Growing and Kissing (17 page)

He never acknowledged any of it and that made it even harder. When I was around him, the fantasies wouldn’t stop: those big hands tangled in my hair or the press of his chest against my breasts. But now, when I was alone, I started to miss him. The days when he didn’t visit felt lonely. And at night, after I’d tossed and turned and finally run out of willpower, after I’d played with myself to visions of him thrusting deep inside me, I lay there and imagined him spooning me from behind.

He was changing, in my mind, from some dark, bad boy lover I fantasized about to a real person—just as dark and just as dangerous but someone who’d
be
with you for more than just one night. Which was insane, because a guy like Sean didn’t do relationships. And I knew that. But I’d still wake on a morning in the empty apartment and look down to the floor, imagining him in his apartment downstairs, and have a crazy, momentary wish that he was there beside me. I wondered who he was sleeping with, down there. I suspected he’d started going to the homes of the women he picked up, because I hadn’t heard him bring anyone back recently.

At the end of May, Doctor Huxler said Kayley could come home. The initial round of treatment was finished and he told me quietly that she’d feel better for a while. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking she’s cured,” he warned me. “Remember, this is only a holding action. Soon, she’s going to start going downhill. Slow at first, then fast. Four months and she’ll need the Swiss treatment.”

I nodded and told him I was taking care of it. I thought of the plants, still with so much potential for disaster, and felt sick.

The chemo had taken most, but not all, of Kayley’s golden hair. It would grow back eventually, but for now she’d chosen to wear a
Sex Pistols
cap I’d found on the internet. The first night she was home, she wanted movie and a pizza. I went into the kitchen with my phone to order the pizza...then stopped. Normally, I’d fight her on it, saying the pizza was unhealthy and expensive. Of course, now I didn’t care about any of that, I just wanted to indulge her...but if I did, would that give away how worried I was about her? Spoil her because she was so ill and risk her knowing, or be tough on her to reassure her that everything was normal...and risk her thinking I didn’t care?

I got stuck in a loop with it—it wasn’t just that it was a hard decision, it was that there was no one in the world I could ask for advice. Mom and dad were gone and I’d been so busy at the grow house that I’d barely seen any of my friends for months. Even Stacey thought I was being cold because I was so secretive about where I was all the time. I got more and more worked up and, just when I thought I was about to hurl the phone at the wall in frustration, I broke down in tears. They came out of nowhere, all of the stress just pouring out, and I couldn’t keep them quiet. I let out a fractured, moaning sob.

Kayley’s voice from the living room. “Louise?”

Shit.
I heard her jump down off the couch. I looked around, eyes full of tears...and then grabbed the handle of the refrigerator. I hauled open the door, shoved my hand in and then slammed it on my fingers.

Kayley ran in to find the refrigerator door open and me crying and nursing my throbbing hand.
“Motherfucker,”
I spat, showing her the rising red marks.

“I’ll get some ice,” she told me. “And that’s a dollar in the curse jar.”

I watched her with eyes full of tears. The grow house had to work. I couldn’t lose her.

June

Sean

I’d sworn to myself, after I nearly kissed her, that I was going to keep my distance...and I did. But not seeing her made me crazy: I was addicted and I’d start jonesing after just a couple of days.

I’d find excuses just to be at the grow house and then sit there watching her, imagining every filthy thing I’d like to do to that pale body...and she just carried on working, oblivious, probably thinking about roots or nutrients or something. Surrounded by plants, she looked even more like some goddess of nature. I’d never seen her look so totally at home...I just wished it could be in a proper garden instead of a windowless grow house. Somewhere she’d be safe. Like one of those stately homes I’d been taken to as a kid. That’d suit her, being lady of the manor. God knows she was classy enough.

I did what I could for her. Little stuff. I couldn’t stand by while life ground somebody like her into the dirt. So I helped her out and quietly drove myself crazy, torturing myself by putting myself in the same room as her week after week.

Then, one day in June, it all went wrong.

It was way too hot for so early in the year, even in California. One of those days where the sun really pounds down on you, where you can almost hear your skin hissing and reddening and the asphalt in the streets goes sticky under your feet. It wasn’t too bad in the air conditioned house, but I’d been walking outside, checking for anyone sizing up the house. When I got inside, I pulled off my tank top and went and stood right in front of the air conditioning unit so that the cold air was smacking right against my shining body.

Bliss.
I closed my eyes and let out a long groan and slowly rotated, letting the air chill every part of me. I had to back up, so it could hit all of me, and eventually I felt myself knock into a table.

I heard an intake of breath behind me and twisted around, opening my eyes. At first, I thought maybe I’d knocked something over, but everything looked fine. Then I saw Louise staring at me, her hand to her mouth.

“What?” I grunted.

“What happened to you?” she whispered. She was staring at my back.

Shit.

She’d seen the burns.

They’re pretty well hidden by my tattoos. That’s the idea of them—all those snaking lines and the black ink make the circular, puckered scars disappear. But when I’d backed up against the table, the lights had lit me up, hundreds of watts of pure white light shining right at my skin, and revealed everything.

I looked back to Louise. Her eyes were wide with shock...and something else I never wanted to see: pity.

“None of your fucking business,” I spat. It was out before I could stop it, a reflexive defense. I pulled my tank top back and stalked outside into the sunlight. If she called after me, I didn’t hear it over the roar of the Mustang’s engine and the screech of the tires.

That day woke me up. It reminded me of what I was and why we couldn’t be together. It didn’t matter how much I wanted her: I wasn’t going to taint her or put her at risk by getting any closer. Sure as
fuck
not close enough that she’d figure out where all my anger came from.

I stopped hanging out at the grow house. Louise was doing just fine with the plants, I reasoned. She didn’t need me there at this stage. I buried myself in work, taking on as many jobs as I could fit in.

A few weeks later, at the end of June, I was in the back of a car with Lennie, traveling to a job. I prefer to drive myself, but sometimes the people who hire me like to come along to watch.

Lennie’s one of the bigger dealers. Thin, under his suit, and sort of jumpy, but he’s got all this long black hair and big dark eyes so women flock around him. Right now, I was sitting with him in the rear of his huge old Lincoln Town Car as it cruised down the street. He had a blonde next to him and she was running her hands all over his chest through his shirt, her fake boobs almost falling out of her dress. Normally, I would have enjoyed the view. Now, all I could think about was how much better Louise would look in that dress, with her pale, natural breasts, and how amazing those cool, soft hands would feel as they explored my body….

“Lennie,” I said. “Could you get me a meeting with Malone?” I’d only met Malone, the big distributor, a couple of times. Normally, the jobs came from either the dealers or the growers, well below his level.

Lennie was looking at the top of the blonde’s head. She was unbuttoning the top of his shirt, now, and starting to press her lips against his chest in hungry little kisses. “Why the fuck would you want to see Malone?” he mumbled.

Working for these people is kind of like being their attack dog. They respect you for your abilities, but they don’t expect their animals to talk back...or even talk, period.

“I’ve got word about some product,” I said. “Weed. A lot of weed. Really good stuff.”

Lennie grunted and shifted in his seat. His shirt was undone halfway, now, and the blonde was kissing his nipples. “You rip someone off, Irish?”

“I know a grower. A new one. It’s just business, Lennie. More weed for everyone—that’s good, right?”

The blonde was massaging his cock through his pants, but Lennie’s eyes were suddenly on me. “You’re trying to do a
deal?
With
Malone?”
He gave me a patronizing grin and shook his head. “That’s a fucking dramatic leap up the food chain. Why don’t you bring this grower to me? I can make the introduction.” He leaned back in his seat, humping his groin into the blonde’s hand a little.

I knew what he was saying:
all you’re good for is smashing stuff.
I said nothing, just sat there and soaked it up. But I let my fingers play up and down the shaft of my hammer like it was the fret of my guitar.

Lennie’s smile faded along with his hard-on. “But sure,” he said quickly. “Sure, if you want to see Malone, I can make that happen.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Lennie.” I leaned my hammer back against my shoulder and relaxed my hands.

With the threat gone, Lennie tried to regain control of things. “You okay, Irish? You seem different. Woman trouble?” He looked down at the blonde, who was drawing his hardening cock out of his pants. “You want to find yourself a girl like Marissa here. Marissa knows how to have fun.”

I gave a non-committal grunt. I’d thought staying away from Louise would make it easier, but it was like a sickness, a hunger...the longer I went without seeing her, the more she was in my mind. I hadn’t ever had that, before. Women had always been replaceable, to me, as I’m sure I was to them. But now...I hadn’t picked up a woman since that day I’d shared the elevator with Louise. I hadn’t wanted to. The women in those bars I used to go to just seemed…plastic, somehow. Faded and almost translucent, next to the Technicolor reality of Louise.

I wanted her. And yet I knew I couldn’t have her, not unless I wanted to fuck her life up the way I fucked up everything else. Getting involved with her would drag her down into my world, and that would be like seeing a priceless marble statue sink into a swamp. One time wouldn’t be enough and yet more would destroy us both. Because a girl like her would want more—deserved more—than just sex. But
more
—even if I could offer that—would mean her getting much closer than I could let her. I rubbed my back, where the scars were.
What the hell am I going to do?
I’d gone from barely feeling to being a mess of emotions whenever I was around her. This was a world I just plain didn’t understand.

I realized the car had stopped. Lennie was looking at me expectantly. We’d arrived outside the biker bar—some hapless motorcycle club who’d been dealing coke in Lennie’s territory.
A message needs to be sent,
he’d said. Already, the bikers had seen the car pull up and they probably recognized it as Lennie’s. Five or six of them were gathering outside the bar.

I climbed out.

“Oh fuck,” one biker said, his face going pale beneath his beard. “He brought the Irish.”

This,
I understood. This was my world, the one I didn’t want Louise anywhere near. I lifted the hammer almost lazily, spun in a circle and smashed it into the rear wheel of one of the Harleys parked outside. The first blow is always the most important. This one caved in the wheel and sent the bike toppling onto the one next to it, setting off a domino effect. The bikers jumped back, cursing, mad as hell but too scared to approach.

I could feel the anger unwinding in my chest, coming to life like a waking dragon. I slammed the hammer down into the next bike and the front forks crumpled. A biker howled as he saw his baby ruined. I’ve smashed a lot of things in my time and I’ve learned the fastest ways to cause the most expensive damage.

I swung the hammer down on a bike’s fuel tank and it felt fantastic. One swing dented it. The second brought the stench of gasoline and a rapidly-spreading dark puddle on the concrete. I was in my element now, the adrenaline flooding my veins, the anger burning bright.