now.