Bottom Feeder (33 page)

Krav Maga is not a traditional martial
art. It is not based on rituals or the choreography of katas. The
movements are principles and instincts. Krav Maga is a defensive
fighting technique developed for Israeli defense and Special Forces
as a form of hand-to-hand combat. The design is for counter-attack,
striking, grappling, and even wrestling. It teaches me to utilize
my body in order to keep safe and weaken my attacker by any means
necessary.

Back home I took the self-defense
version of Krav Maga. When I came to New York I began street
fighting classes. I train in attack, defense, timing, feints,
tactic, movement and vision. Since there are no rules in street
fighting, the instructors teach dirty techniques in order to
succeed in a street attack. Today’s emphasis is on ground fighting
against opponents of all sizes.

Which is why I am now being full-on
“attacked” by six-two, two hundred-sixty pounds worth of United
States Army Sergeant.

“
Your boyfriend here yet?”
Sergeant Davis asks. His ebony skin glistens with sweat underneath
the harsh lighting, illuminating the faint scar that travels from
his forehead to chin on the right side of his face.

Sergeant Davis is a local recruiter I
met the first day of class. He laughed at my southern accent, which
I tend to get a lot of here. I had a nice snappy comeback, which
then led to a conversation that led to the mention of my
boyfriend.

A few days later, Sergeant Davis
introduced me to Sergeants Sanchez and Tuan, the other recruiters
who work in his office. They teach me military stuff that helps in
conversations with Dom and, in return, I bake cookies for
them.

“
His flight lands at
five.” I’m lying on my back, my head locked in Sergeant Davis’s
python-sized arms. I do not try to move from this position. Saving
energy is crucial in defensive fighting. I want to defend myself
but need my attacker to wane first.

Using my flexibility—courtesy of
gymnastics and years of dancing—I bring my leg around to the front
of Sergeant Davis’s neck and push, forcing him back to the ground.
I jump into attack position.

“
Nice job, G-A,” he says,
referring to me by my home state. I grab his arm and pull
up.

“
Thanks, Sergeant. I’m
getting better, I think.” He faces me in a fighting stance,
searching for an opening to strike.

“
You
are allowed to call me by my first name. That is, unless you
want to become my new enlistee.”

“
Yes, sir, Sergeant Tony,
sir.”

“
Smartass.” He shakes his
head and goes for a side-strike. I weave in time for him to get a
handful of air. “The army’ll take that attitude right out of
you.”

Truth is, I
have
been thinking about
the military. A lot. The ability to start over in a place where no
one knows me is extremely appealing. Some place that, unlike my
setup in New York City, is not tied to Cordell. No one would know
me or my past. Cordell wouldn’t be able to find me. I would never
have to worry about Larry, who has been the star of some really
crazy nightmares lately. Nightmares that feel so real, sometimes I
wake up fighting. Intuition tells me these nightmares are a
precursor of things to come.

Sergeant Davis catches me off guard
and sweeps my legs from beneath me.

Dom’s plane lands in an hour. I am
standing in the middle of my bedroom, draped in a Hello Kitty bath
wrap with a towel wrapped around my head. I’m debating on several
outfits displayed around my room. Casual? Cute? Sexy? I don’t want
it to look like I’m trying too hard. But I don’t want to look as if
I see him every day.

In addition to the fashion battle, I
am also having a pep talk with my hormones. I don’t want to jump
the guy in the middle of the airport.

Dom and I have talked
about sex a few times. Minds out of the gutter, it really
was
only talk. He’s not
a virgin. I don’t know what I am. How do I handle being touched
intimately by someone who I
want
to touch me? He doesn’t know my history because
I’m afraid to tell him. Each time I try, the memories force their
way to forefront of my thoughts and I freeze.

The last thing I want is to explain my
hesitation. Or freeze up when he is here. What if I freak out when
his hands touch my bare skin? What if I freak out when my hands
touch his? Am I moving too fast? Thinking too much?

My additional fear is that things will
be different. What if he doesn’t love me after we spend time
together?

Dom says we will move at whatever pace
I’m comfortable with. I cannot afford anymore regrets in my life.
I’m just not sure if I trust myself enough to hold out.

Pathetic.

I pace like a crazy person
between arrival
/
departure screens, patting myself on the back for wearing
ballet flats instead of heels with my button-down shirt dress. When
the screen reads the flight from Raleigh-Durham has landed, the
butterflies in my stomach release in a flurry of
anticipation.

Calm down, Carrington.
He’s just a guy.

Right. A guy I talk to every day for
hours about every miniscule thing in the universe. A guy that is
staying in my apartment, possibly even sleeping in my bed, for the
next few nights. A guy who . . . you know, this pep talk to calm
down is totally not helping.

Dom is a full head taller than most of
the crowd. He is wearing a plain white tee and dark jeans with
classic white-on-black Adidas Superstars. I picture my fingers
running through his raven hair. It has grown out several inches,
which only ups his sexy factor a few more notches.

He flashes a nervous smile. I gnaw on
my lip, attempting to hold back the overwhelming feelings of
happiness, excitement and fear. It’s a bit unsettling that I find
myself running to him like one of those corny romantic comedies.
But I keep on truckin’ forward, nonetheless. The faster my feet
move, the sooner I can be near him.

I leap into Dom’s waiting arms. Good
thing I wore leggings, otherwise I’d be flashing my undies to the
entire population of La Guardia.

“
How’s
that
for corny?” I whisper in his
ear.

Dom makes a sound somewhere between a
laugh and a deep, guttural groan. He tightens his embrace and
touches his forehead to mine, staring into my eyes for an
immeasurable amount of time before I realize we are attracting
attention.

“
Maybe we should get your
bag now,” I whisper.

“
Nuh-uh. Next time
around.”

“
M’kay.”

Finally, grudgingly, I unwrap myself
from his body when his luggage makes a second turn around the
belt.

Since I was running behind, and it
takes me at least half an hour to hail a cab, I drove to the
airport. Driving in New York is like pulling teeth with rusty
pliers, so I am thrilled when Dom offers to drive.

Once we are settled in the car, he
turns to me. “Maddy?” Is he making his voice low and seductive on
purpose? My heart thrums rapidly as I lean into him. At first the
kiss is slow and sweet. We are savoring each other like a rare
vintage wine. Once his tongue parts my lips and a low moan escapes
his throat, the frenzy begins.

I grip his waist like he will
disappear at any moment.

“
Baby, we should stop
before something more is started.”

He chuckles when I let out a pouty
groan.

Way to keep those hormones
in check, Carrington.

“
Wait,” Dom pauses before
stepping out of the elevator on the twenty-third floor. “I forgot
my suitcase.”

“
Want me to come with
you?”

“
I’ll just be a minute.
Twenty-three oh-six, right?”

I proceed to my apartment, casting off
the sudden feeling of uneasiness.

The first step inside the door offers
a familiar blow to the center of my back. I try to force myself up
to face my attacker when one foot steps on my neck while the other
digs into my spine.

Cowboy boots.

Oh, dear God, no. Not
while Dom is here.

Jackson

This morning I found a post office
slip in my mailbox. After class I drive in anticipation of a care
package from home, stuffed with pralines and saltwater taffy from
The Candy Kitchen. Or bear claws from River Street Sweets. Maybe
both. My mouth waters in anticipation of the sugar overload that
awaits me.

Instead of a care package, I find a
medium-sized yellow envelope with no return address, postmarked in
New York. I wait until I’m seated in the car to open it
up.

Inside are a letter and a thicker
envelope.

Dear Jackson,

I was informed SGT Wotley did not take
away any rank or force you to work extra duty, but you did lose
some money. I know I can’t wipe it from your military record, so
this is the only way I know to make it right on my part. I’m sorry
for everything. I hope you do not hate me.

Maddy

I open the thick envelope and count
out two thousand dollars.

Sergeant Wotley wanted nothing more
than to take rank away from me for being so irresponsible. I got
the “I’m very disappointed in your behavior” speech before he told
me everyone deserves a second chance, but not without
repercussions.

The army is taking a small amount of
money from my check until the fine from my Article Fifteen is paid.
But the amount is definitely not going to be two thousand dollars.
I guess she really did add interest.

Since there is no return address, and
I deleted her number in a pissed off show of emotion the day after
she left, I cannot send the money back right away. Mama would know
her phone number or address, but the conversation that followed
would be ugly.

“
Why don’t you just ask
Maddy yourself?” she would ask.

“
Well, maybe because I
treated her worse than the dirt stuck in the ridges of my combat
boots. Thanks for asking.”

I sigh and shake my head at my
stupidity.

Maddy

The warning I left with him before
leaving Tybee Island was not said just to hear myself speak. This
man is insane if he thinks I’m going to let him hurt me
again.

Larry stumbles forward when I buck my
body like a rodeo horse. He attempts to catch himself before
falling face first on the corner of the breakfast bar.

“
Bitch!” He struggles to
push himself off the floor.

I jump to my feet, cursing myself for
not having the Taser handy.

Remember your training,
Carrington. You didn’t take all those hours of defense for a good
workout. Kick him where it counts.

So I do. Twice. Larry shrieks and
slumps over. I land an uppercut beneath his chin and quickly grab
the closest thing to me—a Martha Stewart cake plate—and smash it
across his back.

He goes down with a groan.

Fight dirty.

I kick him in the face. “That’s for
Chris.”

I turn to run, but he grabs my ankles.
I fall. While going down, I have a second to be thankful no one
lives on either side of me to hear what is going on. My head smacks
the floor.

Knock knock
knock

Instead of yelling for help, I remain
quiet. I don’t want Dom to hear or see this.

Larry flips me over and straddles my
thighs. He punches my face. Slaps both hands on my ears.

I try wriggling away from him, but the
spots dancing around my eyes are making it hard to concentrate. He
locks his ankles beneath my legs, holding me in place. My arms are
pressed to the floor above my head. Larry breathes heavily into my
ear, triggering heinous memories of a childhood that barely
existed, even before Mama died. Images of my eleven year-old self
confused about the shadows in my bedroom, padlocked backyard tool
sheds with only slivers of light shining through holes in the roof,
blacked-out rooms beneath staircases, and images of the hands of my
father’s best friend reaching for the hem of the dress I wore to
Mama’s funeral.

Another knock at the door breaks
through the vivid, painful images.

Larry’s voice raises a pitch. “You
didn’t think you were just gonna come up here and forget about me,
did you?” He whips out his boot knife and rips a gaping hole in my
leggings, waist to the thigh.

“
Maddy, open the door!”
Dom’s voice is panicked. He wiggles the doorknob.

God, please don’t let him
see this.

After a few more knocks, Dom finally
stops. Good. Maybe he thinks he has the wrong apartment.

Larry slaps me with his left hand and
wraps his right hand around my neck. I lay silent, storing my
energy for an opportunity to fight. He pops the buttons off my
dress. The leggings are now held to my body by only frayed
threads.