Blackness Takes Over & Blackness Awaits (2 page)

“It’s true Callaghan. You know better than to confront those bad boys, unless you wanna try to get between ’em,” Sully smirks at me. He knows it’s coming.

“Fuck you Sully!” I start to move toward him. “You sit up at night jackin’ your two inches, prayin’ to even sniff what’s between my stems.” I launch myself, wrapping around him like a snake. He’s sitting on my bed so I land with my legs around his lower torso and my arms around his head. His face is planted in my cleavage. I throw us of kilter so we’re lying on our sides and I lock my ankles behind his back and start to constrict. I can hear the air leaking from his lungs. He’s laughing so it makes it easier to squeeze harder. He starts motor boating my boobs which just sends me over the edge. I bear down with everything that I have at this time of day. Finally, there is no more laughing and he taps my arm. The universal “I’ve had enough” tap out. I, however, don’t let go.

“Say it,” I command. “Say it first and then I’ll let you tap out.”

“You are my master,” Sully whispers into my boobs and I let him go. Cally and Kavy are dying laughing at this point. Tears are streaming and I think Kavy laughed so hard he farted. Sully rolls onto his back, trying to regain his breath and I hop up from the bed to avoid any retaliation he may be concocting.

“Well boys, since we’re all up and at ’em at the ass crack of dawn on a Saturday, what do you say to takin’ my sexy ass out to breakfast?” I ask determinedly.

“Kid you just gave me frostbite, unmanned Callaghan, and squeezed the life outta O’Sullivan and you want us to take you out? Something is fucked up in that math.” Kavy shakes his head at me with the cutest smirk on his lips.

“I believe I’ve earned a prize, being able to fend you three off on two and a half hours of sleep. So yeah, you douchebags owe me breakfast,” I say, trying to sound confident and serious, but am truly fighting off the giggles.

“Okay Kid,” Cally relents. “Let’s go get our master some breakfast, before she kicks our asses some more,” he says smiling at me and hops up off the floor. “Whatcha in the mood for Kid?”

“IHOP!” I jump up and down excited that I’ve won my first battle of the day and then some.

The three of them head for the door to go to their respective rooms and get ready.

“You have to quit wakin’ her up man,” I hear Sully chastise Kavy. “Why are you still crawlin’ in her bed after you send your randoms home? We’re not in college anymore.”

“I’ve been crawlin’ in bed with her for what? Thirteen years. I sleep better with her than I do alone and you know I can’t sleep with anything I fuck, so she’s like my comfort blanket man. I’m not ready to be weaned yet.” Kavy shrugs and keeps walking down the hall to his room. I laugh to myself, thinking how jacked up our little family would seem from the outside looking in. But I smile thinking about how amazing our strange family is, and I wouldn’t trade it for a thing in this world.

Once my boys have exited my lair I flip on a lamp so I can see something. My room is a comfortable space. My floors are dark walnut hardwood with a charcoal rug under my California king bed. The tufted suede, light grey fabric headboard stretches three quarters of the way up the wall. My bed linens are grey and cream, with swirly designs and accent pillows in chartreuse. My dresser is an antique that was left to me; it’s a substantial walnut piece of furniture that smells like home. I have a few other pieces of furniture throughout the room: a chartreuse fabric reading chair in the corner by the window, a cream ottoman at the foot of my bed, bedside tables that are beat up walnut treasures that I found at a flea market years ago, and an enormous cream dressing table with an equally large mirror above it against the wall. I grab a pair of jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt from my dressing room, go over to my dresser and get a bra and underwear…comfort is the name of my game. I’m going to have to jump in the shower and wash my body, because I smell like whatever Kavy brought home last night. Yuck!

I decide not to wash my auburn wavy hair that’s standing on end and just pull it up in a messy bun on top of my head. I’m in and out of the shower in no time. My mirror isn’t even steamed up. I look at the reflection of my naked body. It’s not a bad body to look at I guess. Just that round rippled scar in the center of my chest right below my bust line and the gnarly mangled one on my hip. I put a hand over each of them and take a deep calming breath. No need to focus on that right now.

I am just pulling my boy shorts up when I hear a knock at the bathroom door. I know I’m not going to get a chance to answer before it’s opened so I just adjust my too big for my frame boobs in their cups and wait for the intrusion. Kavy pops his head in.

“Ready Kid?” he asks, with a shit eating grin on his face.

“Do I fuckin’ look ready, Kavy?!” I don’t even make eye contact. He pushes the rest of the way into my bathroom and sits on the edge of the tub behind me while I grab my lotion and look at him in the mirror. He’s staring at my ass.

I flip down the top of my boy shorts and start rubbing lotion into my scar working my way up my hard stomach to my chest and arms, never looking at Kavy. Once lotioned, I pull my jeans on breaking his concentration on the free show. His gaze travels up to my eyes (down to my boobs and back up to my eyes). He looks worried.

“What Kavy?” I ask annoyed.

“You want me to quit comin’ into your bed at night, Kid?” he asks sheepishly. I know he’s serious though. I throw my shirt over my head and turn around to look at him leaning my ass against the marble vanity, crossing my arms across my chest.

“No Kavy. I like it when you crawl into my bed at night after you’ve sent your evening’s piece of ass packing,” I respond, dripping with sarcasm. He glances up at me with a look that I can only identify as fear.

“I’m sorry, Kid. I won’t come in here again. I didn’t know you hated it so much. We’ve been sleepin’ together forever.” He looks down at his giant hands folded in his lap. I walk over to him, and reach down grabbing his chin. I tilt his head up to look me in the eye.

“Fuck off, Kavy. I’m just givin’ you shit.” I smile down at him with my green eyes aglow. He smiles back, not yet convinced.

“I’m serious, Kid. You need to tell me if I’m outta line here.” He’s somber. I’ve never thought about it. It’s been our reality since the first day we met.

September 25, 2000

I’m a freshman at the University of Chicago. It’s my first day of class, and I’m so ready to get this college show on the road. I graduated a year early from high school and that was after I had started kindergarten a year early, so here I am a freshman in college just a few days older than seventeen. I hated high school! I hated everything about it: the students, the teachers and staff, the parties, the drugs, the classes, the cliques, the fucking building drove me nuts in the end. It felt like a prison that I couldn’t escape; so I took summer school every year, correspondence classes, and graduated at sixteen years old. Now I’m here, ready to start a new chapter in my life.

I’m sitting in Introduction to Political Philosophy, and in walk three guys. I usually sit in the front of classes, but today I decided to sit in the back and get a feel for what college is all about and then next class I will sit in the front row and engage. Of course sitting in the back means the three guys are headed in my direction. Great.

“O’Sullivan, you’re seriously laggin’,” the guy with the buzzed hair and body to die for says to the guy that looks like he just walked out of an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. The guy bringing up the rear is really tall (basketball player?) and looks like he just came in off the beach. Bright blue eyes and sun highlighted blond hair. He’s dreamy to say the least. He’s also the quietest of the group.

“Fuck off, Kavanagh! We started what five minutes ago? Perfection takes time bitch,” O’Sullivan (Abercrombie boy) scoffs in return. Kavanagh rolls his eyes and when he rights them in his head they land on me. I’m not staring per se, but intent upon them. How could you not be?

“Dibs!” Kavanagh yells and runs toward me. As he does, the other two look at me and start to hustle in my direction. I look back down at my notebook and pretend not to notice the five-year-olds approaching.

“Hey,” Kavanagh purrs too close to my ear. I slowly pivot my head to the side and almost brush his nose with mine. He’s really good looking. Straight nose, square jaw, blue-grey eyes, light brown buzzed hair, a broad linebacker body he must work on day in – day out (athlete?), and a voice like Vin Deisel. Yum!

“Personal space,” I say, with virtually no emotion in my voice. His eyebrows rise. He was not expecting that response. I have to hold in the snicker and smile that are now simmering below the surface. Next I hear a knock on my desk from the other direction. I rotate my head in the direction of said knock, my hair falling into Kavanagh’s face. My eyes meet beach boy’s.

“Hi,” he purrs at me. I’m positive that’s a surefire panty dropping smile if I have ever seen one. His dimples are so deep I could store snacks in them. Those bright blue eyes are glistening with delight.

“Personal space.” He gets the same response as Kavanagh. His dimples are gone and a furrowed brow appears. Now there’s a hand on my back. I take a deep breath so as not to forcibly remove the hand from its owner.

“Hey.” I can feel O’Sullivan’s breath on my neck. I have to rotate my whole body to face him which forces him to stop touching me. There is desire in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. His hair is close to black, cut short and spiky, his eyes are like two milk duds, his nose has been broken but it doesn’t distract from his manly face (model?).

“Personal space,” I repeat, as I have to the other two. His face drops and he glances at his cohorts.

“You can’t be a lesbian,” Kavanagh says, running his hand through my wavy auburn hair. I’ve hit my limit. I whip my head and body around so fast it catches all three off guard, including Kavanagh. I snatch his fingers in my hand and rip them back with such force he’s on his knees, before he knows what hit him.

“Ow, ow, ow. What the FUCK?!” There is panic, a little pain and a flash of excitement in his eyes. I look directly into them.

“Personal. SPACE,” I annunciate and smile my panty dropping smile, before I release his hand.

“Holy shit Kav. I think I just came watching that,” O’Sullivan laughs. Kavanagh’s eyes haven’t left mine nor mine his. He’s assessing me, and I’m allowing it before I have to give him a damn tutorial on who not to fuck with. He sits back down in his seat and sticks his hand toward me.

“Name’s Kavanagh. It is nice to meet you?” he stretches, waiting for me to fill in the blank. I look down at his hand. More like mitt, it’s huge and rough with scars and calluses…a man’s hand. I stick my palm in his and grasp it firmly.

“Shannon Kelly,” all business in my response. His face lights up and relaxes. He releases my hand still eyeballing me. He nods to my other side. “That’s Ryan Callaghan.” Beach boy has a name. “And that’s Brian O’Sullivan.” He nods to my back. I hold Kavanagh’s eyes a moment longer and then right myself in my seat to stare at the front of the room.

“Sit down boys. You’re causing a spectacle.” There is the slightest grin on my lips. They all laugh under their breath and take the seats surrounding me. Just then our instructor walks in and class gets quietly underway.

Our first bit of business is our instructor going through his roll sheet. I’m not paying close attention until, “Mr. Kavanagh?”

Kavanagh raises his hand, “Here.”

“It’s a pleasure to have you in this class, Mr. Kavanagh.” The instructor smiles a strange grin at Kavanagh. What the fuck was that? I don’t look over to Kavanagh, but hear the boys snicker under their breath. I’m a little distracted when I hear, “Miss Shannon Kelly, are you present?” He has a huffy tone. I must have missed him calling me.

“Yes, sir. I’m here.” I raise my hand in a little wave in his direction.

“Head in the game Miss Kelly,” he responds. What the FUCK?! The snickers just continue from the peanut gallery. These boys have to go.

Finally class ends and I can’t wait to get the hell out of here. I quickly make my way out the door, hearing the instructor stop the boys before they leave. I hope he reams their asses for fucking around during class….and making me look like a dick.

I’m almost back to my dorm when I hear my name being yelled in the distance. I turn around to see my entourage about half a block away. I have a choice: run and make it into my dorm before they get to me or wait for them to get to me and tell them to fuck off, before I go to my dorm at a normal pace. I wait.

“Shannon, hey,” Kavanagh says a little breathy from his brisk walk. The smile he gives me is warm and genuine, not the cocky grin from earlier. “We wanted to invite you to a get together at our place tonight.” His blue eyes are dancing in anticipation of my response.

I smile from ear to ear. “Oh guys, as much as signing up to get gang raped after my first day of school sounds fun, I already have plans to hang out on the corner and get kidnapped and murdered. Sorry.” I stick my bottom lip out and give an overtly pouty face.

“I am in love with you!!” O’Sullivan says and wraps his arms around me, scooping me up and spinning me around. He plops me back down on my feet, but leaves his arm around my shoulder.