Bottom Feeder (31 page)

I enter the address for my apartment
on the GPS and drive in the direction of I-95.

Jackson

The feel of her soft lips lingers on
mine. I know she kissed me out of spite. She could kiss me every
day out of spite and I would not mind at all.

I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s the
hangover talking.

“
You just let her
go
?” Dominguez questions
as if it’s the worst thing I could’ve done. Trust me, I’ve done
worse. Much worse.
“¡Idiota
estúpido!”

I wanted to stop her from leaving. I
didn’t because I’m tired of being selfish.

“
She liked me better,
anyway,” Dominguez grins and swipes my last Twizzler. The vine hits
the floor with an ominous
thud
when I slap it from his hand.

“
Hands off!”

“
I don’t think we’re
talking candy, bro,” he notes after blowing dirt off the candy’s
surface. He chews on the Twizzler like a piece of hay. I’m tempted
to slap it out of his mouth. “I saw the way you looked at her last
night. Or
maybe
you’re just pissed that Dom is gonna hit it and not
you.”

“
I’m telling you, it’s not
like that.”

What if Beraz
does
get to her? He left
my room in a hurry when he saw she wasn’t here.

“
Keep lying to yourself.
You might be the only person within a five room radius that doesn’t
seem to think she’s sexy as hell. I don’t know why you like those
stick-skinny chicks, anyway. Only a dog wants a bone. You need a
woman with curves. Oh, and some sense. Unlike Vanessa, the
beautiful pre-law stripper with no ass and no sense.”

I push myself off the desk, preparing
to toss Dominguez out on his ass when Beraz walks through my open
door.

“
Dom,” Dominguez says,
taking the Twizzler out of his mouth and pointing it at me. “Tell
this dude about real women.”

Beraz doesn’t move. The look on his
face tells me he’s having some kind of internal debate. Great. This
is not a good sign I’m going to sleep any time soon.

“
Didn’t you see the way
she moved last night?” Dominguez continues. “
Mami
can grind on. . .”

“
Don’t talk about her like
that!” Beraz and I yell simultaneously. Dominguez throws his hands
up in surrender.

“
She’s not your
girlfriend,” Beraz states.

“
I never said she was,” I
reply. “She’s not my type, anyway.”

“
I’ve known brands of
assholes like you all my life, Monroe,” Beraz carries on, ignoring
my response. “Every girl you come across is shit to you—just
someone to fuck around with and toss out when you’re bored. You’re
not going to do that with her.”

“
Who the hell do you think
you are?” I cross the room and stand toe-to-toe with Beraz. “You’re
just some gangbanging piece of shit who had to join up or his weak
ass would’ve gotten killed on the streets.”

A right hook lands on my left jaw. I
lose balance and hit the ground. Fresh hell. Twice in one
day.

Note to self:
Stop talking shit to former
gangbangers.

I struggle to get to my feet. With two
hits in the span of a few hours combined with a massive hangover?
Yeah, not happening. Dominguez shuffles to block a second punch
from Beraz.

“
You don’t know anything
about that girl!” I manage to shout.

“
But I will.
Guaranteed.”

Intertwining my right foot below his
ankle, I take Beraz to the floor. Lifting quickly to my knees, I
wrap my arms around his neck in a sleeper hold. Dominguez attempts
to pry my fingers loose. His efforts are made in vain.

“
Both of you listen to
me,” I announce calmly. “I had a job to do. I got what I wanted,
and as of the moment she walked out my door I am through with Maddy
Carrington. Understand?
Through!
You can have her if she wants you Beraz. I don’t
want her mentioned to me or around me ever
fucking again.
Now get out of my
room before I have both your sorry asses on Wotley’s radar starting
Monday.”

I lock my door and crawl beneath the
thin blanket. I attempt to sleep away the ache in my
chest.

Maddy

Ballet. Modern Dance. Lunch.
Partnering. Home. Ballet. Modern. Lunch. Partner. Home. Ballet.
Blah. Lunch. Blah. Home. Blah. Repeat. Blah.

Dancing is a chore. The atmosphere is
so serious at school, it’s depressing. Since I started classes
during a summer session, there are not many students here. Work,
class, and volunteering at a youth center keep me busy. If I’m not
constantly moving, I think too much and cry too often.

Nights are still the worst. I sit
around waiting, preparing for something to happen. A phone call.
Text. Email. An attack on the street while I’m walking home from
work.

I changed the locks, added a few extra
and reset the alarm system’s security code and password the day I
moved in. The door brace is shoved beneath the knob as soon as I
step through the front door. My bedroom door is closed and locked
at night, with a brace shoved beneath the door knob. I sleep with a
composite Louisville Slugger next to me and a Taser beneath my
pillow. I hate living in a constant state of paranoia. Because I am
not living at all; I am surviving. I guess if I want to see
tomorrow, surviving is a necessity.

Anyway.

The city is always awake with
something to do. Not that I do any of it, but at least the option
is there. Right? Despite its reputation, people here are not
extremely rude. Nice? Ehhh . . . notsomuch. If I need directions,
most are willing to help. Everyone seems to be in a hurry all the
time. Sometimes I wonder if they really have some place that
important to be or if they want people to think so. I make up
stories about them: where they’re going, where they’ve been, who
they love, who loves them. I give them all happily ever
afters.

I miss Georgia something fierce. A
fast-paced lifestyle is not for me. I need open spaces. I need to
stop and think. This city seems to swallow me whole. Besides, there
are too many people to notice if anyone is following or watching
me.

The only thing that fills
the emptiness is Dom. His texts and emails are the fuel that gets
me through the day. His phone calls help me fall asleep at night.
Sometimes we video chat. Not often, though, since he rarely has
privacy. I usually end up talking to him
and
Terrance. Or whoever else is in
the room.

Dixon emails every day, calls twice a
week. The calls are alternated on one of the two burner phones. I
told him everything. In true Dixon fashion, he was angry but not
surprised. He only asked if I wanted to live with him when his year
in Europe is up. I’m thinking about it.

The regular cell is used for
information calls and weekly calls to Cordell’s main warehouse in
Savannah. It goes to a voicemail each time.

Violet calls every other night. She is
oblivious that anything bad happened between Jackson and me. I plan
on keeping it that way. Mostly she keeps me updated on the
accident. Chris and Jeremiah are out of the hospital, but Chris
will not play football this season. Lamont has been transferred to
the Naval Hospital at Camp Pendleton. As of yesterday, he was still
in a coma.

I’m doing everything I can to go about
business as usual while learning to pick up the pieces and put them
together, leaving out the bits I do not need in my life.

“
Mizzzz
Caddington
,” the ballet instructor calls.
“
Seeence ju do not vant to pay attenshun,
I suggest ju and jor short legs pay me feefty spleet leaps.
Now!”

Did I mention I was popular here? No?
Probably because I’m not. My partner in the, well, partnering class
hates me because I’m so short and weigh fifteen pounds more than
the other girls in the class. I often fantasize about farting in
his face when he slides under my legs in our “Role Reversal”
number.

Hey, I never claimed to be a
lady.

After a short evening
shift at my new job at Milk and Sugar, a locally-owned Fair Trade
coffee shop, I swiftly walk the two blocks to my apartment. One of
the things I like about the City is that I don’t even
need
a car. I walk or
ride the subway—which scared the bejeezus out of me the first
time—wherever I need to go. Hailing a cab is not yet one of my
strong suits.

“
Hey, Mr. Sonny,” I call
to the building’s doorman. “Another good day, huh?”

“
Good evening, Maddy,” the
stout doorman replies cheerfully. “Every day’s a good day as long
as my ticker’s kickin’!”

Sonny might just be the happiest
person on the planet. I give him a high-five. “Amen to
that.”

My phone rings as soon as I walk in
the apartment. At just over a thousand square feet, I am told this
space is large for the City. For me, the size is a nice downgrade
from all the unused space at Cordell’s house. The apartment has two
bedrooms, two bathrooms, and an open floor plan. My favorite part
is the floor-to-ceiling windows that proudly display amazing views
of the City.

“
Dom!” I smile into the
phone.

“
Hi, baby,” he says,
mimicking my excitement. “You home yet?”

“
Yep,” I say, putting my
sweaty dance clothes in the hamper.

When Miles turned down Dom’s request
for leave, I was crushed. But it turned out to be a good thing
since I’ve gotten to know him much better over the past two months.
But my secrets are still secrets, and I have no plan to reveal them
anytime soon. I feel bad, but I’m not exactly lying to Dom. I’m . .
. withholding information.

I disinfect my gym bag and turn it
inside out to dry while Dom tells me about his day. Then, as I’m
heating leftover cacciatore, he clears his throat like he’s
preparing to make a speech.

“
I, uh, actually want to
talk to you about something.”

“
What’s up?” I try to stay
calm, though my heart is racing.

“
It’s about . . .” he
pauses. “I want to get some things out in the open before I come to
New York.”

“
You have kids, huh? A
wife back in Oklahoma?”

He snorts. “None of the above. But I
should have told you two months ago. You might not want me to come
after this.”

Remember that stupid,
silly little girl that made an appearance at Fort Bragg? When it
comes to Dom, I
always
feel like that. I’ve only known him a short time, but our
connection is undeniably intense. He’s the sugar to my
Kool-Aid.

I brace myself for the
worst.

“
Do you remember at the
car wash when you were talking about baggage and I said I had some
of my own?”

I nod, then remember he can’t see me.
“Yes.” With my own hidden skeletons, I never asked him to
elaborate.

“
There are things in my
past I’m not proud of. Things I can’t change. Things that define
who I am. Who I
was
. I never imagined getting this close to someone in such a
short amount of time, especially over the phone, but—” He groans in
frustration.

“
Lay it on me, Dom. I can
take it. I’ve got my big girl panties on and
everything.”

“
What color?” He laughs.
“No, I’m sorry. Never mind. You’re distracting me.”

I giggle because, well, he makes me
giggle. Gah! Cut a girl some slack.

“
I used to be in a gang.
Back home.”

“
I know.”

He does not mask his surprise. “You
do? How?”

“
Well, I didn’t know about
the
‘
used to be’
part, and I might be from small-town Georgia, but I know a gang tat
when I see it.” I did research on some of the symbols and saw they
were affiliated with the OKC Disciples.

“
You knew and didn’t say
anything?” Dom asks with incredulity. “That’s usually the first
thing people want to talk about. I had some of the more obvious
ones covered because I couldn’t join the Army with them. The one
with the fig tree and quote from
The Bell
Jar
used to be a three-pronged
crown.”

“
Look, Dom, I understand
that some things should only be talked about when all people
involved are ready to talk. I asked you about them that night in
your room, remember?” I have a brief flashback of Dom without his
shirt on. My body tingles.

“
Do you want to ask
questions now?”

I would like to ask if he’s wearing a
shirt.

Inappropriate,
Carrington.

“
Did you ever hurt
anyone?”

“
No.”

“
Did you sell?”

“
No.”

“
Enforce?” Silence.
Silence speaks loudly sometimes, doesn’t it? “How much
enforcing
did you
do?”