Page 65 of 4 Corinthians

“My boss girl, I know I told you his name before,” Melissa laughed and guided me into the living room. I fell into the couch and laid there, hanging halfway off. My head was spinning so fast, and my stomach felt like it was going to explode.

“Call my cousins,” I said, trying to push myself up. “Call Ex, or Krude. He might talk shit, but he’s going to come no matter what.” My eyes started to close on their own.

“I will later,” Melissa insisted. “First, try and sleep it off.”

“What did you give me, Melissa?” I slowly asked her. There was no doubt I’d been drugged. Images of her insisting that I drink that water before I left flashed in my mind. I opened my eyes to see her standing near the door.

“No clue; I never ask questions. I do what I’m paid to do like a good girl.” She opened the door, and four men walked in.

“You drugged me?” I asked her even though I knew the answer.

“You know it,” she laughed and stepped aside. I knew them, even after all the years that had passed; I knew who was responsible for what was about to happen to me: Paul, Isaac, and their father, Luther Kilmore.

My face was lifted from the couch, and something brushed my bottom lip. I forced my eyes open, and everything started spinning again. I couldn’t fight whatever she gave me.

“Hello, Pet,” was the last thing I heard before everything went black.

***

“Corinthians?” Psalms called my name. I looked up from my hands to see her standing in front of me with a look of concern on her pretty face. Her dark eyes sparkled against the sun.

“Hhhmmm?” I replied.

“Where are you?” She reached up and tried tapping the side of my head, but I moved back. Her brow went up. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I denied, shaking my head. I stood, wiped the front of my shirt, and let out a deep breath. “Just a little nervous is all.”

“About what?” she questioned.

“In less than thirty minutes I’m opening the doors to my own business,” I told her.

“The doors are open,” she replied, and I stopped walking to look back at her. “You’ve been in here for the last hour. No one bothered you because the door was closed and we know how you are about closed doors.”

I looked at my office door, trying to figure out how the hell I’d lost track of time, and realized that I’d been doing that. Ever since I woke up on the floor of the empty house that Melissa swore was her boss’s house. My keys sat near my head, my clothes on but not buttoned. I was sore; my wrist and ankles were bruised, my jaw swollen. My hair was all over my head, and dried tear streaks were on my face. Flashes of faces, subtle sounds of laughter flashed through my memory. I didn’t have to remember it all to know I’d been raped. Robert’s voice. The smile on his face, the joy in his eyes. The helplessness I felt as a kid was amplified by the fact that I was truly alone. No one fought for me.

“People are out there?” I asked, sitting at my desk. My side hurt. The pain radiated through my entire body.

“You have a line,” Psalms said, nodding. “Madea sent me in here because she’s busy working the front desk trying to make sure everyone is checked in. Ex, Judge, and Krude are working the room. Mercy and Cross are cleaning. And Granddaddy is two seconds away from taking your chair and cutting some heads.”

“Oh hell,” I moaned and covered my face. My heart slammed against my chest, and I tried not to cry. I wasn’t sad; I was overstimulated. I was supposed to be happy, to know that I had made it, but I couldn’t move. I was scared. I allowed myself to be free, to laugh and make a friend, and Robert showed up to prove that he was still around. That he could still take every ounce of joy I had.

“Corinthians, you gotta come out,” Psalms encouraged me. “Show your face, cut some heads. Make some money.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding. I didn’t move my hands from my face because I knew if I did, she’d see I was holding back tears. “Give me two minutes, then I’m coming out.”

“Two and I’m coming back,” she said, and I nodded.

I didn’t move until I heard the door close behind her, and I leaned back into my seat. I pulled my shirt from my pants and looked at the small brand on my stomach. That was Robert’s doing. He’d marked me with his family crest. The same one I had to wear when I fought.

It took longer than two minutes, but I got myself together, fixed my clothes, and stepped out of my office. I put on a fake smile, shook hands, talked to customers, and cut hair. It felt like time didn’t stand still. I worked nonstop; the adrenaline rush kept me from falling out.

“Welcome to Cut Up!” Krude called out as he walked past me. “Check in at the desk.”

“A black family business!” A deep voice called out. I stopped cutting my clients' hair and looked through the mirror to see Isaac Kilmore walk through the doors. “I love to see it.”

“How you doing?” Granddaddy greeted him, stepping around the front desk to shake his hand. He was being cordial because the Kilmores’ name carried almost as much weight in the church community as ours did. But Granddaddy couldn’t stand them.

“I can't complain,” He answered with a chuckle. “Here to get my hair cut.” He rubbed his head. “I set an appointment a few weeks ago when I got the flyer.” He took his phone from his pocket.