Between Black and Sunshine (7 page)

I look at the ones I remember: the dove on his ribcage, the bars over his heart that are there as a reminder to keep people out, the stem of the lotus that wraps around them and snakes up his chest, blooming over his neck. I’m tempted to ask him about the new art on his body but I’m guessing they are all abstract reminders of me. And are all there to remind him to stay away.

I run my hands over his strong arms, over each beautifully defined muscle. My fingers trail over his then to his lower abdomen. I trace over his muscles, digging my thumb into each one. My fingers spread over his chest, which is almost completely covered with ink.

Lost in his body, I hardly notice when his hand makes its way from my arm to my collar bone. He traces it lightly, sending shivers through my body. His finger makes a trail between my breasts. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers.

I look up at him and smile. The pity is gone from his eyes now, replaced by appreciation… wonder. This is the look I like best on him.

His palm splays out over my stomach, covering me completely. He runs his hands up my ribs then he pauses. “What is this?” He asks me, noticing my new tattoo for the first time.

“Us,” I say.

“You draw it?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he watching over us?” He asks about Jonah, the dove.

“Yes.”

“Why are you looking at me and I’m looking out. Not at you. Not at Jonah?”

“You’re waiting, for whatever you wait for. To tell you it’s okay. You tell me what you’re looking at?”

He smiles a crooked smile, and lets out a sad laugh. “Fate, destiny, the inevitable,” he suggests.

Same vague answer as always, but this time it means more for some reason. Is there a real answer in there somewhere…
fate, destiny, the inevitable
…. I file it in the back of my brain. I’ll think about that later, we’ll have that conversation later. Not now, while he’s willing to be here with me half-naked. “Take your pants off. Come lay with me,” I tell him.

He stands and un-belts his work pants before stepping out of them, standing before me in his boxer briefs. Good god, he’s too perfect.  He crawls in next to me and holds me close to him. My hard nipples press into him. His hard length presses into me. But our fingers are soft. Our kisses are soft.

“It feels like I was never away from you,” he whispers between kisses.

“This is worth it. Right now is worth the two years I had to live without you,” I say, holding back the barrage of words I want to say to him. By some miracle, he’s giving at least part of himself to me right now and I don’t want to scare him away.

“It’s surreal having you here in my bed. It feels so perfect. I don’t know how I’m going to stay away.”

I can hear the stress in his voice and I want to tell him he doesn’t have to stay away. That I will live right here in this bed if he wants me to. But I know his mind would shift immediately into defensive mode and he would be forced to remind himself why he has to stay away. “You’ll figure it out,” I tell him. “But not now. Right now just stay here with me.”

I woke to Jude wrapped up in my arms, exactly how I fell asleep; with her sleeping soundly in my arms. It’s been so long since we’ve been this way. And this time it seems so different. There is no worry here in my bed. No possible danger. Not right at this moment.

I’m tempted to pull her closer to me, turn her enough so that I can get a better look at her back, but all that’s gonna do is make me angry and I don’t want to feel angry right now.

The girl is so damn tough. She probably doesn’t even know how chewed up and swollen and bruised her back is. I had expected a couple marks where he maybe grabbed her too hard or shoved her into a wall. That would have been hard to see, but this… this was unimaginable. She acted like it was no big deal. I drug her around that damn store for an hour. Walking alone had to hurt. Moving her arms, her legs, rotating her hips… it all had to hurt like hell, but she smiled through all of it. And not that fake smile either but the real thing. She helped me carry the bags to the car. She walked up thirty five stairs to get to my apartment. She let me cling to her back as I pulled her to me. She sat against the seat in my truck and on my couch. Never fucking complained.

When I saw it I lost myself. Went to that place of red that I can’t get out of, but she managed to pull me back. She connected her body to mine and talked to me until I returned to her. It could have been bad. I could have hurt her.

I can’t start believing that she can save me from myself. She can’t.

But if I could just keep her here, in this bed, safe with me, forever... there would never be a reason to be angry or upset. I wish like hell that was an option.

She shifts under me and I stare at her beautiful face, already used to the new way she looks. She’s my Jude no matter what. Her eyes flutter open and as they meet mine she smiles.

“Good morning,” I whisper, pushing a strand of hair away from her eye.

“That’s an understatement,” she says, lazily.

“No shit.”

She fits her head into the crook of my neck and kisses me softly before taking my skin into her mouth and biting down. “Don’t hurt me, sweet girl,” I tell her, but the words come out exactly how I feel. Fucking turned on. Like a damn moan. God, what I wouldn’t do to have her exactly the way I want her. To devour her, every damn inch of her. Just to feel her flesh between my teeth, like she’s feeling mine, would be ecstasy. But I play soft with her. 

She bites her way up my neck to the back of my ear, licking the tender flesh there. Fuck. It feels good. Her tongue wanders to my ear lobe which she takes between her teeth, pulling on it. Who knew her on my ear could turn me on in so many ways. “Careful,” I tell her.

“Why do we always have to be careful?” she whispers into my ear, setting my wet flesh into sensory overload.

I take hold of her legs, the only part of her backside that isn’t damaged, and pull her on top of me to get her away from my ear. But that was a mistake. She’s straddled now, over my hard, throbbing dick. “That’s why,” I tell her, trying to make like I had a reason for putting her there.

She pushes down into me and lets out a long breath. She uses her hands to push her chest off of mine and her perfect breasts are inches from my face. It takes every ounce of will power I have not to reach out and pull her perfect nipple into my mouth.

“I don’t think it’s going to hurt me,” she whispers, her eyes meeting mine.

“We’re not ready for that,” I say, reluctantly lifting her off of me and laying her gently on her side. “I’m not ready for that.”

“I am ready for that,” she informs me. “But I don’t need it. I just need you. And your sweet lips.”

That I can give her. That I can give her all day long.

I lose myself in the warm, soft heaven that is her mouth until I hear her stomach protest. “Shit,” I say, pulling away from her, realizing that she hasn’t eaten since she’s been here. I sit up in a panic. This is exactly why I can’t get lost in her. I forget about taking care of her. I forget about everything.

“What?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbows.

“You’re hungry. You haven’t eaten a damn thing since you’ve been here.”

“Calm the hell down, drama queen. I’m fine.”

I roll my eyes at her. “You always think you’re fine. You’re not fine.” I find my work pants on the floor and throw them on. “I’m going to make you breakfast.”

“Am I allowed to come with or do I need to stay locked in the tower?”

“Funny,” I say, going back to my bed and finding the shirt and shorts she never put on last night. She stands and stretches, giving me a view of her insanely amazing, near-naked body.

“You have tan lines,” I say. She never has tan lines. She’s never exposed enough to get a tan line.

“All part of the new, improved, especially for Luca, me,” she says sarcastically.

“I like them,” I admit as I look at the faint outline of her bikini top that is no longer there.

“Enough to do something about it?” she challenges.

“Maybe…” I think out loud before remembering her shrinking stomach. “Get dressed, you have to eat.”

“Fine.” She pulls on her shorts and my old, flimsy t-shirt. I can see the outline of her large chest, her nipples pressing at the fabric. I go to my drawers and pull out a hoodie.

“Put this on please,” I tell her politely, anticipating a confrontation and trying to end it before it happens.

She looks down at her chest, rolls her eyes at me, but grabs the sweatshirt and pulls it over her head. I look down at her long, tan legs and move to go dig out a pair of sweats.

“Don’t,” she warns.

I stare at her for a hard second before grabbing her hand and pulling her out of my room. The place is quiet, the guys aren’t up. I relax a little and go to the fridge. I check the inventory. “Veggie and cheese omelet?” I offer.

“Seriously?”

“I can make a damn omelet,” I tell her.

“Yes, I know. Just wondering about the veggie part,” she says, skeptically. I hate the things but she loves them. Luckily, I live with a vegan who frequents the farmers market.

“I bought them for you.”

“Bullshit. I’ll take the omelet if you think Miles won’t mind you stealing his food.”

“They might be his. He’s good at sharing. Especially with pretty ladies.”

She nods at me so I start to make her breakfast.

It smells so good I think about eating one myself but instead I sit back and watch her devour every last bit of it, felling satisfied with myself for feeding her.

“Thank you,” she says when she’s done. “That was amazing.”

“What now?” I ask, taking her plate and throwing it in the sink. “Back to bed? Tour of Portland? What you want to do, sweet girl?”

“I want to go back to bed. But I should get back to the dorm. I have my orientation at eleven o’clock, correct?”

Shit
. I don’t want her to go. I don’t want her to have to do anything but exist between my arms. “Yeah, you do. Why don’t you shower then I’ll take you home.”

“It’s okay,” she says, standing and turning for the hall. “I’ll shower there. I need to figure this out, right? I live in a dormitory. Can’t stay in Lucatopia forever. Have to learn to live like the common people.”

“You can come back and visit whenever you want,” I tell her.

“Promise?”

“Yeah,” I say, going to her and rubbing my hand gently over her back. “Listen, I figure you haven’t looked at your back. It’s bad, baby. Shower in your dorm if you want, but cover yourself up. I know you don’t want to be answering questions from that girl.”

“I know it’s bad. I can feel it,” she admits. “You have to stop worrying about me. I don’t just want to be the girl you take care of- the girl you have to protect. I want to be the girl you love, the girl who can love you back. I want you to bite me and suck me. I want you with me the way you want to be with me. The way I want you with me. I’m not gonna break. I’m not a little girl.”

“I know that. I’m capable of breaking full-grown men.”

She tilts her head and locks onto my eyes, hers narrowing with question. She never pushes me. She seems to avoid the obvious questions. “Work on that.”

I couldn’t stand being in my Jude-less room. It felt wrong without her which is ass considering that out to the seven hundred plus days I’ve spent in that room, she’s only been there once. But I could feel here there, I could smell her. I can’t get her body out of my mind – the really good parts and the really bad parts. They are both reasons why I don’t know if I can stay away from her.

I spent the day in the garage with Anthony, building a new coffee table to replace the victim of my experimental lost boy and I feel better. Better’s not the word. Jude hasn’t called at all. I’ve resorted to texting which I absolutely hate. Although Jude doesn’t use those stupid sentences reduced to letters like omg, lol, ttyl or any of that shit. Would have taken anything today though. She gave me the bare minimum in response to my typed comments and questions…
orientation blew but I know where my classes are… yeah, back at the dorm, trying to maintain… Everything’s good. Stephanie can quit asking about you though… No, I can’t come. Game night at the dorm!!!! 
I know she’s trying to fit into her new life in the dorm and she should; she has to live with these people, share a bathroom with them, for a year. I’m surprised though. The old Jude wouldn’t have made an effort. I asked her to go to dinner and hang with me tonight but she blew me off for game night. The old Jude wouldn’t have done that.

I never lived in the dorm; I knew I wouldn’t be able to survive communal living, RA’s and all the other bullshit. I found an apartment on Craigslist that was written in a sarcastic and pissed off way, as if the wantee didn’t actually want at all. I’ve been living here ever since. Rake was the pissed off advertisee. We’ve been through a few different third and fourth roommates but Anthony’s been here since shortly after I moved in. I met him in one of my graphics classes and when he got kicked out of the dorm for being written-up one too many times he found a home with us. Miles was his weed dealer and after a bad break-up he needed a place. Rake’s the old man around here. He’s twenty-five and a Portland native. He used his college savings to buy properties, our building being one of them. He owns two more and frankly I’m just waiting for him to kick us all out because with the way the warehouse district is transforming into a hipster hiatus his property value is at a premium. He’s not the kind of guy that enjoys alone time though so he’ll probably keep us around for a while.

At the moment, the four of us are heading out to one of the scarier bars in the neighborhood that the hipsters have yet to invade. There’s not even an official sign over the door. Everyone refers to it as
The Dead End
. Double meanings aside, the place is actually at the dead end of the road. Its low visibility doesn’t mean a lack of customers though. As we walk through the front door, that’s obvious.

The place is dark and comfortable. There are no fancy menus or precisely laid out booths. A big bar. A small stage. Random tables, chairs, couches, recliners- whatever is available for free- scattered around. The fanciest things in the place are the pool table and the three electronic dart boards. As the four of us walk in we receive raised hands in a “hey” gesture. Most people here know each other.

Rake heads off to the bar but Anthony and Miles veer left towards a couch where some of Mile’s friends/ clients are calling to us. I’m poised to follow them when a hand reaches out and grabs a hold of my waist. I look down and see Clara. “You planning on walking right by?” she asks me.

“Why are you hiding back here in the dark corner? I didn’t see you.”

“That’s all they have here are dark corners.” She smiles at me and I sit next to her on the couch. She’s alone and the spot she’s chosen doesn’t invite company which is fine with me. Clara will sit here with me in silence if she thinks that’s what I need.

“Dark corners sound good right now.” I sling my arm around her and pull her into my shoulder.

“Sounds a little like drama. Not like you, Luca.”

“Nah,” I tell her. “Just an alluring concept.”

“Cool,” she says, throwing her legs across my lap, making it known that she’s good with the plan. I look at her legs resting on top of mine. They’re covered in black leggings and some form of combat boots that tie up just short of her knees. Her black t-shirt is standard. I can’t see it but I know it has a band logo or some obscure phrase that warns off ninety percent of the population. In these ways she still reminds me of my Jude.

I noticed Clara the first night Rake brought me to this bar when I was nineteen and this was one of the few places an i.d. wasn’t required. I noticed her because she looked like Jude – the way she was covered from head to toe in black. She had Jude’s mannerisms too; her slouchy, pissed-off disposition. I watched her from afar. Some nights she was so much of my Jude it took all my will power not to drag her ass out of here and do all the things to her that I’ve ever wanted to do to Jude. Other nights she would show up looking like Bettie Page in pinup clothes, coifed hair and bright red lips.

One night she showed up looking like my naked Jude. Her long, black hair pulled tight in a ponytail, no trace of makeup on her face, black tank top, black leggings, ballet slippers. It may have just been one of her “looks” but it was the night I broke down and did drag her out of here.

She doesn’t know about Jude. Or, I should say, I’ve never told her about Jude. That first night though, deep into my delusion, I told Clara I loved her. When she asked me what the hell I was talking about all I could say in defense of my fucked-up actions was, “Jude”. I’m tempted to tell her now since Jude is the only word that wants to come off my tongue but ever since that night, when I closed my eyes and pretended Clara’s body was Jude’s, I can’t get myself to bring her up to Clara.

Attachment to anyone but Jude is not possible for me, so over the next month or so Clara and I had our ups and downs, plenty of drama, plenty of conversations. In the end we managed to come out as friends.

Rake makes his way towards us and hands me my bottle of beer. He looks around for a place to sit his ass but when it’s obvious there is no such thing he bends down and kisses Clara on the cheek then walks away. “When you gonna give him a chance?” I ask her. Rake’s been infatuated with her since long before I knew either of them.

“Shut up.”

I laugh because the idea is absurd to her. Rake is like a bother and the idea of being with him is
fucking wrong,
according to her.

“All the other ladies seem to like him,” I comment as I watch him being stopped every foot by a different girl.

“So why are you trying to pawn him off on me?”

“Because he deserves you.”

“Yeah, well maybe I don’t deserve him. He wants to settle down. He deserves the kind of girl who is willing to do that.”

Looking at Clara, even when she’s all dolled up like Dita Von Tesse, you would think she’s maybe early twenties. When I first saw her I thought she was probably eighteen. She’s not. She’s twenty seven. By the time I met her she had already been married and divorced. Shit did not go well for her and when her husband wouldn’t stop beating on her, she got in her car and drove to the most overcast city in the United States to wallow in her depression.

I think I saw some of Jude in her in that way too. The ever present glance over the shoulder. The way both girls could transform themselves into something smaller than they were.

Clara still loves men but she’s not the attachment kind. It’s made me wonder, more than once, why Jude is. Living with Arnie should have made her realize how brutal and controlling the male species is. It bothers me that the only two women I have ever been close to are both victims of abuse. It bothers me that I’m the only guy I’ve ever seen either of them show interest in. Maybe there is something about me, like most predators, that is attractive to its prey. They don’t see the danger. The danger is attractive.

“One day you’re gonna find someone that will make you forget about him,” I say, referring to the ex-husband, Tanner Wilson.

Clara used to be different too. Blonde, like Jude, but the prom queen, the head cheerleader. The bouncy, enthusiastic perfect match to her head of the football team, strong, blonde, blue-eyed high school sweetheart/ ex-husband. When she told me this, it shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. It made me wonder if every girl hiding under a cover of black used to be a ray of sunshine just waiting to get rained on my some motherfucker.

“That would be you, babe,” she tells me. “I have you. I’ve forgotten.”

She’s talking about our friendship but still, I’m not that guy. I’m Tanner Wilson, but worse. “I am not the one that’s gonna make you forget,” I say, half under my breath.

But she hears me. “Love is not something I do anymore if that’s what you’re referring to, you sappy piece of shit.”

I laugh it off, but I want more for her. Just like I want more for Jude. I can’t be as good as it gets for either of them. They deserve more than me. “How are things going with the store?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Good. The tables you and Anthony made me are killer. Just paid another month’s rent so I’m flat ass broke. You and the guys might have to come work for me for free the first few weeks.”

“I don’t think it’s our kind of joint.” Along with the clothes she designs, Clara’s filling her store with other local designer’s work: jewelry, cards, candles, pillows, pottery, kitschy crap, some legit art. Rake calls the store
Clara’s Crafty Crap Corner
, but she calls it
Neighbormade
. Either way, it’s not a guy place.

“Fine, but you better be there for the opening.”

“Got it on my calendar.”

She laughs. “I’m excited. I’ve never really had anything that’s been my own. I just hope the whole thing isn’t underwater a month from now. I want to do good. I want my friends to be able to do well.”

I hold Clara closer. She’s worked hard for this, went out on a limb to open the store, used every saved tip she’s ever gotten from her bartending job. She’s got a lot riding on it, not only for herself, but for all of her friends who are counting on the store to make a living. “It’s gonna be great.”

“You better hope so because Rake told me I could have your room if I couldn’t afford my place anymore.”

I laugh, but he probably did tell her that.
Asshole
. “If you would just date the guy he’d pay the rent on the apartment and the store.”

“I hope you’re joking. Never again in my life will I be dependent on a man. Not even a good one like Rake.” 

Her words make me think about Jude. I wonder how dependent she is on me. I don’t want to be her Tanner Wilson. If I gave it a try with Jude and I hurt her, would she end up like Clara; never willing to trust a guy again? Someone who doesn’t do love anymore?