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“Painting?” he asked.
I had given him a list of items from my place I was hoping to obtain, and my painting supplies and sketchbook were on it. Drawing has been a huge part of my life, ever since I could remember. I don’t know if I was any good, but it helped keep my mind at peace and was a huge stress relief.
“Painting and sketching are important to me. When I was in the hospital during chemo treatments, it was the only thing that kept me sane. I used to draw or paint a new picture every single time, and the nurses would hang them up on the walls in the treatment room for me. They were mostly of nature: things that didn’t consist of those four walls and needles. They helped, though, and I liked that they also helped the other patients within the room throughout the week.”
“I couldn’t imagine having to go through surgery and chemo at my age, let alone as a young teenager. You’re braver than I am,” he said with a warmth in his voice that I hadn’t really heard before.
I stood up and shook out my arms and legs as I spoke. “I don’t know if it’s bravery. Kids don’t really get a say in whether they go through treatment. Parents hold all the power in that area and the kids get dragged along whether you want it or not.” I walked toward him as I continued. “Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful that my mother fought so hard for me. She was amazing. Whenever I felt sad or discouraged, she never tried to tell me that this was God’s plan or that one day I would appreciate the struggles I had been going through. She allowed me to feel whatever I needed to feel. I remember one time after my third round of chemo. All of my hair had fallen out. I was covered in bruises and so exhausted all the time. I was done. I was so filled with rage that I thought it would burn me from the inside out. And you know what she did?”
“Tell me,” he said, genuinely interested in what I had to share.
“She took me down to the basement and she had set up all of these breakables. There were mirrors, windows, dishes, ceramic figures - just random shit she had to have picked up at garage sales or thrift stores and she had been storing it up in the basement. She handed me a pair of safety goggles and a bat and told me to swing and scream until I felt like I could breathe again.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the memory of my mom standing there in a room full of breakables with these goggles on her face and a supportive smile. “I must have gone obliterated everything in that room for thirty minutes. When I finally finished, glass was all over the floor, it was a nightmare, but she didn’t care about that. She didn’t care that she would have to spend a couple of hours just cleaning it all up. She didn’t care that she had spent money on those items just for me to smash the shit out of them. She just gave me a hug and asked what I wanted for dinner.
“She didn’t even have to ask me if I felt better. She just knew. She always knew what I needed. Even if it was unconventional, she was there.”
“She sounds like she was an amazing mom. I’m sorry you lost her,” he said sincerely.
“She was perfect. I try not to think about how she won’t be here for this baby. She always wanted to be a grandmother, and she would have been the best. She could walk into a war zone and it wouldn’t even faze her. I can’t tell you how often she would show up at my place completely unannounced just to talk, but then she would start doing the dishes I had been neglecting or the laundry.
“Mom never lectured me about any of it or brought it up. We’d go out to lunch and I would have paint on my hands or charcoal on my face; it was nothing to her. It was just part of me and it didn’t bother her in the least. She was perfect.”
I had to fight back the tears threatening to spill. It wouldn’t do me any good to start crying right now. If Mom was here, she would tell me to stay strong and focus on what needed to be done: to survive, no matter what, and that was exactly what I was planning on doing. I could let myself have feelings after I was safe. I shook my head slightly to regain control of my emotions again.
“Ugh, hormones. What about you? Any sweet memories of your mother before she passed?” Killed technically, but he didn’t need me reminding him of that.
“Unfortunately, most of my memories of my mama have all been tainted by the one of her death. I do remember her smile and the sound of her laugh. I can’t remember the sound of her voice, though, which still bothers me. I wish we had cell phones back then because then I would have stood a chance at finding a video of her. My father didn’t really like cameras or video cameras in the house. Too paranoid.
“All I really have are the few memories of her. I do remember she loved to sing and dance. She wasn’t very good at either, but she sang and danced all around the kitchen when she cooked. She would blast her music so loud that my father had to soundproof his office just so he could work without being disturbed. Sometimes I still expect to see her when I walk into a kitchen.”
I didn’t want to feel anything for him, but a bit of sadness was brewing in my belly. I had at least gotten my mother for a good chunk of years, but he lost her before he even reached double digits. There was no telling who he could have been had he had his mother in his life. Maybe she would have been able to shield him from this life. He could have a whole different life he was living. At the same time, if he wasn’t here, my baby and I might not have stood a chance at escaping.
“Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like had she not been killed?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“That’s a dangerous game that I try to avoid. You make one change to your life and there is no guarantee of what your life would be like now. Who you would be. Maybe my life would have been better if she had gotten to live. Maybe she would have stood up for me and told my father that I wouldn’t be doing some of the things he had me do at a young age. Maybe I would be a businessperson or a mechanic.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.” I could picture him being a mechanic, working in a garage or owning one.
“It doesn't. But I also could have turned out worse. She might have encouraged my father’s lessons, and I would have grown up to be more ruthless and colder. That’s why it’s a dangerous game because no answer can make me happy and make me feel like the decisions I have made were the right ones or wrong ones. All I can do is try and make the best decision I can at that given moment,” he said with a shrug.
I had to give it to him. He was smart. He had good insights into himself and his life. I didn’t want to see him as anything more than my jailer, but he was making it very hard to keep a wall up between us. He don’t get to be smart, understanding and sexy. That just wasn’t fair. I needed to put the walls back up between us within my mind. I needed to focus on what had to be done so I could escape.
“That’s all any of us can do,” I said with a small smile before I turned and headed for the door. I turned back around and gave him a sexy smirk as I continued, “I’m gonna shower. Care to wash my back?”
I knew he would agree. He was a man with needs, and he no doubt assumed that my hormones were making me want to have sex with him. I could admit to myself that it wasn’t the hormones or even my plan of escape. Sex with Armando was amazing, the best I had ever had, and I would be lying if I said my body didn’t want him, which only made all of this easier. I didn't have to pretend to enjoy or want it. I could allow my body to crave his touch, and I would deal with the awkwardness and uncertain feelings later.
“The doc did say I needed to keep a close eye on you,” he smoothly said. I could see the heat in his eyes, and I knew he wanted me just as badly as I wanted him. This was good; he was already playing perfectly into my plan. Now, I just needed to keep trying to find the perfect time and way to escape. I took his hand in mine before I turned and walked back inside, with him easily following behind me.
Chapter sixteen
Armando
The house was quiet, too fucking quiet. Normally, when I got back from my late-night meetings, I could expect Alexis to be watching TV on the couch or asleep. Only tonight there wasn’t a single sound within the house. Had it not been for her car in the garage, I would have assumed she wasn’t here. I double-checked that the house was locked up before I started my journey up the stairs to reach my bedroom. I had expected to find my beautiful woman asleep in our bed.
My mind had already started going over all the possible ways I could wake her up. Tonight, I had told her I had a late meeting with some of the guys, but I had actually been out with Gab, picking out an engagement ring and brainstorming ways to pop the question. We had a lot of different ideas, some better than others, but I had a good number to choose from. One of which was allowing her to wake up in the morning to the ring sitting in an open box on the bedside table with a simple note asking her to marry me. I wasn’t too sure about that one, only because it felt like a coward’s way to ask. At the same time, though, there was a strong appeal to not being there for her to tell me no. I had time to decide, but I didn’t want to wait too long and risk her finding the ring.
Walking into our bedroom, I was confused to see she wasn’t in our bed like I had anticipated. A quick look to my right, where the en suite bathroom was, showed me the light underneath the closed door. She must be in the middle of a bath, and my pulse raced at seeing her naked, covered in bubbles. I pulled off my coat and boots and headed to the bathroom. Opening the door, I was fully prepared to see my sexy woman leaning back in the bath, covered in strawberry-scented bubbles. What I was greeted with was a horror movie. She was leaning back in the tub, but instead of bubbles and the scent of strawberries, it was pink-tinted water with a strong metallic scent that assaulted my nose.
