Addicted In Cold Blood (27 page)

Fear.

I knew it. She is still fucking afraid of me. Shit!

He gingerly let her feet hit the ground then slowly stepped away, struggling to get his zipper back up. The thing in his pants had grown to the point that getting it safe back inside his jeans was now nearly impossible. He watched her turn away, shame written on her face. Everything hurt. He now had to deal with her indignity, too...and it tore him up a bit.

“What is it?” he finally managed to ask between strenuous breaths. “Just say it to me, Jayme.”

“This...isn’t right. I’m not supposed to feel this way about you. I’m not supposed to want this.”

He just looked at her. Biting his tongue, he pushed down his anger and resentment and let his love for her cool him down. He knew how she felt about him now, and she was standing in her own way. Fucking emotions again! Or, maybe it was the human mind—maybe it wasn’t emotions at all at fault here. Maybe emotions, this time, were on his side, and it was the mind that fought him. Logically, she wasn’t supposed be there, but her body and heart didn’t give a shit. They wanted to ignore the mind, and have him. He refused to control her mind. He refused to influence her. He needed to know that she did it because she wanted to—nothing more, nothing less. It didn’t stop his anger though as he took her quickly by the hand and drifted into fantasy. If the culprit was cerebral, he’d have to send her brain a gag order, stat...

*
***

Two weeks later...

“Thanks for dinner.” Jayme stuffed her hands into her burgundy swing pants, her black heels clacking against the pavement.

“You’re welcome,” he said stiffly as they crossed the street.

She caught a whiff of his black leather coat, barely worn. His eyes looked darker than usual that evening...but she still hadn’t gotten the nerve to ask about that. Things had gotten strange between them. Instead of her pulling away from him, she drew closer, teasing him, with no goal in mind. She didn’t know why she did it, but she wanted to. It was childish in a way, running from the man’s advances, yet teasing him like some silly girl. He didn’t try to have sex with her again after that night against the brick wall, and she felt strange about that. Instead of going through with it, he’d stopped cold in his tracks, as if he could read her mind. It scared her. Something that should have been honorable, his sensitivity to her body language, felt like a rejection letter.

You can’t have it both ways!
she scolded herself.

She wanted to know why. She wanted to hear him say it, tell her why he stopped. He could have had her, but he didn’t do it. She got scared, and like a light switch, he stopped all advances. She felt liberated in a way now, though. At least, she knew he did have a button, one she could push and play with, but now, it was too late. She didn’t want to play or push a button! She
wanted
him, and she knew it, and it tore her world apart even further. She knew damn well where the cameras were in that massive master bedroom, yet now, she was changing her clothes in the bedroom instead of the unmonitored bathroom...

She wasn’t a game player, always a straight-shooter, yet with him, she kept testing the waters. Being in fear of someone you desired had a way of messing up one’s mind...

Initially, she told herself that it was her ticket out. That she needed to go through with it, so she could gain more trust and escape...but escape to
what
? The FBI had botched her good and she felt nothing but shame and anger for it.  They didn’t give a crap about her. All they talked about was how she’d let him get away, and there was no mention of trying to find her, to comfort her family and friends, nothing. It soaked inside of her like a sponge, turning her heart black with rage. The idea of revenge sounded sweet and she prayed she’d get an opportunity to exact it upon the agents responsible for this. She was losing her mind, losing track of time, and losing her grasp on who she was.

Xzion looked serious, in deep thought. She wanted to push him aside and tell him all the things she didn’t say over dinner. Instead, she just brushed her new dark brown wig that he’d bought her out of her face, and held his hand a bit tighter. He slowed and looked down at her, his eyes questioning.

Come on, say it...tell me something, Xzion. Make this okay...

But he simply turned away and kept his secrets to himself.

As they approached a crosswalk, someone huddled under a mound of dirty clothes moaned and moved, causing the textile avalanche to come alive. They both cranked their necks in the slumped person’s direction, and the bloodshot eyes of a woman gleamed out from behind her tomb of embroidery. She gave a slight grin, exposing rotten teeth as she shoved herself closer to the building, a paper bag in her grasp, then extended a dirty white Styrofoam cup with a crumpled dollar and coins inside. Xzion drew closer to her, examining her like a project.

“What are you doing?” Jayme gently tugged his arm as he kept steady toward the homeless woman.

“She’s drunk and high.”

“Yes.” Jayme rolled her eyes and gave a sad grin. “That’s commonplace around here, Xzion. This isn’t my stomping grounds, and yeah, it’s trendy over here, all the nice restaurants and stores, but the homeless aren’t stupid. They know this is where the real money is. We chase them away from here, but they’ve got to eat.”

“No eating, just begging for money to get high, and who is
we
?” His thick, jet black eyebrow arched as he looked over his shoulder at her, her hand in his grip.

She paused. “Slip of the tongue.”

“Oh...police.” His complexion slightly reddened. She realized at that moment, she wasn’t being reprimanded for referring to herself as a cop, in the present—in public at that. He honestly didn’t know what she was talking about. She smiled to herself at the misunderstanding.

“She chose to be fucked up.” He stood erect, his words cutting the air like knives as they escaped his mouth. In shock, Jayme let her hand slowly fall from his. He looked down at her in confusion.

“What?”

“Is that what you think, Xzion? You think this woman honestly wants to live on the streets, drunk out of her mind?”

“Yes. She chose to be this way, to let those assholes stay in business because she is too weak to deal with life. Life is shitty sometimes. You have to confront it, not destroy yourself from the inside out. Weaklings...” He sneered.

Jayme’s stomach knotted. She
did
see his eyes darken. This was where the evil lived. This was what drove him. Would he want to kill the old woman, too? Was his anger now going to spread like a virus to the users, not stay contained? With hatred like his, there was no way it could always be corralled.

“Don’t be angry at her, be angry at the addiction!”

“She chose it!” he yelled, shaking his fist. “I doubt someone forced the needle into her body or the crack pipe into her mouth or the bottle down her damned throat—and what about all these goddamn free programs around here, huh? People fucking up their lives, their families, making everyone have to pay because they need to run away from life! Oh, poor motherfucking me!” As his voice escalated, a vein pulsated on the side of his neck. She’d never seen him this enraged.

She stepped back from him, taking it all in.

“Let me just mess up my kid’s life, not be in their lives because I need to get high. I bet this old broad has kids, grandkids, too, but she chose the bottle over ’em! They didn’t ask to be here!” He pointed down at the ground; his rage now had a body. It was invisible, but it brushed against Jayme’s skin, pushing her around, angry, wanting to strangle everything in its path.

“Xzion, you don’t understand. Once the person starts, they can barely stop, especially if it is cocaine, heroin, meth or crack. You know nothing about addiction!” She pointed at him, her voice cracking, bracing herself, monitoring herself, trying to get through his concrete fortress.

“I know it’s for the weak!” he said between compressed teeth. He turned back to the homeless woman, who was now looking up at him in confusion. “You want some money, right?” he grinned maniacally as he scooted close to her, causing the woman’s wild, bloodshot eyes to ping pong back and forth between the two strangers. “You want some money to stay drunk...piss the money away, run away instead of try to stop this, appreciate your life. Foul, you are so pathetic and uncivilized...disgusting!”

“Xzion, stop it.” Jayme grabbed his shoulder, but he shook her off. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a small wad of neatly folded cash, throwing it at the homeless woman who quickly scooped it up in her dirty fingers, her eyes glazed with excitement as she realized it was five dollar bills—fifty dollars total. “You’re revolting. You fucking smell, too! You don’t appreciate your life, the God in you!” They both watched as she gathered to her feet and dragged away, looking cautiously over her shoulder at Xzion before she scampered around the corner.

“Xzion.” Jayme tried to control her shaking to no avail. Rage consumed her. Livid, red, hot. “That was one of the
cruelest
displays I’ve ever seen. What is it with you?! I want you to tell me what is going on with you, and drugs, addiction?! What is this obsession of yours? You don’t even get it! That is the very thing that makes them
want
to get high, even more so! You showed that sort of behavior—the kind that drives the addiction even further. What you did was unforgiveable!”

“Lower your fucking voice, goddamn it!” he screamed, suddenly in her face, his chest pressed against her, breathing erratically, nostrils flared, anger in his eyes...especially the right one. This was it...she was wrong. The sex they’d yet to have wasn’t his hot button; it was
this
, right here. This held the key to everything. She was snapped back into reality, from his reaction, his treachery toward that woman, who was fighting her own demons. He didn’t show that person a shred of kindness; instead, he came off like a drug lord himself, and reigned terror on the poor lady. Mercy didn’t dwell anywhere inside of his darkened soul. Jayme remembered all she’d forgotten...all she’d blocked out. She was a kidnapped victim, with a maniac as her oppressor. All so crystal clear now...

No, that is too easy. Something else is going on here.

She couldn’t let this go, the flame was hot—dig, dig, dig!

“Get the fuck outta my damn face,” she said coolly.

His rutted eyebrows relaxed and utter bewilderment swept over his expression. In her heels, she was pretty tall. Though he still loomed over her, she felt confident—or at least pretended to be, to make it through. Truth was, he terrified her, but this was no time to fall apart. She had him just where she wanted him. Filled with...emotion. The leather jacket now felt hot against her flesh as he pressed close to her. Matter of fact, the evening was cold, bitterly cold, but he stood there with a dewy mist across his face. It confused her, but she quickly pushed it out of her mind.

Yeah, that oughta do it...let’s chat, shall we, Xzion? I’m going to find out what is going on, get to the bottom of this!

He grabbed her arm and led her between two buildings. Pushing her against the wall, he jammed his finger in her face.

So here we are again, huh? You like it outside, against walls. Is that your thing, Xzion? We all have our fetishes I suppose.

She didn’t budge; matter of fact, she resisted the urge to assault him. Drifting into her own world, her own feelings, she almost missed the twinkling in his right eye. Now, deep inside of it, there seemed to be a prickly steel wheel moving, zooming back and forth. Small and fast.

She started to scream out in horror and he quickly covered her mouth with his large hand, muffling her wail as her body fought against his hard frame to no avail. Firmer than the brick wall he’d pushed her into, his body was a stronghold. He no longer felt human but made of steel, as if armor lay underneath his clothing, or worse yet, his bones and muscle were made of the ice that he used as his own castle, his igloo in the
Baltimore suburb. He removed his hand, his glance threatening. She turned away and gasped for air, feeling her lipstick smeared across her face, and seeing it smudged on his hand as he waved it around—then rubbed his head as if he were getting a migraine.

“So,” she panted, smiling bitterly as she regained her composure. She took note of the gun in his waistband as he pivoted, seemingly lost in his own world. “Are you...going to tell me what’s eating Gilbert Grape? What’s the matter...with you?” She clung to air, trying to calm and breathe—obtain equanimity.

“Drug addiction, unless the person is tied down against their will and the substance is forced into their system, is a choice. It fucks up your minds!”

Your minds? Who is ‘your’?

“In this day and age, everybody knows what drugs do!” He turned sharply back toward her, invading her space, and tapped on the side of her head, seething.

“What is going on with your eye?” She changed the topic, trying to smooth his erratic emotions, but keep him amped enough to have the discussion and not back out.

He pointed to it. “I was born like this.” He said it smoothly, like the answer was true. He paused in thought, his expression almost regretful. Perhaps he thought he’d said too much.

“How can you be born with a man-made contraption in your eye?” She gently took his face by the chin, turning him back to her.