I didn’t stay long, I repacked the same bag and drove. I need more answers, answers I’m only getting in pieces from people. No one is speaking to me as they should especially at the clubhouse. If what he says is true, no one there will tell me anything. I’m an asset, not a member. But why?
I got her address, it wasn’t hard to find when I looked her up. I don’t think as I walk to her door and knock. I wait, and just when I go to knock again the door opens, and a little boy stands there. He looks me up and down and I can immediately tell he has an attitude.
“What ya want?” he asks. He speaks well, he couldn’t be more than four or five. His hair is dark, his eyes green. He looks familiar—is this one of Red’s kids?
I hear her voice, she yells out to the little dude standing in front of me. He rolls his eyes and walks off, leaving the door wide open. I stand there, unsure of what I’m meant to do. Do I walk in? Or wait?
I decide to wait, it doesn’t take her long to come to the door. She looks surprised when she sees me, her hands go to her shirt and she pulls it down, her eyes look around the house then back to me.
“Why are you here?”
I hear someone calling her. “Mommy!” they yell.
She tells him she’ll be there in a minute, then turns back to look at me. “Trace…” She tenses when she says that name knowing full well it’s not mine.
“You can call me Black, Red.”
Her eyes go big, her hands drop from her shirt. “You remember?” She takes a step toward me, I stop her with my words.
“No! I’ve been told that’s my real name, right?” I question it, to see what she says.
She shakes her head. “Yes and no, not to me.”
“Can we talk?” She turns her head back, holds up a finger then disappears. I wait until she comes back. Looking tired, she has on loose pants, a baggy shirt, her long hair is in a bun on top of her head. She isn’t done up, no make-up on her face. She’s just natural. And fuck, she’s the still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Why do I get these feelings from her? I want to know why. What is it that makes her so special and attractive to me, and not like any other woman?
“Can you come back in two hours?” I nod my head and don’t say anything as I walk away. I feel her stare as she watches me, though.
It's only an hour, her text comes through asking me to return. I leave for her house as soon as it comes in. She already has the door open when I enter and she’s now wearing a dress. It’s nothing fancy, just a blue dress that hugs her body, her hair is still in a knot on top of her head.
She holds the door open as I enter, and instantly I smell baking. She’s been cooking. I walk into the living room, it’s a mess. Toys are littered all over the floor, photos clutter the walls. Kids from all ages, even men. In between it all, I see a photo that stands out—it’s me. It’s small, you’d miss it if you weren’t looking hard enough. She’s lying next to me, her hair is fanned out on the floor. Her smile is seductive and beautiful, and I wonder when I can get a smile like that from her. My head lies next to her, except I’m not looking at the camera, my eyes are focused on her. The photo doesn’t seem to be that old, I still look the same. Nothing much has changed, no wonder she was so shocked to see me.
“I snuck that photo. You would never have approved.” Her voice echoes behind me.
“Were you my wife?”
She shakes her head straight away, I have a feeling she wouldn’t lie to me. Usually, I can trust my instincts.
“Why did I look at you like that?”
She looks back to the photo, a soft smile touches her lips, then she looks back to me. “We were two fucked up people that had a beautifully fucked up relationship.”
“Fucked up?” I liked hearing her swear, she doesn’t seem the type to do so.
She stares at the photo as she talks, and doesn’t bother looking at me. “Yes, so fucked up. You were evil. As pure as evil could get. I was a druggie. So you see… two fucked up people.”
“You were the druggie?” I remember Savannah telling me I fucked a druggie. I look at her carefully, she doesn’t seem the type to be an addict. She’s a good person, I can feel it emanating from her.
“Yes.”
“And I fucked a druggie?” I question her. That does not sound like me. I would not touch a druggie girl, they’re nothing but issues. Her head swings around, she’s angry with me, and I think I like it.
“You didn’t fuck a druggie, you fucked me. Someone you couldn’t stay away from, someone you would’ve killed anyone to protect. I am that person, Black, that’s me. You and me, you see… we’re our own fucked up mess, but what a beautiful fucked up mess we were.”
“Fucked up, mess,” I mutter.
Her hands are on my chest, she touched my chest in anger when she said the word fucked. “It wasn’t easy,” she says, sitting down now. She doesn’t even move the toys that litter her couch. “No matter how much we weren’t meant to be, we had to be.” She looks up to me, tears now in her eyes. “Does that make sense to you?”
I shake my head, none of it does.
“Can I touch you?” she asks.
I don’t answer her straight away. It’s a weird question to ask, why would she ask that? I nod my head and she gets up and slowly walks to me. Her hands are light when they touch my chest like she’s being very cautious. Her eyes won’t look at mine, they watch her own hands.
“You let this woman touch you?” Still no eye contact, both hands are now on my chest.
“Yes.”
“That h-hurts me t-the most,” her voice breaks as she speaks.
“Why?”
Her beautiful blue eyes finally look to mine. Sadness covers them. “No one was allowed to touch you. Except me.” I grab her then, pull her body into my chest. She cries harder, I can feel the wetness from her eyes seeping through my shirt. I pick her up, cradle her, and carry her to the couch. She clings to me, sobbing on me. This would make me highly uncomfortable, it would make me dizzily angry to the point where I black out—nothing shows weakness more than tears.
She stays on me, her dress is ridden up from me picking her up. Her soft pale skin on display, so close to exposing her beautiful ass. I stay the exact way I am, not moving. She eventually calms down, and when I move her to check on her, I find her asleep. I shift her from me completely, place a pillow under her head and walk out. As I do a young man stands at the door, obviously watching. He’s tall, with short blond hair, and he smiles brightly at me.
“Good afternoon, sir,” he says, he looks around at Red, then back to me. A school bag is linked over his shoulder. I nod my head at him and walk past, he stops me as I get to the car.
“Can I get a lift?” I recognize him from Red’s photos. He must be hers, but how? He looks too old to be one of hers. I nod my head and he climbs in, smiling at me.
I drive for a while, waiting for him to talk, to tell me where to go. But no words leave his mouth. “Where to?”
“Back home, Mr. Black.” I look to him then press my foot on the brake hard.
“You know me?”
He smiles, nodding his head. “And I thank you, Mr. Black.”
He’s odd, just like the woman. I don’t bother asking anything more, no one seems to give me what I really need. Hell, I don’t even know what I really need. Though, I have a feeling it comes with long blonde hair and see-through blue eyes.