Prologue:
I smiled, leaning against the cool metal wall at my back, sighing carelessly into the stifling heat of the warehouse. There were boxes stacked atop one another surrounding me, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. How could things so organized and neat shelter this wretched soul? My fingers were woven between the locks of my dark, chestnut hair as I kicked my feet impatiently across the floor. I had been perched in this hideaway for at least two days and counting. Moving to rest my arms across my battered knees, I let my head hang in disgust. Surely my father would return to me soon.
I twitched, my stomach rumbling; but I remained in my spot behind the cardboard boxes. My father had told me to keep quiet and still, and so I would, despite the hunger and thirst that had been forced into my company. In this Miami warehouse, not much else existed. But this was only the first week. My father had said it might take a while to adjust to, but he promised that he and I would thrive in the burning heat of sunshine and the games ahead of us in due time.
“Just wait, Savy,” he’d said. “I’ll show you how slick sludge can become a mountain of pure heaven. Only here can we make that happen, so wait.”
I smiled again as my body peaked in momentary relief. The first day here was the hardest. I’d been left with only one fix of smack—just one. The thought brought the shrill agony of it coursing back into my body. My father should have known better. He’d be miserable without his share of heroin, too. I laughed, hoping he’d lost his money in a sewer somewhere or had it stolen from him. He would have to suffer like I did. But I knew he would've come crawling back to me if that had been the case. I was his source of cash, an interesting twist to the modern status of fathers and daughters, and I had to think it funny. Then again, my relationship with him was anything but what society would call normal.
I sighed longingly. Yes, it was better than normal. I had a father who would show me what real love felt like, the beauty of man and all his accompaniments, and how we can all create our own heaven. Inhaling the bitter taste of the Miami air, I let my eyes drift shut and took in the succulent darkness that awaited me behind my worn lids. Thirteen—I was so young to be aware of so much, but I took pride in the knowledge I had acquired at my tender age.
"Miss Savy, you’re still here?”
My eyes snapped open as the deep, male voice caressed my ears gently, and I gazed at my surroundings with little interest. I didn’t know this voice—I didn’t care about it. My own voice came bluntly, “What exactly do you want with me?”
“Your father said you’d be waiting for me,” the man told me. But I still couldn’t see him.
Deciding to play his game, I rose to my feet, forcing my shaky body to still its weakness. As I tossed my hair back, my lips curled into a sly smirk. “Really? And did he say why exactly I would be waiting for you? Do you have something for me?” I paused, my voice sinking lusciously. “Or is there something I can do for you?”
He stepped into the open, shadows cast like distant companions across his face. He was tanned, his skin rugged, scrapes and bruises stretched across his bare shoulders. He was dressed fitly in a black tank-top and jeans that were ripped across the front, dust battering the once blue form of the pants. His blackened eyes trailed over my body, and he took on an easy smile. “Oh, I think there may just be something,” he said. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out two fifty dollar bills, flashing them in front of me. “This should make you happy.”
“I think so,” I murmured seductively as I stepped toward him. I felt no remorse when our lips touched—no pain when his body moved against mine. This sleeping city would now know Savy’s secret storm. My father was right. I’d adjust.
Chapter 1:
I watched the man in front of me dress himself with my brows quirked, intrigued by his lack of speed. He let his stained shirt glide onto his body, his muscles flexing brilliantly beneath his dark, slick skin. He was putting on a show for me, trying to get himself a free round no less. But I let my eyes linger at each section of his form as he moved in his dance of hopeful enticement, and I leaned against the alley wall, letting my own clothing lie at my side. If he was going to play, then so was I.
This man had been one of my better clients, after all. He had let his lips run heatedly across my skin, touching me with hands that seemed ablaze, each caress like tiny embers igniting my flesh. I wasn’t supposed to feel; it wasn’t in my job description. I wanted to laugh at that. I never understood how men did not know that the act of giving pleasure is nearly always intensely returned. Why did they find it of the utmost importance to take everything for themselves, never glancing beyond the horizon of a simple good time? This man, however, was different. He got all he could out of his money.
“That was worth it,” he said, his head cocked in my direction; his obsidian orbs were unmistakably wild. Smiling, I observed him for a moment. His eyes did not move as I reached leisurely to my side to grasp my gray cami, running it between my fingers before pulling it over my head. My grin broadened.
“Thank you,” I breathed, my tone nearing the peak of innocence. As I continued my pursuit for his attention, dressing my legs, my voice lowered. “It’s worth a lot of things . . .” I approached his looming form without hesitance, circling him as if a hungry lioness and dragging a hand around him. I noted his stiffness pleasingly and continued. “A fair sum . . . Something pure . . .” I reached into the pocket of his jeans with my gaze locked on his and pulled out a small bag of white powder. I leaned forward, stopping just short of his lips. “. . .or something tainted.”
He looked as if he’d been struck in awe of the most delicate beauty, eyes glistening with wonderment like the new stars of twilight, his mouth slightly agape. I knew I had made my triumph. A new power had been dealt into my hands.
I spent the next few days reveling in this knowledge, though my world had turned to a peculiar silence. Not a single client had come in seek of my services, and my father refused to utter a word each time I asked him about it. My newfound dominance was quickly becoming one of those tools kept locked away for fear of shedding its power. The thought nauseated me. What was the point of having something you could get no use out of? My hours were now spent huddled in the back of the warehouse my father and I had adopted waiting for him to bring me a fix.
I let out an exaggerated sigh as he passed by me, his blonde hair in dishevelment and eyes tired, and I wished he’d let whatever was keeping his lips closed whither. As his glare met my eyes, I felt myself smile. He deserved frustration. He brought me out here for the summer, claiming to my mother that he wanted company for a business trip, though she knew nothing of his business. She assumed he was still working for some big technological industry, oblivious to the mind games and drug scandals he had plotted after leaving such a well-off job. And where had all the lies gotten us? We were just wasting the days away, making no profit from it. I cleared my throat, tilting my head sideways.
“I know what the saying says,” I began, “but I don’t really believe that silence is golden. It's . . . like fire . . . like anger.” I regretted it the moment I said it. The air turned frigid as he approached me, and my confidence began to dissipate into molten trails of fear, striking me with talons that seemed poisoned. My body went numb, my eyes snapping shut as he kneeled before me.
“Savy,” he murmured deeply, placing his hand beneath my chin, “I thought you knew better. Silence is everything.” I felt his calloused fingers scrape softly against my skin. “It’s the sound of understanding and the voice of thought. A lot can be spoken with silence, Savy.” The urge to protest left me. I let myself sink into the melodic sound of his voice, my once tense muscles relaxing into nothingness.
“Yes,” I said, though barely aware of it, “I know.”
“Then why the questioning?” His words were calm and soothing, and my body grew weaker. “I find that things are better when left unknown. Something unpredictable is far more interesting than something obvious, don’t you think? Let’s just wait for the journey to lead us somewhere more of our taste, instead of demanding it.” He went quiet for an instant before whispering, “Just look into the eyes of fate.”
I did. My eyes met his indigo irises, my breathing becoming shallow and staggered. His lips met mine for only a brief lapse, and he spoke again with placid enthusiasm.
“Our profit is about to grow,” he said, rising to his feet. “You will dance.”
I nodded, finding no will to question him. It was as simple as he said: I would dance. Doubts boiled inside of me, but I held them in meekly, fixating my attention on his movements. Fate would play out the way it felt necessary.
And so I became a dancer. We prepared a stage, a dream for me to perform on, a goddess wrapped in translucent scarves of provocative color. No man would resist. My father wouldn’t tell me how he’d rented the club as I waited backstage, anticipating the anxiety that should’ve been plundering my body like an invading plague, rabid and quickly shutting my abilities down. Yet I felt nothing of the sort. In fact, the thought of having an entire room of men at my dispense excited me. My perplexity of my father’s secret fortune gradually became casualty to that fluttering pleasure, and I knew my moment had come.
As the music started, I seemed unaware that I’d had no practice. My movements became instinct, telling the forgotten story of a woman who’d sold her soul to the devil. My hands glided over my body desperately, my face lost in spotlight and drowned by the darkness of my tale. I let my ensemble slip off, revealing what so many had already seen. I could feel them, the eyes of the room, engulfing me with their hunger. I was the luster of desire, gleaming brighter each time I unveiled new skin.
I moved toward the front of the stage, feeling as though I was soaring across a toxic sky, provoking the most evil of sins. My skin was burning, my thoughts becoming darker as my fingers ran delicately up my thighs, dollar bills being thrust at my feet. I wanted these men who fed off my erotic labyrinth; I wanted their touch and their sweat. I yearned to have their bodies at my command; I’d steal their pleasure without concern. My chest completely uncovered, I felt myself groan as my mind continued its devilish trail. I collected the money slowly, sighing deeply toward a man standing at the front of the stage.
I could tell he wanted his body over mine, to ravish me senselessly. His eyes were carnivorous souls waiting to smother me, an idea that sent heat coursing through my veins. My lips curled, and I gave him a sharp wink, motioning him forward. I’d give him exactly what he wanted. The man didn’t hesitate to oblige, weaving himself next to me, his gaze never leaving mine. Clouds began to rise then; the room dissipated into an opaque mist that held the two of us in its intoxicating clutches. I reached out, gracing his navy, button-down shirt lightly, parting my lips as I pressed my chest against his. Kissing his whiskered chin, I leaned into him furiously. For the night, he was my partner.
“Interesting performance,” my father whispered to me after the club had emptied. “Seems you have quite a bit of stage presence.” He was standing behind me, his arms wrapped firmly around my waist and his breath against my neck. “You’ve taken a liking to our audience.”
I couldn’t deny it, but I longed to. He was angry. I moaned gently as his hand moved to my breast, stroking it with caresses like tickling butterflies. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled airily, and I shook my head. “I just . . . I needed . . .”
“Savy, I can give you what you need. I know you know that.” He slipped his palms beneath my shirt, rolling them on my flesh. I clung to the material. “Don’t fight it,” he said darkly, his grip tightening. “You want this. You want this with me. I’ve given you the world to maneuver. Let me touch my world.”
I gave in, unable to understand why I’d resisted in the first place. He was what I wanted and what I owed myself to. He had taken my meaningless existence and transformed it into something that could seduce even the strongest of souls into willful submission. Together, we were the walking sinners of Earth; each hand that touched ours was at our disposal. We were nothing before, just walking corpses without motive.
I remember lying in my bed the night he altered my being. My head was clear, no itch begging for release. But as he led me outside the security of our suburban home, I gained an excitement that would have otherwise been lost to me. He gave me my first high and so many more after that. Turning to face him, I knew I had to give him the same. He took me then, and it felt right. Forbidden corruption, it was enthralling, like the blood of betrayal.
“You’re mine, Savy,” my father murmured, nipping my earlobe fervently. “The stars will always shine, and you will always belong to me. Those other men are nothing. But you understand that already, don’t you?” He hovered his head over me, catching my eyes and kissing me forcefully. “Don’t you?” he asked again.
As I nodded, biting my lip, a silent rain flooded down my cheeks. I cried.
Chapter 2:
I was grinning. Wisteria flowers were soaring around me like angels across a midnight gaze. Heat burnt through my body tenderly, tickling me with an unfamiliar sensation of rapture. I was twirling without care, perched on a wooden plank tethered to a stretching pine tree, my mind lost among thoughts of what I’d have for dinner and how much math homework I had that night. My only concerns were those of a normal preteen. I felt weightless—peaceful—the wind tapping against my face softly and the rope of the swing grinding into my palm. Even better, I knew where I would go next; I’d go home.
“Savy!” I heard someone call sharply. A deep pain shot through my shoulder, and my weary eyes forced themselves to glimpse the world of darkness that had cast over my dreamland. Blurred shadows molded into clear images; A man was hovering over me. I yawned.
“Dad?” Sitting up slowly, I felt him jerk my arm forward, and I watched his face glide beside mine, his breath whispering to me.
“I want you to listen very carefully,” he murmured. I could feel the urgency, like something had been prying at his sanity, finally dispersing into madness. “We have to find another place to prosper. This will not work for us anymore. You have to follow me closely. Move exactly as I lead you to, and do not speak.” He moved to face me, gripping my body tightly. Moonlight shown through the high windows of our warehouse, outlining his form with a radiant glow. He looked godly.
My lips fell open as I began to feel the numbness that plundered my veins each time my eyes borrowed his, intensity pouring between us. I was about to question his insistence, but he stopped me, placing a finger over my mouth.
“They’re trying to rip our freedom away, Savy. We can’t let them have it. They will throw us into isolation, where we will surely rot without even each other to ease the grief. Just come with me.”
I could only nod as he pulled me to my feet, flying between packed boxes and standing pipes. It all seemed unreal to me. We had been plunged into a distant sea of meaningless shapes and obstacles in our desired path, evil trailing behind our escape. I could taste it, the bitter knowledge of the unknown, and I found myself excited by it. I kept following. Voices echoed around me, deep and disgruntled, my father moving swiftly as they grew louder. I understood it then: we were running from them.
It was a chase to see who was the more cunning and who could outdo the other–a race. My heart thudded, seeming to leap out of my chest with each beat as we approached a door on a back wall. I stopped when my father heaved it open, unable to breathe in that instant. The wind, it was there, blowing against my skin as it had before in the vision beneath my eyes. My adrenaline lifted off of me.
“Savy, we have to get out of here!” my father hissed, motioning me toward him as his eyes darted around the outside surroundings. But I was stuck between the wind and the darkness. He grabbed my hand quickly, hauling me through the doorway forcefully. “No,” he said, “you don’t get to freeze up. Let’s go, Savy.”
“Bayleigh . . .” The name slipped off my lips like liquid, smooth and cool. I saw his anger, but I couldn’t help but laugh in the moment. “My name is Bayleigh.”
It was true. In my years of being a normal girl, that was my name. Before the heroin, the lies, the sex, the freedom... I was called with a connotation of sweetness and glee–beauty and elegance. Up until now, I had lost that sense to the enticement of something new, and I wanted it back.
My father stared incredulously for only a second, and then smiled. “Okay, Bayleigh,” he said gently, “let’s go.”
I didn’t have time to hesitate. We ran together, lights and noises stalking us like wolves shaded by brush. We knew they were hunting us.
We blazed past streaks of city lights, buildings of concrete, and fits of traffic. My body felt weighted as I kept close to my father, my feet seeming to delve into the pavement, sinking quickly. I knew I was running, yet the world appeared to be sauntering in slow movements around me–I was getting nowhere. Voices were pattering across my back, vexing chills shattering over me. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I could only follow my father’s steps, trusting him to lead me to a new haven.
For a second, I felt my father clutch my hand tighter. It was strange, almost like he had some unconditional need for my life to be safely nestled in his bounds. It wasn’t the type of protection used to keep an object of lust near sight, but instead the type held within a father for his daughter. I shook my head, nearing the rim of fury, and I returned my focus to my gliding surroundings. I was losing my sanity.
My eyes touched a building up ahead; it was gloomy, irate with its dark windows, and it seemed to pluck at the limits of obscurity. It took on the appearance of a prison, walls darkly bricked with no technical design. But something about it made my insides rumble in ecstacy, and as we drew closer, I knew I wanted to drown within the realms of its darkness. I mentally began urging my father toward it, and my need to avert to my preexisting self began to dissipate. What had I been thinking? The girl I used to be did not have such luscious bursts of exhilaration.
“Right there,” my father said suddenly. “That’s where we’ll stay.” His eyes focused on my building–my sensual building.
I heard the distant call of a lonely crow as we neared the glass door in front, and I almost felt myself moan. Such omens made this place all the more exotic. My eyes gently closed as I took in the sounds of the streets: the striking humming of cars and voices bustling through the atmosphere. I turned to gaze at my father, his rugged features pouring into me, swift and silent.
“We’re in,” he breathed lowly, grasping my hand as he pushed the door open. “14F. Memorize that number.” He pressed his body fully against my back and nipped at my neck. “It’s ours.”
“Ours,” I echoed.
14F was small. It seemed to be nothing more than a studio apartment, but my heart still lurched as we stepped inside. There wasn’t much to the room. The kitchen was set in the left, covered in what probably used to be white, ceramic tile. There was a red-clothed couch in front of a rusted coffee table. Several used syringes were scattered across the browned metal, and I was already certain then that I’d like whomever we’d be living with.
“Oh, Lex, you found your way up!”
I shook myself out of my momentary spell, glancing back at my father. A man was standing beside him, dark-skinned and grinning. I recognized him immediately; he’d been one of my clients, the only one that bothered to show me pleasure.
“And you brought your daughter,” the man said, weaving past my father to shut the door. He moved to face me. “I do remember you.”
My father cleared his throat, tossing his head toward the man. “Bayleigh, this is Lance.”
“It’s Savannah, actually,” I corrected as I stepped into Lance’s waiting arms, warmth shooting into my body. I stroked my hand across his cheek lightly. “But you can call me Savy.” I watched his smile grow and felt my own lips curl. There was something about him. He was beautiful, skin the hue of a sturdy birch, but slick, iridescent even. His eyes were a heated, milky brown, looking as if they could pry into the depths of the most guarded soul. “I’m sure our time together will have its rewards,” I added quietly.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Savy,” Lance said with a wink, pulling away from me as he turned back to my father. “There’s only room for one more in my bed . . .”
My father smirked. “Savy can stay there. I’ll sleep out here. That isn’t a problem, is it, Savy?”
I held back a gasp. What was he doing? My eyes narrowed. This was a game. Laughing slightly, I quirked an eyebrow, holding my hand out for Lance to take. “Let’s go then.”
Everything about his room was dark. His cotton bedspread was a deep shade of navy, matching the ragged carpet. His one lamp was dim and appeared to be on the verge of going out. I gazed fervently as he lowered himself onto the right corner of the bed, his eyes refusing to leave mine. He reached underneath his white tee-shirt, pulling it over his head, leaving him in just his tattered jeans. My stare ran circles over his lean structure as he removed the cloth from his legs. Just a pair of black boxers: the final barrier.
“So,” he began, patting his hand against the bed, “sit. Tell me about yourself.”
I was taken aback. He didn’t want sex? I shook it off, gliding to his side. “I think some things are better left unsaid,” I told him, moving my hand slowly up his thigh with every intention making this night worth something. “Why don’t we play a game?”
Stroking his fingers beneath my chin, he smiled and ignored my suggestion. “You are a trip, girl, aren’t you? I’ll talk first then. I grew up in New York, but my mom had to move us down to Miami for some work ****. I think I was sixteen. My dad had already run off by then.”
I tried to cut him off, but he kept going.
“When my mom died, I dropped out of school and just started livin’, you know? One of my buddies let me sublet his place, and that’s how I wound up here.” His words were quick and to the point, and he looked at me triumphantly. “You go. Why’d you come down here?”
“Business,” I said shortly. I couldn’t figure him out. What was with all the talking? Where was the heat we had before–the sweat and groans?
He snorted. “So you came down here to be a *****?”
I grabbed the sides of his face, pulling him to my level, my breath raking across his lips. “Exactly,” I murmured. I kissed him eagerly, my hands wandering across his chest as I moved into his lap, gripping my legs around him.
Lance forced me back. “You should get some sleep, Savy,” he said.
I spent the rest of the night trying to understand what I’d done wrong and why he wouldn’t take me. Where were these silly morals last time we’d seen each other? I kicked a leg in frustration. The game had truly started now, and I’d be damned if I didn’t win.
Chapter three:
I knew a girl named Bayleigh once. Actually, she wasn’t really a person at all, but a thing that walked ignorantly about this Earth without so much as a smile, her mind insisting that interaction with the world outside herself was pointless. She didn’t care much about anything, and she sheltered herself within shadows and behind bland walls of ghostly white. What a boring life she had! And she knew that.
Bayleigh once wanted to end it. She held a knife at her stomach as she sat at the table with her family, who prayed nonchalantly to God as always. They all knew the routine: their heads were bowed and their eyes were closed. Bayleigh studied their faces with no emotion, the knife pressed against her skin. But then her eyes clashed with her father’s, and she was left in bewilderment as he smiled softly at her waiting pain. More than that, he provoked her without a word.
She knew what his silence was saying: “Go on and try it. Ha. We both know you won’t do it.”
And Bayleigh didn’t do it. Instead, she took refuge in her father’s eyes, the man who would offer her the chance to be something—to be a person. She couldn’t say no when he did, of course.
Yes, I remember Bayleigh very well, but I still cannot seem to grasp how she made the transformation into me, the seductress. As far as I’m concerned, Bayleigh no longer exists. So why does my mind draw back to her? Is this why Lance didn’t want me? Perhaps he saw this girl—this non-human—living within me still. It’s her he doesn’t want.
I found Lance to be more and more peculiar as days passed. Sometimes, when my father wasn’t around, he’d pull me close to him. It was like he needed to be in the hold of my sensuality, and yet when I’d begin my usual seductive-pursuit, he’d come to the abrupt realization that he had somewhere else to be. I was always left alone to feel utterly unsatisfied. Though I had clients again, it was Lance that I needed to touch me. Every other man was just another dollar.
But today was my day; I was certain of it. My father was off engaging in what I could only assume was unneeded work for our business, and Lance was alone in the apartment with me. We’d have no interruptions. I watched him from the doorway of his room, my gaze sinking into his rippling muscles as he stretched his body across his burgundy couch. What a perfect piece of furniture it was, large in all aspects. Two yearning souls could easily silence their burn atop it, and I planned to do exactly that. Dressed in red and black lace, my signature colors, and my face decorated to the brim with mysterious flair, I was ready to take him on. I approached him slowly, relishing in the echo of my black stilettos against the hardwood floor, and I smiled as his eyes wandered to fall across my figure.
“Wow. You meetin’ someone?” he asked, nodding his approval as he looked me up and down. He laughed. “Should I leave?”
“No,” I said sweetly, running my hand over his chest. I lowered myself onto his lap and pulled him up closer to me. “I want you to stay.” As I spoke, my lips were dangerously close to his, but I didn’t kiss him yet. He had to want me, and he had to show me. I let my palm ease up his thigh, my eyes never once leaving his. “You want to stay, don’t you?” I whispered.
“You hungry?” he asked suddenly, kissing my cheek as he rose to his feet.
“What?” I stared at him blankly.
“Are you hungry?” he said again. “I’m starving. If you want, we could go somewhere, or we could eat here instead. Don’t matter to me. So how ‘bout it? You interested?”
I hesitated for only an instant and grinned. “Oh, I’m very hungry.”
My eyes narrowed as I watched Lance fumble through the pockets of his torn jeans. Pulling out two twenties, he grinned sheepishly at me; he knew what I really wanted. I pursed my lips and let myself ease into the embrace of my seat, my gaze lingering over the old syringes and empty bags on the coffee table. It looked like he only had one fix left.
“I’m thinkin’ you might want to change first, girl,” Lance said with a well-meant laugh as he ushered me toward him.
“You don’t need that?” I nodded at the money in his hand, glancing back at his lacking stash. He just shrugged; it was the kind of shrug that lifted the veil of certainty and let question pull you into its void. Something was wrong. “I’d rather stay here,” I told him as I leaned over to pick up his last fix, my bra strap hanging loosely off my shoulder, subtle and sweet. “Wanna share this?”
“Uh . . .” He swallowed hard and began to tense, his eyes taking in my mock-innocence. “I guess,” he said as he thrust the twenties back into their denim prison.
“Great.” I couldn’t help but smile as my voice came softly. He was my fish, and I was reeling him in, winning the battle of our clashing endurances. My eyes never left him as he approached me; he was sinking into my gaze, melting within my lust. The closer he got, the more I wanted him. We could writhe together in our sins, screams of pleasure echoing in soft waves, embracing us, the devil kissing our hearts. As he sat next to me, I grasped his hand, gaze against his. My thumb ran in circles over his palm, and I felt him lean closer.
“****,” he muttered.
Our lips touched. My body began to disintegrate beneath him; I couldn’t feel myself. Hovering above our sweating forms, I was a world outside my own, watching my hands touch and tease. But it all seemed strange. Why were my thirteen-year-old lips sucking on his skin like sweet elixir, as if his defined muscles were my alleviation? The scene was grotesque, and still, I smiled. It was all so oxymoronic: terribly beautiful.
I didn’t stop it, and as I lay next to him afterward, I was glad.
“Girl, you’re a whole new high,” Lance told me, laughing slightly with his arms locked around my naked body. My head pillowed his, and I noticed his face take on a grin. It couldn’t be helped; my heart tickled my chest, my breath catching in my throat for a slow moment.
I must have sat there for hours, my ears cooed by the soothing sounds of his breath inflating and deflating his lungs; his grace was unadulterated, each intake easy and beautiful. I felt myself falling into hypnosis. It was slow, languid, but I could feel it. And for the sake of taking on a new dimension, I let it happen, cool, liquid lust penetrating my body, my head growing heavy as I continued into this wondrous abyss. My chest felt hot, and I was sure my heart was melting. My mind billowed with screams. No, no, no, no, no! But it was gorgeous, this infatuation. But I don’t want it! I don’t! I can’t! My father would surely smirk if he saw this tragedy: I was losing myself to the man in 14 F.
Chills licked the top of my skin leisurely. It all sounded so surreal when put like that. I could see it clearly in my head, two charcoaled figures. I was there with my lean, petite structure and hazy eyes in my naked beauty. As I danced, it seemed as if the blank world around me was spinning. Faster. Faster still. And Lance, he had his hand glued to mine, beguiled but not without intent. He pulled me into him abruptly, though his curtness was soft, entrancing even. I began my descent devoid of hesitation, falling into his form, the blackened lines and shaded sectors clinging to my body like a new lover. For days I fell, and I wanted to believe that he was doing the same.
Chapter Four (Part of it):
I began to hate a lot of things. I’d sit in the corner of the apartment, my eyes kissing the windowsill, staring at the dismal chaos of Miami; and I hated it. Homeless men pissed in dumpsters. ****** fucked lowlifes on the street, and I had to watch those lace-clad sluts deteriorate. Worthless wretches. As I took in the darkness, I tried to convince myself that I was different. The air in Lance’s place sizzled and embraced me like a freshly grown garden; it was sweet, giving me something to look forward to each time I awoke. It was my home. To Lance, I wasn’t some *****—some mutant woman. I kept telling myself that. But it seemed that Lance was dancing in circles, passing by to kiss my forehead, and orbiting into black. His ashy smell would brush my skin, then slip away, as if he were on an eternal pendulum.
I rolled my eyes. I was so weak, as my father would say, giving in to foolish tears and feelings. Moving my head from the couch, I pulled myself forward, crossing my legs tightly. My body felt constricted and coiled, but I couldn’t seem to do anything else but stiffen. Lance wasn’t supposed to get to me like this. Just an old client, I told myself.
“You got something good for me inside?” a muffled voice asked from outside the apartment door. I heard Lance laugh—his quiet, haunting laugh—and I immediately began to panic. There was a woman with him.
“You’ll have to wait and see,” he said. I shut my eyes when the doorknob began to rattle as he fumbled with the lock, and I could feel the urge to run begin to infuse me without relenting. My eyes darted around the room, briefly passing over the balcony; falling sounded so free to my tightened form. I could see myself running through the blind-clad door, shifting my body over the edge; and I’d simply slip away into the humming, ghoulish song of the city. Cars would shudder, horns would sound, and my moment would shine bright as my blood. Beautiful girl with a split skull—it sounded more than glamorous. I heard the front door creak open, and I felt myself groan, my gaze averting from the gray balcony.
Lance stepped into the room slowly. “Oh . . .” he began. His eyes seemed to have red rivers coursing through them, luminous against his dark skin. I watched his brows furrow in disappointment. “Sorry, Savy. I didn’t know you’d still be here.”
Words began to fall silently from his lips as I stared at the redhead attached to his arm. She was paper-pale, but her face was doused in make-up, looking as if she had taken crayons to her eyelids and a scarlet marker to her lips. Her blue eyes sparked softly beneath layers of mascara. I couldn’t manage to keep myself from smirking when she took a step back; her cowardice was oozing out her powdered pores. Lance pulled her close to him.
“I didn’t forget ya, Baby,” he said smiling. He turned to me. “This is Chynel.” She beamed at Lance, and I felt my stomach roll.
“So this must be your roommate’s daughter.” Her voice came like spoiled milk. I could almost taste its stench. “It’s nice to finally meet you, sweetie.”
Sweetie. The word clung to my ears, dripping over me like acid, burning holes in my skin. I could tell it was intentional—that she was hiding from my intimidating expression.
“Nice to meet you too, *****,” I hissed, flashing my teeth. I noted her bewildered look. “It’s a term of endearment,” I said, “like ‘sweetie.’”
“Sav! Chill, girl!” Lance shook his head. “What’s gotten into you? Me and Chynel are just gonna grab a few things and go.”
“Sure.” Winking at the redhead, I grinned, and I could feel slick malice crawling through me. I watched Lance snake multiple fixes through his weedy fingers; his blackened eyes grabbed me with a fierce anger that I’d never seen before. I couldn’t help myself. My smile broadened, ushering him forward. The way he moved was brilliant, his body seeming leaner, longer. “Yes?” I asked.
His voice was airy and swift. “Don’t **** this up for me,” he said.
“Don’t worry.” My tongue lingered over my bottom lip. As I maneuvered my hands against his, I drew him close to me. “The only thing I want to **** is you.”
“Wha…” Immediately, his form turned icy, tauntingly squirmy. Chynel grasped his arm and pulled him toward the door, glowering in my direction, eyes wild as her hair. I snorted as she struggled with the handle, one of her phony fingernails darting to the floor.
“Bye, Lance!” I cried out, and I was sure to mouth the word “slut” for Chynel as she slammed the door shut. Shrugging, I rolled my eyes, muttering, “I don’t know what her problem was.” Then I stood still for a moment. Step one: stay calm. But as usual, I ignored the vows a normal person would repeat and released an incensed fist into the couch. Again and again, I pounded, letting the scratchy material clothe my hand with each swing. It was unbearable; I felt my eyes burning, as if someone were using a cigarette lighter to ignite my sadness and tears.
“Why?” I screamed, gripping the sides of my head. “What is wrong with me?”
“The fact that you’d waste your time crying,” I heard my father say behind me. His words were thick like honey, but they were oppositely bitter. I glanced over my shoulder. He was dusty, and denim covered his body loosely.
“Go to hell,” I said, falling onto the sofa with a graceful flair. My tears were already beginning to dry, my skin turning sticky, and my father laughed.
“Really? Is that what you want?” He seemed almost giddy with each movement of his mouth. “You are feisty today, and there’s really no need for it. You’ve already stopped crying, so clearly you are once again in my favor.”
“I thought this was about balance,” I volleyed back when he knelt in front of me, his tired lips sporting a jeering smile. I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to keep myself from melting at the sight of him. “You’ve been telling me that forever, Daddy.” The last word ran over my tongue like sandpaper, but I couldn’t deny how good it tasted. Sick but so delightful.
“You want it, fight for it, Angel,” he said. Rising to his feet, he gestured me upward. “Here’s a game. Hit me.”
I narrowed my eyes dubiously.
“You wanted balance. Aren’t you angry? Show me. I want to feel your burning hatred. Hit me.” His expression was wild, his shoulders straightened and ready. He raised both eyebrows, stepping back. I smirked and stood. He was possibly the most delicious man I’d ever known. When he didn’t move, I balled my fist, my fingernails scraping my skin, digging deeper and deeper. The pain was so good.
“You’re an ass,” I whispered. My flesh struck his right on the cheek, and my stomach immediately felt as if it were going to burst, though he didn’t seem to falter. His heart was hard like his face. I could tell. Everything about him was stone, and it didn’t matter how many times I slammed my fists into him. He wouldn’t break. From the corners of my eyes, I noticed the dreary color of the apartment walls. How fitting, I thought. The pain I felt punching my father was equally gray. Not gothic and not bright. It was just there like the walls, needed but hardly noticed.
I heard my father laughing and suddenly I found myself against the floor, my left cheek throbbing, bruising, then again in the same spot. And my forehead. My abdomen. My chin. But the pain was surreal; so much that is was barely touchable. It hugged me around every inch of my body, but it was wispy and quiet. Everything stopped for a moment when he looked at me. His blue eyes seemed to flash black, and he kissed my neck.
“You punch, I punch back,” he breathed to my ear. “It will always be that way.”