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It's a branch with delicate blossoms adorning the sides. And at the bottom is the haunting reminder of Bianca. A perfectly sculpted peach. Sweet and beautiful, just as he saw her.
It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, and I don’t want to think about it. I want to pretend I never saw it, so that’s exactly what I do. Instead, I focus on my task of washing him. With a renewed determination, I work my way around him and bring myself back into focus as I reach for his dick and stroke him in my soapy palm until he comes a third time.
“Fucking Christ.” He leans back against the tile wall to catch his breath. “You trying to kill me?”
There’s amusement in his eyes when I wrap my arms around him and press my face against his chest. He kisses the top of my head, and we stay there like that until the water cools. Then he helps me out and grabs us both a towel.
As we’re drying off, my eyes move over his body, taking note of the scars I noticed last night, but didn’t want to address. I can’t help studying them, and when he catches me, I blurt the question before I can really think about it.
“Are they from your time in the service?”
He stops drying and stares at me. Something flashes in his eyes, and I know I’ve triggered a memory I wish I hadn’t. The mood has noticeably cooled when he responds in a measured tone.
“Yes.”
I don’t have to be a psychic to understand that something terrible happened to cause those scars. He wrote about it in his lyrics, but it isn’t the full story. And as much as I might want to know him, it’s something he clearly doesn’t want to talk about. So I set that thought aside, and we continue our routine. After he dries off, he goes into the bedroom and grabs me one of his tee shirts and a pair of his sweats, and I put them on without protest.
As I do, he sits down on the bed and opens his nightstand, retrieving a small box that he pulls a joint from. He lights up and leans back against the headboard, his eyes on me as I settle on the end of the bed.
“Do you smoke every day?” I ask him.
He releases a puff. “Yes. It’s either this or I don’t function.”
Something in his tone makes me suspect he’s thinking of Bianca again. Like this question, and every other one I might ask, reminds him of her.
“Is it your back?”
He nods but doesn’t elaborate. I’ve noticed he sometimes seems stiffer than usual, but he doesn’t want people to know it.
“We grow our own here,” he says, his tone less distant than a minute ago. “Do you want to see it? I have to check the plants this afternoon.”
“Okay.” I offer him a nervous smile.
After Madden finishes his joint, I make us brunch while he takes a phone call. I don’t know who it is because he goes outside shortly after he answers, but it makes me anxious as I consider the possibilities. There’s so much I don’t know about his life. The only version of him I know is the one that exists within these walls. It makes me question who he spends his time with outside of them. I know he goes somewhere for long stretches of time on the weekends, and I can’t help but wonder who he’s with.
When he returns and we sit down to eat, there’s a noticeable shift in his mood. He seems to have something on his mind, but he doesn’t talk about it, and I don’t ask.
After brunch, I get dressed in some of my own clothes and fix my hair and makeup, and then he drives me over to what he calls the warehouse. I’m surprised to find it’s not that far from where he lives. The massive building with thick adobe walls sits at what I presume is the edge of the compound, considering the rocky terrain behind it wouldn’t be fit for habitation. It makes me curious about what’s over that ridge, but I don’t have long to think about it before Madden leads me to the door. Just inside are two armed guards who nod at him as we enter. It surprises me, but I guess it shouldn’t. Not when I get a look at the size of their operation.
Rows upon rows of marijuana grow as far as the eye can see. On the ceiling, huge oscillating fans whir, and lights replicate the sun. It’s temperature controlled, and it appears they have their business down to a science, judging by their crop output.
Madden tosses me an amused glance when he sees the expression on my face. “Come on. You can help me do my rounds.”
