Scars from a Memoir (12 page)

My eyes opened wide with fear. “Please, Asher, don't…”

He didn't stop. His stare locked with mine, and his lips wrapped around my skin. Even though my body had tensed, the look in his eyes sent sparks of warmth through me.

“Share your scars with me.”

“I can't. The memories are—”

“Let me love them.”

He kissed around my wrist, up and down my forearms, but always came back to the biggest scar, where my skin had been lanced. As my body started to relax, he moved to my other arm, covering every inch of my scars…making me feel loved.

*   *   *

I hadn't noticed Asher's room before, but now that he was in the bathroom, I looked around. His stuff was so organized; everything seemed to have its own place. Dark wooden furniture filled the open spaces, hardcovers were packed into both bookshelves, a silver laptop and desktop sat on his desk. Above the bed was a painting done in red-and-black swirls. It looked just like the piercings he had on the side of his head.

An unemployed, recent college graduate couldn't afford two computers, a full library of books, or the rent in this neighborhood. Neither Asher nor Nadal had jobs, so their parents had to be paying for everything.

When Asher joined me, his hand went to my face, and I shivered from its dampness. He immediately pulled it away.

“No,” I said, putting it back where it was.

“I don't want to make you cold.”

I put my fingers over his to warm them up.

He pecked my lips, taking my top one within his and holding it for just a second between his teeth. “Do you know what time it is?”

I knew it had to be close to eleven, if not later.

“Don't tell me,” I said.

He pulled me onto his chest and ran his fingers through my hair, and I leaned into him, inhaling his warmth. He was thin, but his muscles were tight and defined from running—a hobby he'd picked up when his writing became serious. He said it helped him when he couldn't work out a scene in one of his stories.

“Are you sleeping with anyone else?” he asked.

His question caused me to tense up. There hadn't been a need to discuss this before, but I'd figured the answer was obvious. I spent all my free time with him.

“Are you?” I snapped.

“What just happened between us was…different.”

I covered my chest with his blanket. “Yeah, that's an interesting way to put it.”

Asher reached forward to tuck a chunk of hair behind my ear, and I pulled away.

“That's not what I meant. It was amazing, but for me, it was more than just sex. What you gave me…is that what you've given everyone else you've slept with? Or just the ones you've cared about?”

He didn't know how I had acted with my Johns, that there had been no emotion behind my grunts. Or that I didn't touch their bodies unless I absolutely had to, or that I wouldn't kiss them unless they forced me to.

“I'm not having sex with anyone else.” I paused, thinking how to answer his other question. “What you felt came from here.” I dropped the blanket, and my hand went to my chest. “That's not something I can fake.”

He sat up. “I'm sorry. I…”

“Your timing couldn't have been worse.”

“I know. I lost myself for a second.”

“So you doubted my feelings?”

“I wanted to make sure yours were as real as mine.” He pulled my hand off my chest and stared at my fingers, tracing the wrinkles on my knuckles. Then he leaned down and rested his face on my palm. He turned his head, kissing each of my fingers, slowly looking up after my pinkie. “Do you want to be with me?”

I knew what he was asking, and it wasn't if I wanted to have sex again.

I didn't want anyone else to touch me. When I wasn't with him, I was thinking about him. He was a connection to Michael, someone to vent to, someone to rely on when I needed help. His feelings mattered. He was my friend, but I wanted him to be more.

I nodded. “All of you.”

“Are you sure you're ready for this?”

Everything everyone said about having a relationship during the first year of sobriety didn't matter anymore. Asher was an addition to my recovery, not a substitution for my addiction.

“I'm sure.”

His thumbs pushed against my cheeks, and his lips found mine. The first time we'd kissed in the alley, his thumbs had done the same, as though he were trying to squeeze out all my emotions. That time, something inside me had come to a halt…but here, my mouth reached to be closer. Our passion matched. The intensity behind our kissing grew, and my palms pressed into his chest, trying to reveal everything inside.

Sleeping over or staying past midnight would get me kicked out of sober living. I didn't have to look at the clock on his nightstand to know that time was approaching.

“I have to go,” I whispered, slowing my kisses down to pecks. I could feel that it was just as difficult for him to stop.

As I got ready to leave, I noticed him standing in the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, smiling. “I'll never understand why you came into my life, but there has to be a reason,” he said.

He wasn't looking at me as though I were a porn star or a centerfold in some magazine. He was admiring what was beneath my skin.

I closed my eyes for just a second, and my brother's face appeared. He wasn't speaking and I couldn't tell where he was, but he showed up behind my lids for a reason. Michael had led me to Asher. Not to punish me for my mistakes or to remind me of what I'd lost. He wanted me to fall in love with him.

I opened my eyes. “Michael sent you to me.”

“I'm so glad he did.” He reached forward but stopped right before he got to my waist. “I've got to take you home.” He grabbed my hand and led me out.

The streetlights swished by the windows of the taxi. So did the trees that lined the road and the passing cars. The cab driver talked on his phone in a language I didn't understand, and when I shut my eyes, everything around me faded except for Asher. His arms tightened around my stomach, and his chin rested on my head. I could feel his
warm breath on my ears and relaxed completely, loved and accepted as I couldn't remember feeling before.

After what seemed like only seconds, I heard the door open. Asher reached for my hand. We stood outside my building, and he held my fingers up to his face, kissing each of my knuckles. “I don't want you to leave.”

I brushed my lips over his, knowing that if I didn't go now, I never would, and I unlocked the door. When I got halfway through, I glanced over my shoulder. He hadn't moved. The only thing that had changed was that his smile was gone.

-13-

MARK SENT ME A TEXT MESSAGE the next day asking how I'd been doing since Sunshine's death. My reply said I was fine. I was still pretty shaken up from seeing her lifeless body, but Asher was much more present in my mind. Mark didn't need to hear those details, and I didn't share them, but he continued to send me a text every day. After about a week, he showed up at the café. I was helping a customer, so Jami asked if he wanted his usual.

“No coffee for me today; I've come to kidnap her,” he said, pointing at me.

“Miss Nicole, you're getting kidnapped for the…
day
?” Jami said “day” a little too loudly, in the same teasing tone she used when Asher came to pick me up.

I finished helping my customer and wiped my hands on my apron. “What's up?” I asked, leaning over the counter to give Mark a hug.

“You free after work?”

My shift ended in five minutes, but I had a feeling he already knew that.

“For what?” I asked.

“I promised I'd take you to the aquarium.”

The aquarium would take hours, and it was already three. I was going to a meeting with my roommates and then having dinner with Asher, and I didn't want to cancel either.

“You could have called,” I said with a smile. “It would have saved you a trip.”

“How about a late lunch?”

“A snack?”

“Go get your stuff; I'm starving for a snack.”

He ducked under the counter and walked with me to the back, stopping outside Al's office. I grabbed my purse from my locker, and as I returned to the counter, a man standing in front of Jami asked for me. He was dressed in a gray suit, with a gold clip around his tie and a briefcase in his hands. He didn't look familiar.

“Who wants to know?” Jami asked.

My eyes shifted between them; I was unsure whether I should stay by the register or come out from under the counter.

He handed Jami his card. “My name is Martin Bellows.”

She read his card, looked over at me, and shrugged.

“I'm Nicole Brown.”

He turned and extended his hand. After I shook it, he gave me his card. The card was simple and white; it didn't state his title or the company he worked for—just his name and phone number.

“I'd like to talk to you for a minute. Is there somewhere quiet we can go?” he asked.

I wasn't going anywhere with him outside of the dining room. He followed me toward the front of the café and took the seat across from me. I glanced back at the counter; Mark was standing next to Jami, reading the business card she had handed him.

Martin set his briefcase on the table, opened it just slightly, and removed an envelope. He handed it to me. “Look inside.”

The envelope was thick and padded. I unsealed the top; the inside was filled with money. My breath got caught in my throat. I didn't know how much was in there, but it looked like a lot. My shaking hands dropped the envelope on the table. “Why did you give this to me?” I searched his eyes; I didn't recognize him. “Who are you?”

“I'm someone who collects information and passes on messages. And I'm passing you this message: you can take the money and disappear and not show up when there's a trial. Or you can do what you've done your whole life: making everyone else pay for your mistakes again.”

He pushed the briefcase toward me and nodded, signaling me to open it. Since there was money in the envelope, I couldn't imagine what was in the case. Once I peeked inside, it wasn't just my hands that shook.

“You can have this and more; just make the right decision,” he said.

Inside the case, there had to be at least ten wax-paper packets of heroin that were stamped with a skull and crossbones and several syringes. I knew the brand. I could almost feel the tip of the rig kissing my skin. My body practically shuddered as I imagined the heroin launching into my arm and flowing through my veins.

“Is everything all right over here?” Mark asked, surveying our table.

“Move along,” Martin said. “The lady and I aren't finished talking yet.”

“I'm not going anywhere unless
the lady
tells me to.”

I glanced up slowly, biting my lip so hard I could taste blood. Mark's eyes scanned my face. Then he snatched the envelope off the table.

Martin reached forward. “I don't recommend you doing that—”

“What the hell is this?” Mark asked, backing away from Martin's reach.

Martin's jaw tightened as he glanced over to me. “I need an answer. Now.”

“Nicole, do you want me to call the police?” Mark asked.

This was the first time I had seen heroin since prison. I knew its darkness. I also knew its beauty, and I smiled for my old friend.

“Nicole,” Mark said in a much deeper tone, “should I call the police?”

My teeth had already nipped my bottom lip, but now they were about to break through my skin. I just wanted a taste.

I closed my eyes and immediately heard Michael's voice. I didn't need him to tell me what I'd be sacrificing, how I'd be accepting Dustin's offer and all the trouble I would be in if I didn't show up to court. I already knew. My decision still wasn't an easy one to make.

I opened my eyes, shifting my stare between the two men. Then I glared at Martin. “You want an answer? Tell Dustin to screw off and to leave me the hell alone.”

Mark tossed the envelope, and it landed right in front of Martin. He put it in the briefcase and stood. “I'll be seeing you again, Nicole. That's if you don't contact me first.”

Mark and I stayed at the table as Martin moved around us, and we watched him walk through the door. As I took deep breaths, I ran
my thumb over the sharp edges of his business card. My mind needed to be grounded, and the pain seemed to help with that.

“Nicole, what just happened? Who was that guy?”

Everything began to spill from my lips. Not just Martin's offer, but how Dustin's friend had cornered me in the alley and how Dustin had called from prison.

“I think you should tell the police.”

I shook my head. “No police; no way. I don't want witness protection or to be sequestered, or any shit like that. I lost my freedom once and…no, it can't happen again. Those were…two-and-a-half years that I'd like to forget.”

“I understand, but why aren't you taking Dustin's threats seriously?”

“I've survived much harder things than being threatened by my ex-boyfriend. I refuse to run from him.”

“Nicole—”

“Mark, don't you get it? If I did go into hiding and Dustin couldn't find me, he'd go after everyone I love. I'd rather him hurt me than them.”

He sighed.

I could tell by his expression that he didn't agree with me. But the one I gave him in return showed there was nothing he could say to change my mind.

“Will you at least speak to your attorney?” he asked. “You have one, don't you?”

“Yes, the one the court appointed when I got arrested.”

“Call her,” he said, and reached into his pocket for his keys. “If she's in, I'll take you to her office.”

If a date for the trial had been set, Melissa would have contacted me. Still, it wouldn't hurt to ask her a few questions. And going to see her would at least settle Mark down a little. He hadn't stopped running his hands through his hair and shifting his weight between his feet.

When I phoned Melissa's office, her assistant said she was in a meeting but that she'd be out soon and would have a few minutes to speak with me. I told her I was on my way and directed Mark to the building on Federal Street.

The last time I'd been to Melissa's was the night Michael died. I remembered it so clearly; I'd come here after stopping at the police station to give my statement. Knowing it would be a while before I saw the city again, I'd walked to her office instead of taking the train. My hands shook when I pressed the number to Melissa's floor. I could barely speak when her assistant asked if she could help me. There was a trashcan next to the copy machine in the hallway, and I threw up in it. I wasn't just dope sick; I was scared. I told Melissa I wanted to take the plea, and she set up a meeting with the DA. I went to jail the next day.