Note from Author: Just a thank you for reading if you're new or if you are an old Todd fan who was around back in the day when I originally wrote this story. I'm slowly revising and cleaning up a bit. There is an ending! Do write to me if you've "enjoyed" it - LOL - so much torture. :) Hearing from the readers is always a pleasure.
On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 2
Chapter 25
From his place on the cold floor of the shelter, Todd tried to focus on something meaningful, tried to think of something other than his soul-racking urge to dose up. Think, he kept saying, think of people, places, God ... something ...
...but all that came forward were thoughts of a full syringe, of powdered heroin, of that rush, the whole goddamn thing. He even found himself fixating on the pain of the injection. He kept feeling the pin-pricks all over his body, he would "see" himself with that blessed needle in his hand, hitting his favored veins, hitting in places he hadn't done yet like his neck, like his chest. He'd then cram the edge of the thick wool blanket into his mouth to quiet his own groans for that salvation, to hide his tear-stained agony.
The Sister came in and out of that room all night, too, giving him water and letting him know that he was "safe," that it was going to get better, that God was helping him and would always be there for him, just so much sentimental bullshit.
In response, he cursed at the Sister, sounding like a possessed lunatic. The venom did nothing though. The sister kept on with her Sister-Spirit smile, her gentle touch, her divine patience. It frustrated him. At one point, in the face of her refusing to get angry back at him, he grabbed onto her and asked her why this was happening to him? What had he done to deserve it?
Of course, there was no answer. She eased him away from her, offered more reassurance and tended to the others.
He was in such hell.
The pain was unstoppable: the cramps, the sweating, the way ... stuff ... was just coming out of him. He waited for the blood to come. Surely after everything else the only thing left would be blood, right? RIGHT?! Fucking endless.
It didn't matter that a few other people were doing the same thing either. There was something completely isolating about this kind of illness. It was like YOU were the ONLY one dying and no one got that fact so the Sister's promises that it would "get better" were empty. They were like the shouts of a sailor on a boat to a drowning man miles away in a rocky, icy ocean.
"Hey!" that sailor would call to the victim, "You just hang on there! Keep treading water! I'll get to you with my life raft ... one day!"
One day. One day that lifeboat would come, to retrieve a dead body, to pick up the vulture-eaten, sun-burnt remains out of the water. The Sister's promises were nonsense.
"You fuckin' bitch ... you did this to me ... you're keeping me from what I need ... you motherfucker ... you bastard," Todd moaned. He was on the floor with his head on the cot, arms stretched across. He had given up trying to rub the pain away. "You judge me ... you have the nerve to judge me."
"No, Angel, I didn't do this to you," the Sister crooned. "A drug is doing this. Above all, I do not judge you. You just keep your faith. With the morning, there will be relief."
"Is the sun out yet? Can I go yet? Please ... please ... please ..."
"No ... no, it's dark and still snowing. Be patient. This won't last."
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW?! Ohhhhhh ... Brandy, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that I hurt you," he whimpered, his voice trailing off as he hugged the woolen blanket and rocked himself.
"Sister, I gotta get up," a deep, pained voice from across the room called.
"Let me tend to him," Rachel said gently, "I will be back, Angel."
"That's what they all say ... they'll be back ... but no one comes back for me," Todd said in a faint voice. He climbed back on the bed, not knowing what to do anymore because sleep wouldn't come, because deprivation kept him awake. It was special punishment, this letting go of the heroin. When he was young, when things were bad, he could separate himself from physical pain. The tortures of his father, the abuse of football all through high school and his years in college.
But when one is a slave to the Princess, all the years of practiced separation just fuckin' disappear! The pain was real and powerful and ... THERE.
So, he decided he was just going to let it take him, just let his muscles continue to jerk and seize up, his insides twist and turn. He was just going to lie there and get fucked by Satan. Feel it. Live it.
HERE I AM, DADDY! Cut me, burn me, punch me, kick me. Do it all to me. Let me feel what it was like, let me fucking remember.
Yeah, yeah, and maybe this time God would be merciful, maybe his heart would stop beating, maybe that Owl would come back and peck at him until he bled to death, maybe someone would come along and blow his goddamned brains out. Yeah, yeah, with a gun. Splatter all that he was all across that shelter room.
"You're such a liar," the Owl screeched from the doorway. "LIAR! LIAR! LIAR! You don't WANT TO DIE! LIAR! Whoooo."
"SHUT UP!" Todd shouted, curling up on the cot. He felt a cold cloth on his forehead and heard the Sister comment, "This is a bad one ... maybe he's alcoholic, too; there must be something else going on."
"Naahh..." another voice grumbled, "It's sometimes like that, you ought to know that! He musta have had one fuckin' huge habit!" The guy chuckled and then groaned in pain as if a sudden cramp had stopped his laughter.
"That shows YOU for your smartie comments," the Sister responded with a sad laugh.
She was still looking at Todd, though, continuing to cool him with the wet cloth, listening to his ravings. Many of the people in the shelter had mental disorders right along with addictions. And many of those people were too ill to ever get proper help, too ill to function enough to reach out to the services the government had to offer them, yet the irony was that they were not ill enough to be absorbed into the system. So these in-between people would remain afflicted, impoverished, homeless, and out of reach. Thinking of these things, the Sister was beginning to believe that this "patient" was struggling with something far greater, far deeper than an everyday, ordinary heroin withdrawal.
"Brandy," Todd then cried pitifully, "come back to me…"
"Angel, who is Brandy? You keep asking for her. I can check the shelter. Can you describe her to me, can you do that?" The sister rubbed Todd's hair back and put the cold cloth on his head again, having just rinsed it out.
"She's my sister ... find my sister ... please..."
"What does she look like, tell me, come on. There are so many people here."
Todd looked at Sister Rachel with such desperation that it just broke her heart. But he didn't respond with any information, All he did was shake his head and beg more for what it was that he needed.
"Someone must care for you," she said thoughtfully. "Who braided your hair? Who put these pretty things in your hair?"
Todd didn't answer for a few moments, drawing into himself in pain. But then what he had been feeling seemed to have passed and he answered, "An angel did ... one whose soul I killed, that I ruined. She's gone now ... she's gone..."
"Did Brandy do it?"
"No... no ..."
"What is that angel's name?"
"I don't dare say her name aloud," he whimpered. "I don't dare taint it by having my voice say it. I did enough to her."
The Sister sighed heavily, flipping the towel and pulling down the blanket a little because he was sweating too much. Todd froze at that, staring at her, mumbling, "What are you doing, why are you uncovering me?"
"You're too hot."
"I'm not helpless anymore, you know. I can fight you, I can hurt you if you try anything."
The Sister looked sympathetically at him, "I won't hurt you."
"That's what they all say, they won't hurt you ... well ... surprise, surprise ... IT HURTS!"
"Shhhh ... Angel." He was quiet at that, but staring at her angrily. The Sister knitted her brows, asked, "Did someone hurt you? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
Todd laughed sharply. "Ohhhh... a joke, right? This is all a joke ... I mean ... it's a joke on me ... a joke on my being born. HURTING is so much FUN! People ... you know ... they get a kick out of torturing other people ... it's FUN!" He sat up and moved close to the Sister and with shaking, suffering anger, growled, "Go ahead, Sister, ask me if I like it, ask what it's like to feel someone's tears sting your face, ask what it's like to watch then try to get away ... then to grab onto them and make sure they FUCKING STAY PUT while you RIP THEIR HEARTS OUT!"
Shivering violently, he then lay back on the cot on his side, pulling his knees up, "Ask me, ask me what it's like ... to kill a soul, to put out the light in their eyes ... to murder hope ... ask me ... ask me ..." His voice faded into a soft whimper and the Sister shook her head again, letting out a sigh filled with that same sadness.
"The violent ones," she then said, "learned to be that way. If you did those things that you say, it's because someone has done them to you, someone murdered hope in YOUR heart, someone put the lights out in YOUR eyes. God loves you, God forgives YOU."
Todd turned to her, "What about the Devil himself? Does your precious 'God' forgive the one who did these things to ME? Does He forgive the man who killed MY soul ... Sister?"
"Only if he repented."
"And what makes you think I have repented? How do you know that tomorrow I won't walk out of here and do it again? Kill another soul, murder hope in someone else? Huh, Sister, HUH?!"
Her resolve didn't waiver at Todd's pronouncement; her voice, like the spirit's voice, didn't react to his threat. "I believe you've repented," she said. "You sound sorrowful, remorseful. I know the sound of that. Therefore, I know in my heart that you've been forgiven. I can feel it. I don't know about the other. Who ... was the other, Angel? Was he able to ask for your forgiveness? Was he able to show his repentance?"
Chuckling ironically, Todd rolled onto his back and looked around, looked at the Owl in the doorway, the straps around his wrists and ankles; with his hand, he grazed the thick noose tightening around his neck; he listened a moment to the screeches and the chattering of the rodents along the walls, listened to all their questions and commentary and ... chortling.
At that, he then extended his arms, revealing the deep scars from when he'd cut himself, showing the puncture wounds from his beloved needles, the bruising. Grinning like a mad man, he said in a low tone, "Does THIS look like he asked for my forgiveness, Sister? Does THIS look like I'm anywhere near forgiveness?"
The Sister took his hand into hers and touched the scars, caressed them, "You are God's child, Precious, you are always near forgiveness."
"NO! No, no, no, you stupid BITCH," he objected harshly, wrenching his arm away from her. "You can't forgive dead people because they are not around to accept it. You can't forgive the spider for being a spider, for being too small to fight the shoe on TOP of it. You can't forgive ... any of that. Look at me, Sister, look at me, look into my eyes and what you will find is NOTHING; NO HEART ... NO SOUL ... I AM DEAD! I CANNOT BE FORGIVEN BECAUSE ... THERE IS NOBODY HERE TO ACCEPT THE FORGIVENESS! DO YOU GET ME?!"
He laughed again, a contradiction to the tears that were running down his face from the pain that was killing him, tears from his unsatisfied cravings, from the wound in his heart that simply refused to heal. Rachel breathed deeply and closed her eyes, putting her head down, touching Todd's hand.
She said prayerfully, "You have not been forsaken nor abandoned. You just have to listen." She lifted her eyes to him, "You are loved ... YOU are LOVED and YOU are PRECIOUS and ... YOU have been forgiven. And contrary to what you believe, you ARE here to accept the forgiveness - when I look into your eyes, I do not see the lack of a soul; I see a good one, a damaged one, a lost one. I ... see ... you. So accept the forgiveness that He is holding out ..."
Todd turned over onto his stomach, placing his face flat against the cot, his arms to the side. Suffocate me, he thought, suffocate me like you have always wanted to. Go ahead, he begged, tighten the noose around my neck until I can't breathe anymore, just fuckin' kill me. I can't be in HER light anymore, I can't take it.
He felt the Sister's hand touching his head and he tried not to breathe, adjusting his head so the mattress prevented him from getting air; she sounded like the spirit, she WAS the spirit, and it was so painful because SHE was only a hallucination. She had proven useless.
The other sick man from across the room asked thinly, a half-way laugh in his voice, "How do you do that, Sister? How can you touch him like that, us? How can you sit so close to him? Don't we make you sick? I don't get you ..."
As he turned his head slightly to her, taking a reluctant breath of air, Todd heard the Sister say, "Because I don't believe in any person being 'sick.' I am not sickened by the human condition. I embrace it." She looked at Todd directly, "You are all my children, no matter what you've done, no matter your words and anger and hatred. I ... embrace you."
"You're the sick one then, you make ME sick," Todd mumbled, closing his eyes and letting her touch his hair, letting her whisper prayers for him, thinking of Vickie, thinking of Téa and her screams, the infinite sadness he saw in her brown eyes. He moved his head slightly against the Sister's spirited touch, wishing it was Téa caressing him, wishing the spirit was as real and healing and powerful as she would like him to believe.
Forgiveness ... forgiveness ... how it hid from him. How it dipped behind trees, underneath freshly fallen snow, within the darkness of hell, how it played with him. Forgiveness was as elusive as a mischievous child.
At that, he suddenly scrambled to the top of the cot and again ... threw up more of the garbage that was inside of him. Blood had to be next ... it had to be.
Tell me where to go, you goddamn Owl of Death, of Reality ... tell me what I have to do to end this?
Jedediah knew it was morning but didn't want to wake. It was nice where he was, nice knowing he wasn't at the Detention Center. He smiled to himself, digging himself deeper into the heavy blankets of the too-soft bed.
He'd been hiding out in a trailer which belonged to one of Summer's friends who was away in New York City trying to break into some kind of show-business or something. Summer had the key so she could water plants, feed fish. She would have stayed with Jed but chose to leave because she didn't want to arouse suspicion. She was sure the cops would go after her right away, sure that Kevin would mention her name, that cops would track her down. Told Jed she'd be back as soon as it was safe.
They'd kissed at the door and Jedediah had groaned painfully at her physically pulling away from him. But it was good. It was nice to be here. The place was simple, clean ... anonymous.
Sniffling at the chill and stretching his muscles, Jedediah thought about the few people who'd be wondering where he was. Thought about his grandparents who had always believed they'd pulled one over on him, making him think he was THEIR son, denying their own daughter and her own trauma. He shuddered at the iciness of their lives, how Michelle had to live with a nightmare of an experience she couldn't talk about, a secret birth, having to call her own son, "brother."
Jedediah got his revenge, though, by being defiant, by letting them know he wasn't THEIR son to control, by constantly running. They never could deal with it, with his staying away for days on end without telling them where he was. Drove Beatrice insane. He laughed at the memory of her wildly screeching at him when he'd return, at her horrified face as he'd walk right past her, flipping her off and then collapsing onto his bed into a deep sleep.
He chuckled again and watched the goldfish swim back and forth with nowhere to go. Back and forth ... back and forth, isolated, and having no semblance of any kind of valuable life. Slowly lowering the blankets, testing the coldness in the trailer, he got to his feet and headed to the tiny bathroom to clean up. Minutes later, he padded back out and fed those miserable fish. Poured himself some oat-y cereal with milk, and contemplated what the hell he was going to do ... NOW.
"Damn," he mumbled, crunching away. His meal was interrupted by a knock at the door ... followed up with the sound of a key turning in the lock. Jedediah swallowed, got up, and then quickly walked into the bedroom of the mobile home. Standing partially behind the bedroom door, he heard the squeak of the front door as it swung open and then shut right away.
Summer's voice immediately rang throughout the place, "It's me, cutie. Come out, come out, wherever you are!"
"Hey ..." Jed said softly, grinning at the sound of her voice, peeking out from behind the door. He squinted with slight embarrassment at his clothes: blue long johns with a tee-shirt over them. "I look like an idiot. That's why I'm hiding."
Summer giggled and ran up to him, hugging him, "You could never look like an idiot to me ... idiot."
Jedediah pulled back, though, the feel of her body against him a little tough to bear first thing in the morning; she was too yielding, her clothes were, too yielding. Early morning was always the worst time for him as far as ... well ... there were better times to be hugging a girl he liked.
"Aren't you supposed to be in school?" he asked in a mock parental tone.
"No, day off. It's just you and me, baby. You, me ... in a trailer ..."
He smiled, biting his lip, and looked away shyly for an instant, thinking baseball and rats at a garbage can, sweating a little as he moved to make sure his… er… didn't show. "Don't be saying things like that to me. Don't be giving me ideas..."
Summer laughed and looked down for an instant, "You're too much, you know. I'm beginning to think that for someone who has so much ... to deal with ... that you have a one-track mind. Such a boy ..."
"I ain't no boy."
"Oh yes you are..." Summer turned around and plopped down on the couch, eying him as he walked closer to her with a twinkle in her eye. "So tell me, Long John Silver, what do you want to do first? You want to hit those seedy places we talked about to look for your missing-in-action daddy?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she saw a change come over Jedediah; the playfulness that had been in his eyes, the bit of excitedness all over him, simply vanished ... and she felt bad.
He groaned near-silently and turned right back around. Headed over to the bedroom to pull on his borrowed clothes: jeans, socks, and a proper shirt. Summer waited quietly while he dressed, soon hearing that he'd stopped moving around in the other room and realizing that he wasn't coming back out. With a regretful sigh, she went to the bedroom and offered a gentle apology from the entrance. He was lying back on the bed and staring out the window.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have mentioned him."
"Don't worry about it. I was like sort of living in passing denial. I mean, let's face it, my daddy put me in that fuckin' place, and God only knows how long I'm gonna be able to stick it out here. What's gonna happen when your friend comes home, you know?"
Summer shrugged, "I don't think that far ahead. From what I've learned, you just can't plan for shit. Fly by the seat of your pants, as they say. That's the only possible way of surviving." Jedediah looked at her, furrowing his brows. "Plans ... only hurt you," she concluded.
"Yeah." He was quiet, then said, "I had plans to go looking for him. But ... I don't think he'll be out there long; he attacked some guy, beat the shit out of him, and according to Eldridge, the cops are out for him. I sure as hell don't wanna be dragged back to the Center when they drag him off to jail."
Summer kicked off her shoes and lay down next to him, not touching him. "That sucks," she said.
Jed smiled at her for a second, then said, "The worst part is that I know he did it. That son of a bitch has the worst fuckin' temper, man. When he wants you to know what he's like, he shows you. He lets you in on the ground floor of his fucked-up psyche ... and ... he drags you all the way up the inside staircase ... bumpity ... bumpity ..." He stopped talking, staring out the window again, letting his anger quell. He was so torn about Todd, wanting to connect with him but being mad as hell at him.
Fighting him though was a losing cause, like fighting blind. You keep swinging, hoping to hit the guy, hoping to get in a few good hooks, but then out of nowhere, it's YOU who gets smacked, it's YOU who goes down. You thought you had a chance… but fuck! You're fucking blind! You had no fuckin' chance! And he knew it. He had all the advantage and you had shit.
Jed felt Summer's hand on his stomach. Heard her sigh. "I've known some people like that in my lifetime," she said.
"Yeah?" Jed turned back to her.
"Yeah, my mother, 'til she got clean and sober."
"Your mom?"
"Oh yeah. Whooo ... God ... set me up to never want to be at home. That's why I was always running, frustrating them, not that they didn't deserve to be frustrated."
"What about your dad?"
"What dad?"
"Ohhh ..."
"He was there, don't get me wrong, I mean, he was married to my mom, still is. But ... he was always busy with work. Left me alone with a raging, drunken ... unpredictable mother. But hey, she's trying hard now. I almost feel sorry for her she tries so hard. And so's my dad, he feels really guilty about not being able to help out. And that guilt, it's paying my college tuition." She grinned, wagging her eyebrows.
Jedediah laughed and rolled to his side, facing her. "And the pierced nose, the hair dye ... and those funky-ass clothes of yours ..."
Summer laughed, "Yeah ... and the navel piercing. And the tattoo on my ..." She whispered, "Ass."
"Oh ... shit. How'm I supposed to sleep now? Alone ... God ..." He was teasing her.
Summer got serious all of a sudden; looked at Jedediah. "Maybe you don't have to sleep alone," she said. Jed sniffled in response and studied her tempting mouth, her shiny eyes; they were a soft grey-blue and took away from that hard edge she had; they were a contradiction to the rest of her. She then gently touched his face, saying, "I really like you, Jed."
He didn't say anything, just feeling her hand smoothing his downy cheek, just feeling her being so close to him. He was getting lost in the freedom of being away from the rest of society, in the freedom of being with Summer. They could do anything, their entire world was right here ... right now ...
Free.
"I like you, too," Jedediah said, a bit caught up in her offer. "But are you ..." She smelled good, he suddenly noticed, making him think of a crisp morning, walking barefoot in a wavy meadow, the rush of jumping from the edge of a short cliff into a hidden lake, cool and expectant. It was intoxicating.
"Am I what?" Summer asked. "I'm not a virgin if that's what you're thinking."
"Really?"
"Shut up! Jesus ... I haven't been one for a long time."
Jedediah grinned, "Ummm ... how long?"
She chuckled, "About two years which means I was sixteen ... same as you now. What about you, Long John?" She laughed even harder when she saw him blush furiously and look away. "Oh my God ... you're a virgin!" she exclaimed, putting her hands to her mouth, exaggerating her shock.
"Shut up!" he said defensively. "I'm not entirely one, just certain parts of me are ... virginal. Sort of."
Summer laughed and then slowly stopped, her smile not fading at all. "If I knew you better, I would say that I love you."
Jedediah leaned over and kissed her lips, keeping his eyes open not wanting to miss a second of her. He playfully bit her lower lip and he saw her swallow hard. Encouraged by her reaction, by the look in her eyes, he reached over and placed his hand on her side and kissed her again, only this time, their tongues touched and both of them moved closer, their bodies meeting.
She could tell he wanted more than just to kiss, he wanted to be with her, in the worst way. She could feel the increasing warmth of his body; she could feel other things going on, too, a certain tension in the way he was kissing her, holding her, the way he was moving his leg against hers. She squeezed up against him and whispered thickly into his ear, "It's okay to get this part out of the way ... it's okay ..."
He reluctantly pulled back to look at her, his eyes somewhat sleepy with arousal, "No ... I want it to be right. I don't want it to be a matter of getting it over with."
"You 'want it to be right?' You sound like a teenage romance novel. Can't we just be truthful with each other?"
"I'm truthful."
She cupped his face in her hands, let herself swim in the hazel of his eyes, in the delicacy of his expression. "No, you're not being truthful with me," she said. Letting go of him, she slid her hand down into the front of his jeans and softly caressed him, hearing him catch his breath. "This is truthful, Jed. THIS ... is truthful."
He pulled her hand away and moved on top of her, kissing her hard, pushing his tongue into her mouth, then saying in between the kisses, "I want you, Summer. I want to be with you ... I just thought ..."
"You were thinking of me," she said, breaking their kiss. "You were thinking you were protecting me from too much involvement."
"I care about you - I don't want us jumping ... I don't want ... to lose you."
"Shut up, Chant. I'm not going anywhere."
He chuckled quietly, dropping his head. "If I knew you better," he then said, "I would say that I love you."
"I just bet you would."
He took a deep breath and stared at her, taking in her willingness. He cleared his throat, his fingers interlacing her spiky hair, then asked uncertainly, worriedly, "Protection ... you got ... some?"
"I do," she sighed. She dug her hand into her pocket of her baggy pants and pulled out a condom, shaking it to assure him of its readiness.
Smiling slightly at her, he said, "Presumptuous woman you are."
"Yup. I told you ... today's my day off."
They allowed themselves a moment of decision-making, studying each other in that moment. He then started kissing her again and she kissed him back with equal force; she led his hand to her breast and he felt her nipple stiffening beneath her sweater. He moved lower on her and pushed her sweater up, moving her bra out of the way with her help so he could kiss her, so he could love her. Suckling delicately, his breathing intensified as did hers, she soon grabbed onto his shoulders, whispering his name. His hands roamed her body and hers did, too. Wet kisses followed and their decision became unquestionable.
Before long, Jed couldn't take it anymore, getting onto his knees and undoing his pants quickly, lowering them. She put the condom on him and slipped off her jeans and panties, not removing anything else because she knew he wouldn't care. Guiding him inside of her, she heard a gentle grunt of relief come from him and then just held him in place, feeling so much more in his grasp than an eager teenager. When Summer looked into his eyes as he slowly began moving, instinctively knowing what to do, she saw the pain of his loneliness, the pain of his being brought up in this world with nobody to call his own except a ghost long gone.
It hurt to see, hurt her heart the way familiarity does, the way memories have the ability to.
She said his name again and felt his slender body shudder with each careful thrust. How different he looked from her other lovers, Summer thought; how sweetly he breathed; how much he seemed to want to make this last even though she knew his young body wouldn't allow that. And as he looked at her with a kind of honesty she had never known existed, she whispered in unexpected surprise, "I love you, Jedediah Chant. I don't know when it happened but I do."
He moved a little harder at that, not breaking his gaze on her. And when she saw on his face the strain of trying to control himself, she shook her head at him, urging, "No, do what you want... we have plenty of time to work on perfecting this ..." He kissed her at that and pumped only a few more times, coming deep inside of her, not wanting to move back out.
"Summer ... God," he panted in pure relief and pleasure, rubbing his lips against hers, against her cheek and neck, clinging to her, wishing he could have held out longer. It was too fast ... it was too short-lived, this being so close to her. "But you—" he started to say and she put her lips to his. Knowing her own body well despite her own youth, she took advantage of his still being hard and rocked her hips against him. He watched her as she worked herself up, as she kissed his fingertips on her sighing mouth, and then her own orgasm came. She breathed a gentle moan and opened her legs further for him, wanting more of the feel of their bodies connecting.
Her passion cut right through him and he kissed her more, a certain frenzied quality to his affection, and she let him because he was coming again and it made her giddy. And when he calmed, she stroked his arms and back which still bore the cuts from the fencing during his escape.
When they were quietly lying side by side, she sat up and took off the rest of her clothes as he rested his head on her lap. She then made him do the same, a demand which he complied with reluctantly, grumbling as he did it, because he didn't want to separate from her.
"I want to see you," she explained, "I want to see all of you."
"Not much to see anymore," he joked, smiling at her perusal of him. "And it's cold now. You're not giving me a fair shake ... you know."
Trying not to laugh, she then said, "You are beautiful. Perfect."
He bit his lip and scrunched up his nose in embarrassment. "Let me see that tattoo of yours," he then said, "Fair's fair."
She rolled over onto her stomach and, sure enough, on her left cheek was a butterfly with spotted golden wings caught in flight.
"You're too much, Summer." He smacked her playfully on her exposed backside and then kissed her bare back; lay flat on top of her. Kissed the back of her neck and lightly bit her ear, smiling at her giggling. He then wrapped her up in his arms and said gently, "I love you. I loved you from the moment I saw you. And don't you dare say anything cynical to THAT."
She laughed, reaching behind her and rubbing his head, his hair that was getting too unruly, "I'm shutting up, Chant, my Romantic Prince. And don't you dare call me a 'Princess'."
"I'd never call you that," he said seriously, sadness sneaking back into his voice.
"In my world, a 'Princess' ... is evil. It's a 'Princess' that's killing the only parent I have left." He put his head close to Summer's and she eased away at that, rolling over and quickly grabbing onto him, holding him tightly to her.
"I know," she said. "I know. Now fuck me again."
She'd had always been able to do it, to sort of slip away during the worst violations, to numb herself and become whoever it was the customer wanted whether it be his mother, his daughter, the slutty whore, the submissive mistress. There were even times when Brandy could become the dominatrix - in fact, some men liked that she was so childlike yet could step on their chests, piercing their skin with the heel of her Stiletto pump. Paulie liked that sometimes... he liked a combination of the slutty whore and the dominatrix. He used to laugh ... he used to kiss her when she would behave that way.
For some reason though, she couldn't slip away no matter how hard she tried; couldn't do it this morning, couldn't do it last night. Every thrust, every bite, every pinch, every scratch, seemed amazingly real to her. Maybe it was the cold of the unheated motel room, maybe it was the particularly pungent stink of the sadistic man who was her twice her size and who had her pressed against the filthy carpet on her stomach that was keeping her here, keeping her feeling and aware. Maybe it was that today, last night, still, she wanted to feel ... she somehow needed to be punished. She didn't know but bottom line was that she couldn't disappear like she normally did.
The customer had kept her all night. She'd gone with him willingly, knowing the danger and his predisposition to making hookers suffer. The other girls on the street told her not to go, but then they flipped her off as she walked away with him in the cold, as they headed home with their pimps and their empty pockets.
The thing was that it had been so cold and the snow had started to come down and ... Paulie hadn't answered his cell phone and ... and she had no one anymore. Her ... baby, he was gone and he had people to love him and care about him. He deserved it, though, Brandy had thought. He deserves it.
There on that snowy boulevard, she had seen the man. Cooed at him her usual, "Baby ... what you want from me?" And the guy had breathed over her and offered her money and promises of keeping her out of the cold, and there was some kind of peace in it. He'd played with hair, tugging at it and she caressed his chest and smiled up at him. He kept sizing her up ... saying she was so small and so perfect.
"You ... I want you," he had growled. "Come on ... let me warm you up, girl." Handed her some money, saying it was for the whole night. Snowflakes had fallen and she let them blind her, let the individual particles of prettiness ice her eyes; her coat wasn't enough and her satin skirt and her stockings ... well ... nothing was enough to warm her up. Maybe the man would do as he said. His eyes were grim-looking... black like hers, empty ... like hers. There were no promises in those eyes other than one and it wasn't one of peace.
In all honesty, he looked like the devil himself, Brandy had thought. He was well over six foot tall and had no hair to get in his way or hassle with. He looked like he could swallow Brandy in one gulp, a single gulp of a small girl who was a nothing in this world and who no one would miss if she were dissolving in the stomach of some ogre.
Will you make it quick? Will you take me quick?
"Baby, baby," she'd whispered to herself as she had gotten into the snow-eaten sedan, "Nothin' hurts me ... nothin' hurts. Don't you worry 'bout nothin'." As the door shut, hitting her elbow, part of her coat got caught in the slam. She'd tried to pull the coat inside but it was too late. They were driving away and the bit of faux fur ... it had gotten trapped and most certainly was ruined.
But ... contrary to what she'd imagined when she'd first gotten into the stranger's car, she was still alive come the morning, her heart was still beating and she was feeling everything.
The man grunted at last and Brandy winced as he pulled out of her this final last time, as he let go of the back of her neck which he'd been gripping with his massive hand. The carpet hurt her skin and she tried to get up ... but he was now exhausted and, with an almost audible plop, he collapsed onto her, resting his entire weight on her delicate body. She just lay there beneath him, staring at the bumps in the carpet, hoping the condom didn't break, feeling her chest compressing, hoping ... wishing it had all hurt just a little more. She looked around the motel room and could tell that it had stopped snowing and that it was morning. How long had that man been at her, eating her alive?
He was sleeping and she was awake. She'd outlasted her torturer.
"I told you, ain't nothing out there that can hurt me," she whispered. The man groaned and rolled off her and she took in a deep breath of the musty air and then got on her knees. She stood up shakily and looked down at her bruised and sore self. He'd been real rough. Felt in between her legs and was thankful there was no ... extra fluid there.
Pulling her long black hair back, she swallowed down a glob of thick saliva. Got dressed, slowly, leaving her thigh-high stockings spread out on the floor, looking like detached legs or murdered snakes, or ... or ... the remains of a long night.
Everything in fact DID hurt this morning and everything tasted disgusting. Her heels ... they were so uncomfortable, but they were all she had so she put them on. And ... caught a glimpse of herself as she was about to walk out the door. Tilted her head at the skeletal ghost in the mirror; ruined hair, black circles under her eyes, whitish lips, trashy clothes. She looked like leftovers. Turning around, she clicked open the door and headed into the whitened sun, walked into another winter day.
The heels hurt as she plodded along Sixteenth Street. She was still at least a half a mile away from her apartment. It seemed a forever walk. She was just so tired. When she looked up, she did see that she was near the homeless shelter and decided to step inside. She knew she could get some other shoes, maybe a better coat.
This was where she got Todd's jacket ... on that first morning she'd gotten to know him, when she put one of her bandanas around his hair and he padded off to get money from his "penthouse."
There were a lot of people packed into the shelter because of the storm and Brandy smiled at the volunteer who was sitting at the entrance. "I need shoes," she said brightly. "These just ain't doin' nothin' for me."
The young man glanced down at her feet and chuckled, "You got that right." He has the nicest face, Brandy thought, studying his ruddy complexion and neatly cut dark hair. His eyes actually sparkled. "I'll see what I can dig up," he added. "It's kind of early and you might luck out. There's lots of un-shoed folks here this morning and they're going to be scrambling for what little we have!" He got up energetically from the makeshift desk, tossing a book he was reading aside, and said, "Follow me."
Brandy walked behind him, hopping as she took off her heels and tossed them into the first trash can she could find. The floor was filthy, but at least she could walk. They passed several rooms full of people, full of cots and blankets, full of coughs and moans and talking voices. She would peek in the rooms, but not for long. The man was chatting with her as he walked, asking Brandy if she'd been in the shelter before.
"Uh-huh," she said. "The people here's always been real nice to me."
"Yeah ... I'm studying to be a priest. I've been volunteering here for a few months. You learn a lot, see a lot. What's your name?"
"Brandy..." Her voice came out squeaky, kind of choked up. She didn't say her name often to someone who was just curious and not asking her as a whore.
"Brandy ... Brandy ..." The man turned around, "My name's Kyle. That name ... hmmm..." He hummed a tune, singing some words. Suddenly, he stopped. "You got a brother?"
Brandy crinkled her face in momentary confusion and then looked down, shrugging. The only person she'd call her brother was Todd. But he was safe in a hospital and he was being loved and cared for ... "I ain't nobody," she breathed out.
Kyle took a breath and smiled gently at her, "Now, that isn't true. You're here ... I'm talking to you. Unless I'm a psychotic person, I would venture to say you're very real."
Brandy laughed and raised her eyes to the man, "You just bein' silly."
"I'm serious, though. There's a guy here who says he has a sister and he kept saying her name, he kept asking for 'Brandy.' You sure you don't have a brother? He doesn't look anything like you, of course, kinda long hair, brownish, wears some braids in it. He's sick, though, sweating off some drugs. He's had a really bad time."
Brandy's heart seemed to skip a beat. It wasn't possible, her baby was safe. She'd chased him away just so he could be safe. "You said braids?" Brandy asked. "Braids? Like twisted hair?"
Kyle chuckled, "Yes, like twisted hair. Just a few, Sound familiar?"
"Um ... he still here?"
"Yeah ... you want to take a peek? He's in a sick room. Like I said, he's had a really bad night. Me and Sister Rachel have been on the night shift because of the storm, been here the whole time, dead on our feet!" Kyle made a left down another hall. "I know he's still awake ... some of these heroin addicts don't sleep for days when they're kicking. He's one of them ..."
"You say ... heroin?"
"Yeah, he's tracked, got all the symptoms. Didn't want to go to the hospital. You okay without shoes there? Oh man, let's get the shoes and then we can come back ... I mean he really couldn't be your brother... you don't look anything like each other..."
"NO! Lemme see ... lemme see..."
Kyle hesitated, seeing the urgent look now on Brandy's face, "Ok, I'm sorry, sure. We can get the shoes later." He walked ahead of her and soon came to a door and opened it. He nodded his head at someone in the room and then motioned for Brandy. "Come on," he said softly, "take a quick look. He's awake ... poor guy."
Brandy looked at Kyle and he nodded to her as she came up to the door. Then she peeked into the sick room and Kyle saw her take a deep breath and sort of freeze there ...
"Oh baby," she said softly, "Ohhh, what you doin' here?"
Todd was on the floor, rocking slightly, as he tried to rub the muscles of his arms, moaning in pain. A woman was in the room talking to one of the other men, helping him with a cup of water. She was looking up at Brandy and Kyle said over Brandy's head, "It's Brandy, his 'sister'."
Rachel smiled and nodded, sighing at the sight of the worn girl in the door, sighed at her obvious profession.
Todd hadn't seen Brandy at the door and didn't hear her; every few seconds or so he would lean against the cot but then would pop right back up.
"Can I go in? CAN I?!" Brandy asked Kyle.
Sister Rachel got up and went over to Todd, bending over slightly and saying, "Angel, your sister is here. Brandy ..."
As soon as Kyle told her it was okay to go in, Brandy rushed right past Kyle, past the other sick men in the room and quickly got to the floor, grabbing Todd's face in her hands. "Baby ... what happened?!" she cried, "Why ain't you with your wife?! Why you here?!"
Todd looked at her with dazed eyes, thinking the girl in front of him was just another hallucination, one with really cold hands, so he mumbled, "Don't tease me ... don't do this to me ... be real ... be real ... no more games ..."
"I'm real, baby! I'm HERE!" She laughed, "I'm so real!"
"Brandy?"
"Yes! It's me! Whatcha doin' here?"
"Ohhhh ... Brandy ..." Todd smiled slightly and touched her face and he started to cry, shaking his head, "No ... you don't want me to be near you. I hurt you too much ... no .. no ..."
Brandy hugged him, her eyes panicky, not sure of why he was here and not the hospital. Made no sense. "No, baby ... no, don't you say that. You asked for me ... and here I am. You real sick, we need to get you better ... all better."
Kyle came up to them and kneeled down, "Brandy, he should try to get clean. He can stay here a couple of days, he's really safe ..."
Brandy turned around and, surprising Kyle and the Sister, shouted, "Don't you say nothin' about bein' 'safe'! You shut up! You don't know nothin' 'bout us or wha's good or what we should do or nothin'!" She turned back to Todd who was still staring at her and touching her, as if in disbelief. "You want to come with me, baby?" she asked tearfully. "I know where you can go. I got some money, they's got some good stuff, you want to come with me?"
Todd started to whimper and buried his head into Brandy, holding her, feeling so exhausted from being sick, so awake and aware. "You can save me?"
"It ain't me ... I ain't doin' the savin'..."
"But you know how to help me?"
"Yes, I know how. Come on, let's go." She sniffled, "You come with me, baby ... you come with me."
Kyle and Rachel got out of the way as Brandy helped Todd get his own clothes which had since dried. They watched helplessly as he got changed out of the borrowed clothes and then had no choice but to stand by while the two strange people hobbled past them, out of the sick room and on down the hall. She, Brandy, the "sister," had no shoes and no real covering to protect her exposed body from the winter air yet didn't seem to care; he, the "brother," the nameless kicking addict with the twists of hair as his only identifying characteristic, was desperately dope-sick and in continuing pain.
Kyle and Rachel knew where they'd be going: a local shooting gallery, a local pusher, someplace to get "well."
At least she should have shoes, Kyle thought, bounding down the hall after them. At least she should get what she came here for.
Fifteen minutes later, Kyle watched the pair leave the building, Brandy in her new used athletic shoes and socks, in a new used winter coat, all accompanying her rumpled "work" clothes and her "brother," hunched over with his hands shoved into the pockets of the worn winter jacket.
Sister Rachel didn't break a sweat at their leaving, it as an inevitability but Kyle ... it was hell on a new Samaritan. He prayed with them as she had asked him to do ... and afterwards, he asked the Lord privately whether maybe those two lost souls that he'd come across by chance ... asked whether maybe God could spare them? Maybe ... He could shine just a little light on them? At least ... do His best?
To be continued...