2 Brooklyn James (24 page)

Max’s brow furrows with speculation. “I haven’t seen my father in three years. Not since he dumped me at my Pee-Paw’s,” he says, his voice riddled with hurt and disdain. “You expect me to believe he sent you for me? Will you stop at nothing to get what you want?” He sniffs the air around her. “What is that? Your scent. It’s different.” He backs up defensively, his eyes flickering steel blue, calling upon her Vigilare pedigree.

“Max, don’t!” she warns.

“Come on, traitor. Let’s see what you’ve really been up to.” He propels her further.

“Max.” She fights against him attempting to maintain. “I don’t know how to control it yet. Don’t do this.” She tries to tap into him with her customary telekinesis, stopping him, holding his body at her will. She cannot, her system bombarded with a whole new set of abilities. She winces, her hands squeezing against her ears as they pound steady and rhythmic like a drum. Her heartbeat taking over her body, each thunderous
lub dub
a new and reviving jolt. Max watches her transformation unable to call himself off. His breathing turbulent, nearly matching hers in his star-struck curiosity. Her violet eyes peculiar and captivating, speckled with emerald green. She expels an arduous exhale, the iridescent ray now filling up the room. Her body falls calm as her head tilts to the side inspecting Max.

“Oh shit,” he whispers, suddenly wondering what he has done.

She lunges at him, her hands gripping his throat, her eyes locking on his. They tumble to the floor, Emily astraddle his waist. The meshing of their colorful stares casts an uncanny golden hue between them. Max tries to close his eyes, the glare warm and blinding as the sun. Emily presses down, his actions, his memories, his life now a slide show for her to behold. She sees him in Gina’s (Brianna Castille) arms as a beaming little boy, his laughter exuberant. Flashes of him playing with his best furry friend, Bou Bou, quickly change to his dancing and singing with Lon. The words to their song ring ever so clear in her head, ‘I see skies of blue...clouds of white...bright blessed days...dark sacred nights...and I think to myself...what a wonderful world.’ The sweet image quickly turns horrific with Bou Bou’s growling followed by the blast of a shotgun, his ferocious bark replaced with pitiful whimpers. She holds her breath as the young Max (Braydon Castille) does, hiding in the closet in Gina’s lap. Emily’s heartbeat now racing with the image of him and Lon tied to chairs at the foot of a large bed. The venomous Manny Briggs and his accomplice take turns raping Gina. She feels as if her chest will explode with the impact of three more gun shots, one each for Lon, Gina and Max. Their bodies lying lifeless on the floor encompassed by a pool of blood. A dark, dingy laboratory comes into her frame. A familiar face, that of her own mother, Dr. Patricia Ryan, looking over their bodies, his and Lon’s. Dr. Bernard Shaw of ETNA scurries about monitoring their status, delivering serums and potions to them intravenously. Now separated, Max calls for Lon, his body writhing in pain, stretching and growing at an unnatural rate. The body of a boy turns into a man seemingly overnight. Hurt and despair show in Lon’s face as he leaves Max with his grandfather, in the bayou. The young man’s turmoil and lack of understanding, as he feels alone in the world, a misfit unlike any other. His emotions resonate with hers.

“Umph,” she utters, literally feeling as if she has been punched in the gut. The golden hue zaps from the space between them. Emily returns to herself sitting upright still astraddle of him. Her shoulders slouch as unrestrained tears fall freely from her eyes. Max gasps, finally able to catch his breath. Sitting upright, he encases his arms around her, pulling her to him.

“Em? You in there?” he calls.

She looks at him in an entirely different light, her eyes tenderly engaging his. “I’m so sorry,” she cries, hugging him to her, her hand trailing through his wavy dark locks.

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “It was either me or Gina...like you said.” He assumes the apology is for her betrayal.

She pulls her head from his shoulder scanning his face, his handsome youthful face. “What did they do to you?” Her eyes wincing, her lip quivers as tears continue to flood down around her cheekbones. “You were just a boy. A beautiful boy.”

He looks at her with renewed understanding. “What did you see?” he questions apprehensively.

She strokes his face. Swallowing the lump surfacing in the back of her throat, she breathes in shakily, her abdomen quivering causes his hand to rush there attempting to comfort her. “Everything,” she whispers, her chin falling to her chest, guarding him from her flooding eyes.

“Em, it’s okay,” he soothes, tucking his hand under her chin raising her eyes to meet his. “I’m okay.”

“I don’t believe you,” her words crackling off her moist lips, her tears trailing down them.

“Why not?” he asks, his hands gently wiping at her face.

“Because I’m not okay.”

He smiles faintly patting her down. “You feel fine.” He nuzzles his nose against hers.

His closeness, working on the strings of her heart filling her up inside, she closes her eyes attempting to fight the feeling. “Some things you never get over.” A green metal dumpster appears in her mind. Her battered, soiled body lying behind it. She sucks in air, darting her eyelids open, searching for his face, something light and comforting to flush the ugly memory.

“You wanna tell me about it?” His hands rest gently on the sides of her neck, his thumbs caressing her jawline.

She nods slightly. “I want to. But I’m afraid what you might think of me.”

He raises his brows, an affectionate grin surfacing. “Don’t you think we’re past that point?” he says, making note of the trying chain of events they’ve shared. “Nothing’s going to change. The way I feel about you...in here.” Tapping his chest lightly, he places the same hand over her heart, asking, “You feel it too?”

She nods, her eyelashes coming together, droplets of moisture collecting on the dark, up-curled tips. Her inhale fluttering as one’s does with a good cry.

“Then you have to tell me. Maybe it will help you to talk about it.” He shrugs. “Might help me, too. Maybe I won’t feel so alone in my own struggles. Ya know?”

“Maybe,” she agrees.

“Okay, then.” He pats his hands over her thighs. “Spill it.”

She nods, choking back more tears. “This really isn’t my thing. Sharing. Vulnerability.” She smiles fleetingly.

“Maybe it can be your thing...with me. I want you to feel safe with me, always.”

She strokes his cool face, his sweet nature provoking the opposite affect, warming her internally. Exhaling, she delivers, saying words she never imagined herself emitting to him, “I was raped...when I was nineteen.” Max lets loose a guttural, unexpected growl, tortured by such a fact that someone, anyone would defile her precious form. “It’s okay,” she finds herself comforting him the way he had her only moments earlier. “That’s how I ended up this way. With Vigilare pedigree. He cut me up pretty good. I lost a lot of blood. My
mother,”
she bites on the term. “Dr. Ryan. Had the 4-1-1 on Gina.” She pauses scanning his eyes for any recognition that Gina is his mother. Apparently the pieces still misfit, he does not know, or cannot recall. She avoids delivering that nugget of information, figuring it’s not her truth to tell. “They...Dr. Godfrey...transfused her blood to me.”

Max strokes the formidable scar on the side of her neck, now understanding how it came to be. “I’m sorry, Em.” His jaw twitching, he proclaims, “Nobody should ever put their hands on you like that. It’s not your fault. You know that, right?”

“Took me a while. But, I think I finally figured that out.” She drops her chin to her chest again. “It’s just embarrassing. Humiliating, really. To think I let it happen. I should’ve been able to fend him off.”

“Where is he now?” Max’s curiosity piquing, along with his intent for a brutal retaliation.

“He’s dead.”

“You?” Max ponders at whose hand.

“My father.”

“I knew I liked him,” Max states his agreement, foregoing the next question coming to mind.

“What?” Emily inquires reading his expression.

He shakes his head, his chin now dropping, looking down at his hands intertwined in hers. “It’s inappropriate,” he dismisses. She squeezes his hands recalling his attention to her eyes, welcoming his thought. “I was just going to ask if you...ya know...have you, since? I mean, I can’t even imagine what that does to a woman.”

She shakes her head. “Haven’t even had the desire. Until recently,” her words fall off into an apprehensive whisper. She eyes him, seeing that he picked up on her meaning, his expression changing from concerned to flattered. “I don’t know that I can.” She shrugs. “I never even experienced it before. You know, in a good way,” she confesses her virgin status prior to the rape.

Mother fucker!
Max quells his internal thought of her assailant, his jaw twinging. He recovers. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t have much experience myself,” he shares attempting to help her feel at ease.

She smiles acknowledging his gesture. “Gina’s been through it. She says being with someone you trust...someone you feel safe with...cleans the slate. Gives you a fresh start.” She shrugs, placing her hand over his heart, feeling its quiet
lub dub.
“I feel safe with you, Max.”

“I’d love…” he pauses searching for words. “If you can. If you’d let me. I’d love to try and give you a fresh start. Ya know, take it away...all the bad.” He removes her hand from his chest, softly kissing her palm. “Replace it with something good...righteous.”

Her breathing picking up speed, she leans into him. “Take it away, Max,” she pleads, her full lips finding his.

He kisses her intently before rising to his feet, helping her up. Taking her hand, he leads her into his room. His intimate twin bed lined with the quilt from his grandmother, its colors full and vibrant. He stands waiting for her to take the lead, assuming she should be in control. She sits Indian-style in the center of the quilt patting her hand on the open space in front of her. Max joins, sitting in the same manner, his knees against hers. Both of them nervous, their chests visibly rising and falling. Emily stretches her legs over his bringing their bodies closer together. Max welcomes her with open arms, his hands resting at her sides. She slips out of her shirt, releasing the pearl-snaps lining the center of his, trailing her fingers down over his defined arms, removing it. His hands slide to the center of her back resting over the hooks of her bra. His eyes still fixed on hers, she nods, a permissive smile curling at the corners of her lips. Pressing herself against his chest, she shivers with the contact of his cool skin.

“Sorry,” he whispers, self-conscious about his icy effect.

“Maybe I can warm you up,” she whispers, her lips meeting his neck causing goosebumps to form with the stimulating caresses.

“I feel warm. I really do,” he says, iterating her effect on him, his steel blue eyes apologetic.

She strokes the side of his face understandingly, her violet eyes warm and wanting, propelling him to kiss her deeply, showing her exactly how she makes him feel inside. His hands caught up in her hair, she moans softly with the momentum of his mouth, his cool lips tantalizing. Leaning back on the pillow, she coaxes him with her, his body now sheltering hers. Unbuttoning his jeans, she pushes them down over his backside wanting to feel him flesh to flesh. He sits upright astraddle her, keeping her eyes. Giving him the go-ahead, he peels the taut jeans from her frame. Emily helps herself out of the one little piece of fabric in the way of their union. Max follows, shedding his briefs. As he trails kisses up her legs and across her abdomen, she lets her head sink into the pillow arching her back, her flesh happy to acquaint itself with his mouth. Nestling his hips between her thighs, he props his arms under her shoulders refraining from putting his entire weight on her. His chest rising and falling in time with hers, arduous and hungry, he hovers over her keeping purposeful eye contact.

“How we doing?” he seeks.

“Think I’m simmering.” She smiles.

“You sure you wanna do this?” He looks at her intently.

“I’m no quitter,” she fires back, fully committed to the notion of an intimate cleansing entrusted to Max. She coaxes his head down to hers meeting his lips with intent. Max takes his signal, enticing her with his hand. The sensation causes her to moan. He pulls his mouth from hers assessing her reaction, pleased to find her expression returning his desire. He readies himself entering her slowly, groaning at her warmth sheathing him. His eyes holding hers, he stops, allowing her to complete their union. She does so raising her hips, taking him deeper inside. The feeling causes his eyelashes to meet, needing a brief reminder to refrain from the biological need kicking up inside him to take her with ardor. She moves against him slowly acclimating to his size. Taking heed of her rhythm, he opens his eyes now moving in sync with her.

“God, you feel good,” he groans, nurturing the scar on her neck with his lips. Her hands wound in his hair, she picks up the pace moving against him more aggressively. He quickly steadies her hips taking things back down to a tolerable level. “It’s been a while,” he explains, unwilling to take the chance of finishing before they even start.

“You’re getting warmer,” she notes, the temperature of his skin heating up.

“See what you do to me,” his voice low and soothing.

She wraps her legs around him taking him in completely, her moisture providing the perfect medium, a fitting display of her desire. “Likewise,” she moans, her teeth gently bearing down on the flesh of his shoulder. The action motivates him to sink into her, their rhythm spot on.