Page 21 of Rascal

That day, I’d been sleepy, which was unusual for me in the afternoon. Later it turned out that I had been drugged. When I woke, Hallie was straddling me, hate and anger on her face. She’d screamed that I belonged to her and stabbed my shoulder. I’d tried bucking and shoving her off, but she plunged the knife down into my opposite shoulder. Hallie had then made two further shallow stabs before the one near my heart. Then she’d leaned over and kissed my lips and told me I was hers forever and there’d never be another woman for me.

She hadn’t been wrong. Hallie had soured me for life. No way would I trust a woman again. Not even the old ladies. I was always on guard around them. Nope. I didn’t even fuck them at the clubhouse. We went to hotel rooms if I needed to get laid; I wasn’t having someone in my personal space. And I certainly wouldn’t be sleeping with them.

It was obvious why Hallie was trying to convince everyone another person had been there. I’d never cheated on her nor shown any signs of it. Back then I’d been convinced I was going to marry her, and we’d get the white picket fence and so on. But Hallie seemed fixated on that idea.

Clearly, Hallie was rewriting the narrative to her own beat, and it was a good one. But she needed to prove it, and Hallie couldn’t simply because I’d not been unfaithful. Would Hallie hire someone? No, that wouldn’t work. Nobody would willingly put themselves in prison.

My mind whirling, I tried to figure out her end goal. Sure, it was revenge, but for what? Telling the truth and sending her to prison? Had Hallie really thought I’d cheated on her? That didn’t make sense. We’d lived in the same house, and apart from work, spent nearly every hour together.

I’d no idea if she had a psychological problem. Hallie had point-blank refused to interact with any psychologist. Even her own lawyer had urged her to, and she’d said no. Back then I’d thought it was a clever move; she couldn’t be tagged as a lunatic. I needed the Juno Group to find the evidence that would bury her. Because I was starting to doubt my own sanity and memories, and that’s what Hallie wanted.

Hallie

With Shane pulling dirty tricks, King and I agreed neither of us would go anywhere without a witness. So that’s why I was on a jog with him cursing the hell out of me. King was a gym rat, not a runner. But after being locked up for so long, I needed the freedom running gave me. I’d continue my strength training workouts, but I had options now, something I’d not had in prison.

“I hate this,” King yelled, and I laughed.

“Stop whining,” I called out.

“My black ass, I will!” King shot back.

I began laughing. “Your ass looks damn fine to me, King.”

“Better than your skinny white one,” he insulted.

“Leave my butt alone.”

“Hallie, it took me years to get mine this perfect. Now you’re trying to run it off,” King complained.

“You know, King, if you ran as hard as you whined…”

“I’d still lose my ass.”

I sighed and upped the pace. King cursed behind me and lengthened his stride. Our feet pounded the path as we jogged together, side by side. With King close, I felt safe. Nobody could harm me with my huge friend next to me.

“When do you plan to settle down?” I demanded.

King stopped dead in horror, and I laughed and kept going. Moments later, King took me down, cupping my head so I didn’t bang it. We rolled around with me giggling as King attempted to pin me. He finally straddled me and began tickling. My feet pounded the ground as I made an effort to buck him off, laughing wildly. His fingers immediately found where to tickle, and I tried to evade him.

“Disgusting!” an old woman stated, staring.

“I think it’s cute,” her companion said.

King took advantage of my distraction and pinned my arms with one hand. “Admit I’m the Tickle God!” he roared.

“No!” I squealed as he attacked my ribs. I squirmed and twisted.

“Admit it!” King bellowed. His fingers found the sweet spot, and as soon as King touched it, I caved.

“You’re the Tickle God!” I yelled, laughing. King sat up straight and beat his chest. He leapt to his feet and hauled me up. I immediately placed a nipple crippler on him, and King dropped to his knees.

“Who’s the Queen Bitch?” I demanded.

“You are!” he shrieked as I twisted slightly. I let go and patted his head.

“Good boy!” I taunted. King got up, and I started running. He was a big guy and had longer strides than me, but I was faster. We headed down the road, and I wondered what people were thinking. It suddenly hit me that a black man was chasing a white woman and the damn racists would have a field day. I reduced speed and sent King a look. He grasped why I’d slowed, and bitterness rose. King and I shouldn’t have to worry about shit like that.

King reached out and grabbed my hand, and I squeezed his in return. We carried on our jog, our mood a little dimmed but not by much.