That One Writer.

I’m going to hell. 

Was the first thought Lorraine Dallas Dubois had when she walked in the door of her Georgia home at approximately 10:12pm that evening. 

Lips swollen, body fevered, and stomach pitted. Dallas felt stuck under the haze of what she just finished doing almost twenty minutes prior. 

As she drove herself home under the gaze of the setting sun, anytime her collar moved against her neck she swore it was his lips. Whenever her dress shifted upward ever so slightly on her thigh, she envisioned his hands there. And as she stood in the floor length mirror of her bedroom examining the all too new relaxed and quelled naked body before her, she secretly wished it was still pressed up against the heat of his as it once was. 

Dallas tried her best to banish the thoughts, or more like replays, that dashed throughout her mind while she feeably attempted to carry on with her night as if nothing had ever happened. 

But what the body knows, it will reveal in true fashion as it cannot lie. And this was evidenced by the way her lidded eyes took in the glide of her hand slithering down the canvas of her dark skin until it reached the place his fingers had danced along, but she hadn’t dared let him touch. 

Fingertips had played with the lace of he maroon panties but had lingered as she’d silently made it clear that she wasn’t ready to go there with him, not again at least. 

So why was she so frustrated and disappointed with herself that she’d hadn’t been able to have him fully? And more so, why was she so angry at herself for wanting him that way in the first place? 

Questions she couldn’t quite bring herself to figure out, so instead she decided to push the thoughts away with a familiar pleasurable distraction whose home was in the bottom drawer of her nightstand table. 

Mr. Purple. 

His naming an act of laziness on her part, because of the obvious color scheme of violet rabbit vibrator, was the total opposite of its purpose as she had many nights gotten busy and enjoyed the ‘work’ he put in every time they mingled. 

However even with the company of this battery operated companion, it still didn’t do enough to banish his voice from her head completely.

Instead it enhanced it.

“ Your body remembers me.” He whispered against her ear, a series of chills crept down her spine that his fingertips could feel, producing a faint smile against his lips. 

“ I wish it didn’t.” She mumbled, hands exploring the crest of his clothed shoulder feeling the soft dips and hard ridges that had been made way through manhood and the Marines,“ Trust me, I’ve tried to forget. Many times over.”

“ Well I told you before I’d never let us be strangers.” His lips placed a kiss at the swell of her breast, the width of his hands together covering the span of her back he’d keep massaging, “ And I intend to keep my promise, Precious.” 

He lifted his face to be mere inches away from hers as he whispered “ Always.” Before she leaned in, recapturing his lips and falling back once again into a rhythm that would surely lead to their sweet demise if they weren’t careful. 

But it was all a memory now, and after four persistent rounds with the sexual rabbit, it was a memory that was instead seared into her brain. So after she got up showered, cleaned up, sorted through that box of papers and letters that had sat untouched in her office, re-arranged and moved around pairs of heels by color coordination, then all over again by brand, Dallas was still no closer to closing her mind to him.

And after all else had failed when she glanced at the ticking clock on her wall, she figured she had no choice but to air out her grievances with herself out loud under the careful jurisdiction of another party who had expert experience with her dilemma. And she was certain that this person was up during this ungodly hour. 

That is why Dallas sat propped up against her pretty ivory couch, bowl of cherry chocolate ice cream in hand, as she watched Almeda De Roux, move about her Louisiana kitchen concocting God knew what to introduce to the frequent patrons of L'Art de Vivre, where she was the Sous Chef. 

Dallas had met Almeda almost five years ago during the time of apprenticeship post graduation at the Heroux Parlor of Baton Rouge under the watchful eye of Althea De Roux, the owner of the home and Almeda’s mother.

And while Alemda hadn’t opted to travel along the same path of Dallas as being a legacy mortician and instead taking after her maternal grandmother, they still found a way to bond over tales of growing up in a funeral home, mutual love for food, and even more niche topics of interest. 

Ever since then they’d become dear friends and fierce confidants for one another for even the most  titillating and wisped secrets that could appear. 

That is why the young mortician felt comfortable divulging one of the biggest secrets she’d obtained in years, “ If I tell you something, it has to be a secret.” Dallas huffed, “ I’m serious, Al. Not even, Death can know. At least not yet.” Mavis’s nickname slipped off the tongue like a hushed warning.

“ Dallas..” The Chef’s voice wavered, “ You know I’m crappy at keeping secrets. Remember Mavis’s surprise party last year! ” 

“ Really? Like how you’re keeping a secret that every night you’re laid up with–

“ Okay! Okay! Alright! Mouth stays shut.” Almeda surrendered. 

Dallas narrowed her eyes at, “ Honest.” Almeda’s hands shot up. 

“ I promise on my great-maman’s gumbo recipe that I won’t breathe a soul of this to anyone...not even Moi.” She swore in seriousness, enough to promise not to inform, Moira, her elder sister and best friend. 

“ Oh you’re serious, huh? Ready to sell the family secrets kinda serious, are we? ” Dallas threw up her hands, “ Fine. Here goes.” 

“ Before I called you tonight....the first part of the evening I wasn't here at the house yet.” Dallas began, feeling the face of her palms beginning to ache again as finger imprinted red crescents into her skin. 

“ Okayyyy. Then where were you?” Almeda reached for a handful of garlic, adding it to the stewing pot of chicken feet and potatoes, “ At work I would imagine.”

“ Yeah. I mean I-I was in the funeral home’s parking lot.” Dallas tried steadying herself, “ But I was parked in a car…”

The Chef’s face morphed into one of confusion, wondering if the information she’d just received was somehow distorted through the phone’s screen.

“ With Terry Richmond.” Dallas blurts the latter, making Almeda’s eyes pop with shock as she focuses on now burning the oil in the Ruffoni Symphonia pan. 

“ Bitch...” Almeda whispered, “ No….” 

“ Hoe…yes.” Dallas parroted, “ And we kissed….alot….like for maybe thirty minutes….might’ve been an hour. I can’t fully remember. Everything started to feel fuzzy and warm…..and wet.” The last part being muttered as she closes her eyes and bracing herself for another outburst from her overly animated friend.

But instead after a few moments of silence, cautiously Dallas peeked one eye open in the direction of her screen, to see the young woman standing there at the stove dangerously close to boiling over her pot, with her almond eyes blown wide and lips slightly agape.

 As no audible words passed them.

“Almeda…” 

“ I don’t know what to say…I mean this is–this is–” 

“ Yeah..” Dallas sighed, running a hand over the surface of her thigh, “I–yeah.”

Almeda made a frustrated noise as she hurriedly returned to tending to the thick, rich, mess of a mixture in efforts to thin it out, all the while trying to make sense of the mess her friend had managed to mix herself into. 

“ I mean I didn’t even know you guys were speaking again…let alone meeting up in parking lots and sucking face with one another. I–when did he even get back there? How long have you been talking to each other again? And when did–

Dallas watched as Almeda’ss face suddenly drained of all her color, before it was quickly replaced and painted with a noticeable hue of red against her mahogany skin.

“ What?” Dallas’s voice had suddenly grown small at the new tension birthed in the air.

“ Lorraine Dallas Dubois…” Almeda’s voice was hard, an unusual occurrence which made Dallas instantly cower some in a kind of strange fear, “ You better tell me the truth when I ask…isn’t Terry still engaged to that nasty girl you two went to high school with.” 

“ I–” 

“ Mmm Mmm.” Almelda hazardously aimed a gravy covered spoon at Dallas with precision, “ Like my Mama always says. It’s a perfect yes or no question.” Her arms folded across her chest in a small attempt to look intimidating, “ So answer.” 

“ Yes.” A sheepish smile appeared on her face, “ And it’s funny you should mention that because the only reason why stopped…is because she called him…” 

“ My Lord, Dallas!” Almeda’s head immediately hung as her hands flew back to their previous home on her face, "You're out here having an affair?! Seriously!” Her fists hit the side of the apron as she positioned herself to look at Dallas’s distressed form on the screen again, “ And with him of all people?! After everything he put you through!” 

“ I thought you would’ve spent the block with the cowboy before you ever ventured back to the Marine! I mean I even put money on that to happen…but THIS? This is crazy, D. Seriosuly...”

Dallas went into quick defense,“ No no no! I–

“ Wait a minute! You placed a bet that I would get back with Travis?! Al really…with who?!” 

A shocking revelation indeed, that anyone in their right mind was still rooting for Dallas Dubois and Travis Pointer to be together. A name she hadn’t dared to utter since she left him that night standing alone under that soft yellow Louisiana lamp light that in the moment highlighted his true self. 

“ Mr. Stokes….and Mavis….and my Mama. Possibly your Aunt Tootie…” The chef rattled off a list of invested parties.

“ Almeda!” 

“ What?!” She defensively squealed, “ Can you blame us?! I mean you were there! You know how y’all were. It was a safe bet at the time…or so I thought. But I guess Stokes and I were wrong! Now I owe both your Aunt and my Mama fifty each. And I have to make Mavis’s spoiled ass a thing of flame broiled prawn tacos. So thanks a lot, actually Dallas!” 

“Well I’m sorry I—” 

“ Wait a minute, bitch! What am I about to apologize to you! You should be apologizing to me!!”

“ For what?!” Almeda shrieked. 

“ fOr WhAT?” Dallas childishly mocked, “ For doubting me, hoe!  For thinking that I’d double back with Travis! That’s offensive!” 

“ Again can you blame me! You’re doubling back with Terry.” And just like that Almeda had successfully gagged her friend who frantically tried to recover. 

“ Oh please! This-this isn’t a double back.” Dallas fumbled about, “ It’s more like a moment of weakness. Or-or closure? Right? Yeah that's what this feels like.” The lie was not even convincing enough for herself, so when she looked at the strong deadpan from Almeda hardening through the screen, she wasn’t surprised.

“ Yes Dallas, because the best way to get closure is to suck face and grind in a parked car with your ex.” The Chef’s monotone made the mortician become squeamishly bashful.

“ Hey! I never said anything about grinding!” Dallas defended, “ And he’s not my EX!” 

“ Oh please! You didn’t have to! Cause I know you and how you get down, Dallas. Remember!” Almeda pointed the wooden spoon at her screen once more, “ I’m still traumatized from when I caught you and Travis in the supply closet downstairs at the home. And yes I believe y’all are still going to hell for that! The blue part in fact!” 

At the mention of the incident, a flashback of fumbling hands, hushed sullen words, a consuming heat, and a funeral home closet all came rushing back to her at once. She quickly banished the thoughts before the skin of her back could begin heating. 

“ ANYWAY! None of it matters, Al!” Dallas argued, “ Terry is engaged, I’m maintaining a distance between us moving forward, and I’m also visiting out west next week. So everything will soon be as it was.” 

At the mention of an out west visit, Almeda found curiosity overpowering her agitation as she reached for a saucer plate, “ Oh? A visit out west! Do tell! You still working off a debt?” Almeda wiggled her eyebrows making Dallas laugh. 

Almeda had always been one of the few friends could openly talk about that part of her life with. Especially since Almeda had recently found herself in a similar situation with a well to do Executive Chef up in Old Metairie…whom her family had history with. Deep history in fact. 

Recently she’d confided in Almeda about how her companion had kept her suspended in a hot furled mixture of equal parts agony and ecstasy over a hours long video call after she’d accidentally confessed to reliving herself the night before she’d met with Terry on the funeral steps. 

Even worse, she confided in Almeda about just how much enjoyed it…

“ I’m not sure, yet…but I hope so.” A heat surging through her chest, “ Even though by the end I was out of it while he talked me down, I do remember him mentioning something about being proud but not satisfied..”  

“ Hmm. Sounds promising. Although speaking of satisfaction, you got any good leather cuff recommendations. Last time I visited him, he was squirmy and it kind of pissed me off. So I need something that could contain him when he gets to knuckin’ and buckin’. But I also don’t wanna leave too deep of marks on his wrist…his sleeves won’t hide that in the kitchen.” 

“OH! I understand!” Dallas happily chirped, “ I have a few. But first off, let me ask how deep are we talking here…” 

—

After her intellectually profound conversation with Almeda on the properties and confounds of the proper leather cuff to human wrist ratio.

It would seem that the next couple of days had gone fabulous…that is fabulously awful as the young woman found misfortune after misfortune occurring. So much so, to the point Dallas had begun to wonder if her ancestors, specifically her great-grandmother, had begun to punish her for her transgressions with a promised man.

With evidence of this seemingly becoming more concrete as she found herself stranded in the middle of buttfuck Savannah at the center of heavy downpour with a flat she had no idea how to fix. 

She was running out of options…well all but one, as her finger hovered over his contact.

And because it had been a rare off day for the newly minted owner and operator of Richmond & Co Construction, he was soundly at home. And while he may not have been preoccupied with measurements, framing, and the pungent smell of pouring concrete. He still felt as if there was a stench in the air around him.

Deceit. 

And with it wafting about in the air surrounding him, he found it hard to focus on anything around him, including his fiancee whose touch expanded across his body. 

But…

Her lips weren’t hers.  

Her touch wasn’t hers. 

When he took a deep inhale against the skin of her neck, the scent of her skin didn’t make his heart flutter the way it did when he smelled hers.

The bottom line was she wasn’t her. 

And while that should’ve killed Terry, it didn’t.

He was used to the feelings by now. The same guilt and disappointment that he secretly harbored every morning for the last eight years when he’d open his eyes, turn his head, and look to see the person laying next to him wasn’t her. With an accompanying thought then plaguing his mind of who she could’ve possibly been laying next to each night other than him. 

As he laid there, head lulled against the back of the couch, eyes shut, allowing his hands to roam every part of his fiancee’s neck in hopes to grasp onto something that could keep him tethered in the moment while he made effort to produce tiny noises and shift every few minutes to give off the illusion that he was enjoying the effort from below, Terry couldn’t quite help himself from thinking of her. 

More so the way he’d seen her so many nights before in the confines of his truck.

Cheeks flushed. Brows furrowed. Lips parted as he moved his hands closer and closer up her thigh to where his fingertips had graced the lace waistband of her panties whose color he’d pondered. 

His ears were haunted by the noises she’d made in her ear. Sweet. Melodic. Soft.

In fact it was this never ending soundtrack of her cycling over and over in her brain, being the only thing currently keeping him hard.

He tried banishing the thoughts, feeling guilty enough as it was while trying to conjure thoughts of the literal woman in front of him that he’d hoped would fuel his lust swamped brain. But he couldn’t concentrate on anything else but that night. 

And the constant buzzing of his cellphone laying idly beside him on the couch wasn’t helping. 

Actually it was becoming quite annoying. 

Making a move to lean over the grab the device he was met with immediate opposition from a sweat beaded Nefari as she used the back of her hand to wipe at her mouth, “ Ignore it, baby. Pay attention to me.” She purred, attempting to resume her work. But it was already too late. 

From the second he looked at his screen and saw her name lit up across it, it was too late. 

The moment was gone as he rushed to hit the green button,“ Hey, what’s up. You alright?”

“ Listen, I'm sorry to be calling you. Cause I promise on my black Manolo Mary Janes I literally would’ve called anyone else but you.” 

 “ But Mama and Mr. Saul are in Florida, Aunt Tootie’s in Atlanta at a hair show, Mr. Duncane is at a massive service today. I've tried calling Mavis but she isn’t answering and neither is anyone at the home. This is Anora and Ethan’s only day to sleep in child free, so I didn’t wanna bother them. I’ve hit my roadside assistance button like forty times and all I’m getting is static. And I called the tow truck but the nearest one is an hour away and some change out and I don’t know what to do.” She rambled, feeling the mist begin her eyes. 

Navigating to the contacts list on his phone in search of a number, Terry immediately tried to console her, 

“ Listen, stay put. I’m on my way. One of the guys at the site has an old boom. I'm sure he can hitch to the truck, so Imma’ call and have him meet me there.” 

“ In the meantime. Get back in the car, turn your hazards on. And try to relax. It’s gonna be fine, Dallas. I’m on my way.” He assured, mutli-tasking by drafting a text message to his colleague. 

Upon hearing the name, the realization, and the small thank you from her she heard come from the receiver before the three beeps that followed, it all combined was enough to send Nefari into a rage. 

“ Terry are you fucking serious right now!” She screamed, “ What the fuck is wrong with you running up after her like that. I can’t fucking believe you!!!” 

“ Nefari don’t start.” Terry groaned, getting up from the couch adjusting himself.

“ No, fuck that Terry!!” Her voice continuing to shake the small amount of pictures on the wall, “ I am gon’ start cause what the fuck are you doing right now.”

“ Nefari, her tire popped out there by the Brier fields on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. It’s raining hard as fuck outside, it’s cold, and she can’t get ahold of anybody.” He reasoned.

“ So what the fuck does that have to do with you? She got money! Her ass can’t pay for roadside assistance. All that fucking money her and them people make up there!” She raged.

His jaw ticked, “ She has that. But it’s not working. Which is besides the point, Nefari.” Terry huffed moving around the room to find his keys and sweatshirt, “ She called. She needs help. I’m going to help her. End of story.” 

“ Oh yeah? Well how would you feel if I had another nigga to come and help me with my tire, Terry. What then?” Hands coming to each side of her hips.

“ Honestly I wouldn’t care, Nef. Especially if you were in a similar situation like this. As long as you were safe, that’s all that would matter to me.” He answered truthfully. 

“ Right.” She bitterly, “ So I guess that means you wouldn’t be mad if I answered the phone for another nigga while you was on your hands and knees eating my box either?” 

“ Matter of fact. What if while you were gone, I called a nigga over here right now to finish what you should’ve started. Then what, nigga?” She clapped.

“ At this point, Nefari. No. I wouldn’t.” Terry snapped, “ Just make sure when he brings his ass over here. Have him take his shoes off at the door. I don’t have time to be cleaning up no mud or scuff marks that whatever lame ass nigga you ring might put on my fresh buffed floors.”

With that Terry swung the front door of the apartment open and shut it just as fast while ignoring the explicits his fiancee screamed to only herself now.  

He took the whole drive in silence, except for the heavy rain against the windows, to sit and ponder about what the fuck he was acutally doing with his life, and what he wanted out of it.

The only reprieve to these complex thoughts was when he pulled to the side of the road to see Dallas under her overly large umbrella and Mitch talking as her car lifted onto the flat bed. 

When he walked up, he instantly took in the dried mascara hiding under her eyes and concluded two things. 

She’d been scared and she was upset now.

Dallas absolutely hated thunderstorms, a thing she hadn’t grown out of from when they were kids.

“ Come here.” Terry’s voice lulled, arms inviting her in. Thankful she allowed his embrace, he wrapped his arms tight around her, face buried in the top of her hair.

In return she sighed into his chest, body relaxing as she took in his scent.

“ Am I taking you home?”

“ Mhmm.” Dallas hummed, “ If you could drop me off I’d appreciate it.” 

“ Whatever you want, Precious.” He ushered her to the side of his truck, opening the door and helping her step inside, sure not to bump her Coach wedges as he closed her door so they could set off down the flooded road.

The car ride to Dallas’s place had been painfully silent, only the melody of  Janet Jackson’s All for you cheerily playing helped to somewhat ease the mood, but not expel it. 

All both parties could do was look out their respective windows, her short black square nails clutching her Tory Burch tote tight, and him white knuckling the steering wheel putting pressure on the finger that held his family signet ring. 

Dallas would be lying if she said a sense of relief hadn’t washed over her when she noticed through the blurry windshield that they’d finally turned onto her street. Yet once parked in her driveway, listening to bang and batter of the fierce weather, she knew there was only one thing reluctantly left to do. 

“ If you want, you can come in until the storm passes at least.” Dallas offered, “ Wait for it to die down.” 

“ Dallas I’m not sure—

“ I’m being polite here, Terry. Take it or leave it. But either way I’m going inside now.” She firmly spoke over her shoulder while maneuvering to ready her umbrella.

She had just fixed her hand upon the door handle, when in a flash he was already coming around to open her door and help her down with a hand on the small of her back that made all the hair on her body raise.

Once inside Terry felt himself relax some, the smell of her filling the atmosphere. 

Looking around he took in the color scheme immediately. 

Palette of cremes, tans, and soft pinks that adorned the house. 

Then it hit him.

He was in her home, a moment he’d only dreamed of…many times more than he’d care to admit. 

“ I’m gonna go change really fast, so feel free to snoop around. But I promise ya’ ain’t gon’ find anything.” She called out, asscending up the staircase. 

And snoop he did. 

Taking in the space that utterly was overwhelmed with her. 

From the vases of full magnolias and peonies, to the mindful art she was sure had been supplied by Mavis or Ramsey who’d always had an affinity for art.

He moved along taking in the polish and sparkle of the living room windows and large glassy creme french doors, consciously he made a note to himself to interrogate her about the strength of her home alarm system, noticing inconsistencies and small windows of opportunities for someone with not so great intentions. 

From there he moved to her mantle, pictures scattered on its top Of moments he knew she’d considered precious. Like her holding a fresh born Carson at the hospital for the first time, a shining portrait of her and her distant cousins sitting on the porch of her grandmother’s home in Oklahoma, her and Ramsey standing together and smiling big his wedding, and a picture of her sitting side by side at a bar with a ginger haired girl he’d never seen before. 

Though his traveling eyes stopped and his hand reached out to grab one specific black frame that held an image from Dallas’s graduation from Tulane that he wasn’t allowed to attend, but had desperately wanted to be there for. 

Lined up from left to right was Lucas, Ramsey’s husband, who stood smiling and holding an infant Rahmeiah, next to him stood his husband's smile bright and wide with his arm wrapped around his crying mother whose wet eyes were fixed on her daughter. 

Dallas stood tall adorned in her cap, gown, plethora of cords, and her baby pink pumps with the bows on the strap that he remembered helping her pick out after countless hours and many stores.

She glowed standing there beaming with pride and joy. One arm around her mother and the other around Anora who stood at her side, hand half covering her face to hide the smeared makeup that her tears had left. 

The picture was absolutely beautiful, which is why it shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did seeing it. And probably wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for the notion that he knew he should’ve been there. 

Yet, in his place alongside Anora with his hand up to throw a peace sign to the camera with an all too cheery disposition, stood Kenji Adams. 

“ Hungry?” Dallas’s voice seemingly gets through to him, but in a haze.

“ Hmm?” He froze, staring at the picture harder, blood beginning to heat underneath his skin. 

Dallas cocked her head to the side, “ Terry, I asked if you were hungry. Cause if you are I got some pot roast stew I’ve been cooking in a crock pot since yesterday on the counter that I’m about to pour over some leftover wild rice. Want some?”

“ What?” Terry shakes his head forcing his eyes to find her, “ One more time. I’m sorry.” 

Eyes taking a gander toward the ceiling Dallas repeated herself once more. “ Food. Terrance. In your mouth. Yes or no?” He took in her form, arms settled across her chest that was clothed by the large Tulane Alumna hoodie she now wore.

“ Uh yeah.” He answered, hand coming to the back of his neck, “I’ll have a bowl to be polite.” 

“ i’Ll hAVe a BoWL tO BE PoLITe.” She mocked, “ Bring your big hungry ass in here and quit being so nosy!” 

Sending the two of them into a short period of laughter and playfulness that lasted as Terry’s meal was served up in a large ceramic bowl while he incredulously watched her eat her share from a rather titchy looking prep container, before another small silence began to swell in the room. 

“ I wanna apologize to you about the other day.” His voice broke the sound barrier.

“ For what?” Dallas replied, stomach churning as she silently prayed that he wasn’t going to make mention of their ill fated mistake a couple days prior.

“ Dallas. C’mon now. Don’t do that.” Terry sighed, “ We both know what I’m talking about.” 

Carefully she set down her fork, taking a pause before she started, “ Look, I had already put it so far out of my mind, Terry. And I hadn’t really thought about it again.” The lie spilled so perfectly through her teeth, “ You don’t have to apologize…it takes two after all.” 

“ And besides, I don’t want to mess things up with what you and Nefari have going on. Or what I have going on with someone else.” At her allusion to her seeing someone, Terry fetl a small but notable pit fall in his stomach.

“ Well I have.” He answered honestly, blind courage consuming him “ A lot actually.” 

“ Really, if I’m being truthful I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.” 

“ Terry don’t—”

“ Really, Dallas.” He pauses, “ I’m serious.” 

She stops a second to look at what she believes may be sincerity swirling around in his eyes along with the green, blue, and specks of brown that she’d at one point been so familiar with. 

But she wouldn’t allow a reacquaintance to occur on her watch, so instead she focused her eyes on the kitchen stove clock and spoke, “ Well I don’t know what to tell you, Terry!” Dallas shrugged, “ Seriously. I mean emotions were high. That song was on. We were in a confined space together. It was late.” She rattled off the conditions of that night, “ It was really just a response to how we were feeling in the moment. We weren’t thinking right in the mom–

“ I was.” The vulnerability of his words passed through his lips with a bite, and just like that she slowly felt herself falling back onto his same hook. 

“ My head actually hasn't felt that clear in a minute.” He started, “ I haven’t felt the way I felt that night in a minute.” 

“ Not since Tulane..” 

At the mention of the night that Dallas had made him swear on the funeral home steps that’d he never again bring up, she felt a hand tighten around the spoon at his words, shattering the fuzzy feeling that had begun to creep into her body and instead was replaced with sheer, unadulterated, and repressed rage.

Her mouth setting in a hard line “ You are un-fucking belivable. You know that.”

Disconcerted by her sudden change in mood, Terry couldn’t help but feel a subtle horror creep up his spine as he hurried to try and ratify his unexpected misstep" Dallas–”

“ NO!” She put a hand, silver fork loudly clattering onto the countertop, “ No. You don’t get to say shit like that to me, Terry. You hear me!” 

“ You don’t get to do this again. You don’t get to come in here and say shit like that, an-and then run your cowardly ass back to her once you’ve gotten your ego boost or whatever sick ass thrill you get from doing this.” 

“ Dallas—

“ You don’t get to just waltz back into my life.” She stood up, “  A LIFE THAT I’VE SPENT FUCKING YEARS TRYING TO RE-BULID AFTER I WAS FORCED TO ERASE YOU FROM IT THE FIRST TIME, AFTER YOU WROTE YOURSELF INTO AND THEN OUT WITHIN A COUPLE HOURS.”

“ But that’s it, Terry. Chapter closed! I’m not doing this with you again! I’m not going there with you again!”

“ Dallas.” Terry's plea was grave, “ I understand that you’re upset. But, baby, listen to me. You know that when it comes to you and I it’s not– 

“ YOU AND I NOTHING!” She screamed, full on tears cascading down her face, “ There is no you and I, Terry!”

“There's me. There’s a you. And then there’s a you and her.” The each punctuated word spewed out like burning venom, “ There is no us. Not anymore.” 

Using a sleeve to wipe at her eyes, Dallas stood tall letting her anger shield her,“ And now that I think about it, she should probably be wondering where her fiance could be. And the last thing I need is anyone in this town seeing you leave from this house and thinking we’re foolin’ around.” 

“ You and that girl have done enough to fuck up my life as is, and the last piece of dignity I’d like to hold on to is to at least be able to show my face in public.” 

“ With that being said the harshest of the rain has slowed, so I think this would be a good time for you to go. Thanks for the ride here, but I’m not looking to get on another one with you, Terry. Especially when we both know where this is going.” 

“ I’m sorry for calling you, it was a mistake. And I promise you now, I won’t make it again.” 

“ So you need to get on your things and leave.” She begins casually picking up the pink scrub mommy at the kitchen sink while beginning to scrub at already clean dishes, “ Turn the bottom lock on the door before you leave and close it tight on your way out. Because it won’t be opening again tonight.” 

“ Or ever again for you, for that matter.” She threw over her shoulder, “ This is it. So from now on when you see me, let’s try and be strangers, yeah?” 

There he stood, Terrance Edward Richmond, a man known by many to never shy away from a fight, a challenge, or a contention no matter how large the opponent or corrupted the matter, found that he didn’t have any drive or energy to try and stand up for the one purpose he’d truly felt he had left on this earth. 

Instead he chose to abide by his wishes, gathering his things, and quietly exiting the home he’d never quite been a part of, and never would be. 

And when she heard the slight rattle of the wall ornament of the foyer that confirmed the door had been shut, the flood gates of all her emotions began to open as she couldn’t control the tears that rushed down her face while she thought of this final memory she’d have of her & him. 

End of 4.1 

———

Almeda De Heroux & Adam Szekács will return in…

acquired taste.

The drive to the local diner was nothing short of quiet and squeamish as Dallas Dubois and Terry Richmond arrived for a dinner the ex-marine felt was long overdue on many different fronts.

It was there that you’d find the ex-friends sitting across from each other at a booth while Dallas answered questions and queries about topics he never got to ask. Like the parameters of the Dubois family dynamic. 

“ I can’t for the life of me understand why Devin acts the way he does. When I look at him and then look at y’alls daddy. It’s like night and day. If I didn’t grow up here, I’d find it hard to believe that’s his son–that’s he’s your brother. Wild, man.” Terry shook his head, taking a sip of his lemonade.

“ Half-Brother.” Dallas pointed out, making Terry quick to frown. He never did like it when people did that. Made distinctions like half or whole when referring to having siblings. He personally didn’t believe in any of that. Blood was Blood, whether it’s a drop or a liter. Which also meant family was family. 

Period.

“ Hey! Don’t scrunch those bushy brows at me. I’m just repeating the same thing he tells everyone anyway.” She playfully scolded as Terry was swift to fix his face at her request,“  He’s quick to correct anybody that Ramsey and I are his half siblings. So why shouldn’t I get to.” 

“ I’m aware.” Terry noted, remembering actively hearing Devin make the distinction very clear on the rare occasions they found themselves intermingled in the same social settings. “ But I guess I just can’t wrap my head around why? I mean it’s not like you and Ramsey run around calling each other half of anything.” 

Which was true. The bond that Dallas carried with her oldest brother was one that couldn’t be defined as half anything, or nothing less than wholesome. In moments of triumph and tragedy, Ramsey remained Dallas’s closest confidant for things that she found herself not even being able to share with her mother or Anora. And in return Dallas found herself being the soundboard for the most important and curious moments in Ramsey’s life. They had always supported each other in these ways and she had been thankful to have him all this  time. 

“ Well that’s because to Ramsey and I we don’t see each other as anything else. Blood is Blood, no matter the quantity of what shared cells may run through our veins. He’s my brother, plain as that.” Dallas explained. “ Besides, we were raised by the same mother and father. Grew up with the same values and lessons instilled in us. The only main thing that would make us differ is the age gap. But even still I’ve always felt he and I were of the same wave length. So…” She shrugged, leaning over the table and reaching a hand over to Terry’s basket of food to snag another cajun fry to dip into the delectable orange sauce on her plate. 

“ If you don’t mind me asking…” Terry started, slightly pushing the basket more toward the center of the table,  “ What happened to Ramsey’s mother? Do you know? Because I’ve never heard any of you talk about her before. Just about your mama or Evaline.” 

Dallas nods, “ Ramsey’s mother, Lydia, was Daddy’s first wife. They were college sweethearts and fell in love during undergrad when he was in mortuary school and she was studying nursing.”

“ After they got married their junior year, she switched to accounting to learn how to help Daddy manage the business after she got fascinated with the idea of opening up their practice.” 

“ Long story short they both graduated, and Daddy got an offer from a professor of his to buy the professor’s family’s older and outdated mortuary that needed a bit of work but was otherwise good. The only thing was that the mortuary building was here in the professor’s home town of Savannah. Which meant they would have to leave Oklahoma and move here.”  

“ Of course they decided to do it. And when they got here they convinced Seymour Flemming’s son, remember him? He was the old white guy who struck all that oil in Alabama. Well, Daddy negotiated with his son, Wallace, who he knew had a black wife, to invest in the business for the repair costs and such. While promising to give him a stake in the company.” 

“ Once that deal was sealed they started renovations on the place and they opened up in spring of 1985. And by that time Lydia had gotten pregnant with Ramsey but unfortunately she died giving birth to him in early 86’.” 

Dallas sighed, “ Doctors missed her having severe hemorrhaging after she kept complaining of abdominal pain post delivery.”

Terry felt a wave of sympathy flash through his chest for Ramsey and Mr. Dubois both, “Damn. I’m sorry.”

“ Yeah.  After that Daddy decided to raise Ramsey by himself with the help of other people at the home like Anora’s mama and Mr. Ducane, who have both been there since the home started.”

“ That was until he met Evaline at an old juke joint in Knoxville she was singing out of during one of the times Uncle Amos, Daddy’s twin brother, had a gig there that night. And had asked Daddy to come and fill in for their sax player who was out sick.”

At this piece of information being divulged, Terry found his eyebrows touching a bit in shock. Because while it had been a known fact around town that L.T Dubois once had a fondness for music and could be seen frequenting the local jazz clubs with his third wife on a good night, Terry still had never heard of him being a player himself,  “ Yo’ daddy on the sax? Really? I know he liked music. But I never knew he played.” 

Dallas gave a short laugh, “ Hmmph. I don’t even think ‘play’ is the right word, to be honest.” A smile danced on her face at the memory of being a young girl, sneaking out of bed, and following the hum of the music all the way to the garage where she could find her Daddy working his Sax to the sound of a reference track in the back. And never did he scold her or shoo her away. Instead he indulged her curiosity by allowing her to be his devoted audience member until her eyes shut and his music became a background music to her sweet dreams. 

“ He was absolutely extraordinary with a sax. Never heard anything quite like it.” Dallas beamed, “He’s one of the reasons I still like listening to Jazz music when I need to fall asleep. It’s comforting.” 

Terry watched the admiration on her face with a small smile of his own, happy to know that despite the years Dallas had to watch the unfortunate demise of her father, that in the end she was able to hold onto images and memories of them together in a happier time. 

“ Anyway, he and Evaline met, hit it off, and he married her after six months of knowing her. Then she moved up here. But she never worked anywhere unless it was at one of the local clubs singing. Never helped with the funeral home and barely looked after Ramsey or Devin once they had him.”

“ Which may explain where Devin gets his spirit of laziness from.” Terry commented, beginning to piece together the similarities of what he knew of Evaline to then compare them to present day Devin.

“ Right. But eventually after a while, and against Daddy’s many protests, Evaline decided she wanted to get back on the road and decided to get a gig singing back up for a blues band touring up north. And she left my Daddy to figure out how to juggle a seven year old and a baby under two by himself, while still trying to run a business.” 

“ But like many other unfortunate young singers during the height of the Reagan administration, Evaline went out on the road and got hooked on crack, bad, after a band member laced a cigarette he gave her with it.” Dallas explained. 

“ When she came back home. She was just never the same. Just really erratic all the time, impulsive, and even started abusing both crack and alcohol.”

“ Daddy tried his best a couple of times to take her to rehab. But it never stuck. And the final straw was when she almost burned the house down with her, Devin, and Ramsey in it.” 

“ What?!” Terry’s voice unintentionally carried over the confines of the booth as a few patrons looked to catch a glimpse of the slight disbelief spreading on his face.

“ Mhmm.” Dallas confirmed, “ They said she had been trying to make a pot of greens and left it on by itself. It caught on fire and by the time the fire department got there after Ramsey managed to call 911, half the kitchen was in flames.” 

“ Once they put out the fire, they found her in the basement laundry room strung out. Pipe in one hand with an unfolded bed sheet in the other.”

“ Daddy made the decision then to press charges and she ended up going to county jail for six years on different charges of child endangerment and drug possession. He divorced her and got full custody of Devin too.” 

“ Fuck. He couldn’t catch a break.” Terry slid a hand across his back of his neck as he tried to imagine the absolute strain L.T must have been under to endure all those events occurring on-top of each other like that.

“ Yeah, it seems like he couldn’t. When in actuality the truth is my Daddy was just someone who always found himself in the oddest of cases. Whether they’d be on purpose or not.” Another small smile appeared on the young mortician’s face as she prepared to tell Terry another fact that she knew he wouldn’t be able to believe. 

“ Case in point, after everything that had happened to him during that time, including his first wife dying, his second wife being a drug addict with the marriage ending in divorce, and him now having two young children to see about on his own.  It wasn’t until about a year later that Daddy found himself in another curious predicament when he met my Mama at a funeral in Dallas, Texas mind you…for her late husband.”

Immediately Dallas stifled her laughter when she watched Terry’s face drop as he began shaking his head in rightful disbelief, “ Just stop it. Forreal, stop. Cause ion’ even wanna hear anymore at this point. Cause this the most messy Tyler Perry bullshit you’ve said thus far. And I don’t think I can keep listening.” 

“ Oh yeah. It’s messy for sure, No doubt.” She laughed, “ But you have to let me finish since I done started now.” 

“ Well then go ahead.” With a smirk, Terry dropped his napkin on his plate before leaning back against the booth with his arms crossed giving her his undivided attention, “ Finish telling me how your nosy ass spawned from all these messy ass events with this name too. Dallas.”

At his remark she frowned, opting to throw a regular fry from her plate at a quietly chuckling Terry who she called a jackass before she continued, “ Like I was saying before you rudely interrupted me. This incident occurred when they had just opened the Dallas location under Uncle Amo’s leadership back then.” 

" Wait, I thought your Uncle Beau was over the Dallas location?" Terry questioned, mentioning the baby of the three Dubois brothers.

" Mmm. Mmm. No! Uncle Beau would NEVER, ever, ever, EVER..." Dallas found the need for dramatics in her words important, " Take over leadership of either home. He draws the line at sitting on the board of trustees for the business. And that was a task Daddy had to practically tackle him into."

" No, instead he prefers keeping to himself up in Philadelphia, teaching and living his life. He always sends a card around the holidays though, or he may call on a birthday for a quick catch up. But that's it and that's all. He sort of disappeared after Daddy died. And I know for a fact him and Uncle Amos don't talk." Dallas explained.

" And I don't blame him either. Uncle Amos is a piece of work..." Dallas dryly laughed.

But before Terry could probe furthered she continued,“ Uncle Amos had called Daddy and told him of the husband’s passing since they knew him. And Daddy went to Texas for the funeral so he could pay his respects to her late husband who he’d played football with way back in college at OKS.”

“ I remember that he once said that from the minute he saw her sitting on the front row in front of the congregation, she was the prettiest thing in black he’d ever seen.” Dallas always found it funny to think that in the midst of grieving and crying people Dallas had somehow made this out to be like it was a scene pulled straight from LoveBoat regardless of the fact of its setting. 

“ But he knew it was inappropriate to pursue a woman after her husband had just died, so he left it alone and went back home. Plus he was still getting over what had happened with Evaline.” 

“ It wasn’t until a couple months later that he was back here in Savannah and stopped to get a drink after work one evening down at Viola’s. That low and behold who was the first person he saw when stepped in the door…”

“ You have gotta be fucking kidding me.” A sarcastic laugh passed his lips , “ What was she even doing down here?!”

“ Visiting her sister, My Aunt Tootie, here in Savannah. Who at the time had followed her now ex-husband up here who came to work for your Uncle at the construction company funnily enough.”

“ Wow. Just goes to show you that the south is too gotdamn small.” Terry concluded.

“ Indeed it is.” Dallas agreed before continuing, “ Yet, he found himself practically tripping over his feet trying to get her. And tried to play it off like he wasn’t ready to fly through the roof at seeing her.”

“ So, he sat down, bought her a drink, and they hit it off. Next thing you know four months later they got married, she moved down here, and they had me. The end.” Dallas clapped, leaning over to take a sip of the half melted strawberry milkshake she’d impulsively ordered off the menu.

And as Terry began trying to process the Dubois family crash course Dallas had so eagerly given up, there was only one thought pressing against the forefront of his mind,  “ Damn, yo’ Daddy moved quick. I mean that nigga didn’t waste anytime calling the preist and jumping that broom. Cause that’s three wives in ten years is crazyyyy.” He laughed.

“ Yep! And he dared anybody to comment on it too. Especially to his face. Because even though he always knew people talked shit about it behind his back. He also knew that nobody would have the balls to say anything to the Undertaker of all people, to his face about his affinity for marriage.” 

“ Undertaker.” Terry snorted, “ I remember him having that nickname. And I also remember you starting it and him hating it.” Terry recalled the alter-ego that the children of Savannah had made up for L.T, that was accompanied by a town legend that said if he ever caught you staring at him long enough, you’d be faced with a tombstone. And whether that meant the wwe move or him actually hitting up you upside the head with an inscribed cement slab would be left up to your own imagination. 

“ Me too. But it just fits! I mean they’re both big, tall, intimidating, and have a knack for keeping a collection of ridiculous ass hats.” She shrugged, snagging another fry from Terry’s plate, “ What can I say. Besides I think he secretly liked it. I remember hearing him jokingly refer to himself as the Undertaker once to Mr. Ducane in the staff office. So I think he was just frontin’ is all.” 

“ The same way you front about people callin’ you, Precious?” Terry said, noting the way his words snatched the playfulness out of the air around them as Dallas tensed her body, angling it away from him to stare off toward the front of the building.

“ It’s not a front, Terry.” Dallas arms found a home crossed against her chest, “ I don’t typically like people calling me that. You know that, and you know why too.

“ No, I don’t know that.” Terry countered, leaning forward on clasped hands,  “ What I do know though, is that yes, you don’t like certain people calling you that. But I’ve seen when some people have called you that and a smile a mile wide has stretched across your face.” 

“ Like…” 

“ Well for one, your Daddy.” Terry noted, watching as her face softened, “ I remember that he could have called that name out to you in the middle of a crowd and you would’ve heard it clear as day with a grin on your face.”

“ Then I heard your mom call you it a couple of times, even though I know she prefers to call you her dumplin.” At the mention of Terry knowing that, Dallas turned her head even further away to try and hide the flushed cheeks she now sported; that was evidence of embarrassment at the fact that he even knew that was a thing.

“ I also know that Ramsey sometimes calls you Precious even though he prefers to call you Pinky.” 

“ And I call him Brain right back.” Dallas noted the silly nicknames she and brother had for each other based on the comical rodents as seen in episodes of the Animaniacs cartoons he’d watch with her on Saturday mornings over a bowl of cereal. See, Ramsey even in his youth could have always been described as an academic, preferring to always have some kind of older literature Dallas couldn’t pronounce in his hand as he always was being carted off by their mother to attend young writer’s conferences and guilds. Which in turn made Dallas compare him to Brain, due to their shared intellectual abilities. With Ramsey then calling Dallas, Pinky, to give reference to the young girl’s silly personality.

“ Right. But my point, is that even though in the past people have used this nickname in an ill fitted way. And you claim that nowadays you hate hearing it. I just don’t think that’s true.” Terry resolved. 

“ Because I think that if said by the right people, it’s something you actually love hearing.” He offered.

“ Yeah? And you may have been right about that once. But none of that matters now, because after years of having peers call me that only to throw things at me or hurl hateful comments my way about my weight as a young teenage girl or other...issues…I was having. You have to know that hearing the nickname, no matter who says it, doesn’t give me the same joy you’re talking about.” 

“ And you can partially thank your little teammate and your fiance for that.” Dallas turned to him now taking in the seriousness that had seeped into his face.

“ Right, well hopefully things have changed since then." Terry's eyes narrowed. 

“ Because I don’t like the way he treats you.” Terry states, “ At all.” 

“ And you know if I’m around I’m going to tolerate him or anybody else’s shit when it comes to you at this point. So keep that in mind. Cause I mean that.” At his declaration Dallas felt a small flutter occur in her chest, a familiar movement that she still felt foreign to have after all these years. Especially here…with him. 

But one tiny passing flashback to a time before was enough to let the feeling flee away and bring her back to the present, “ Well those are pretty words, Terry. I appreciate that.”

“ But.” She sighed, “ Not much I can do about it, that’s my brother. Whether I like it or not.”

“ Although it hasn’t always been this bad. I mean, yeah, he was terrible when we were younger. But I remember a time right before y’all graduated he became half-way decent to me.”

“ I think maybe it’s because Daddy died and he felt some kind of way. Grief can do that to a person, make them more compassionate I guess.” 

Ass whoopings can do that too. 

 I can still remember when I hemmed him up senior year and threatened to beat his ass in the locker room after a game once in front of everybody when I caught him call you a—

Terry didn’t wanna finish the thought, but he’d made it clear then that if he heard of Devin disrespecting or mistreating Dallas whether he was around or not, he’d rearrange his face into one only a mother could love. And for the rest of the year, he hadn’t heard a peep from Devin other than a play being called on a field.

“ Yeah, death can sometimes bring people together that way.” He agreed, taking a sip of his lemonade, “ Y’all getting along better now? ”

“ Sure.” Dallas put on a smile as real as a counterfeit bill.

Which prompted Terry’s eyebrows to take on that famous frow in them that she secretly loved,“ Sure? What does that mean, Dallas?” 

“ Sure. That’s what that means, Terry. That it’s neither here nor there on any given day. The end.” She squeamishly attempted to dismiss his concern.

“ Dallas—”

“ Stop.” She held up a hand, “ I don’t wanna talk about him right now. Especially not while I’m having a good time dishing out the family lore here.”

At the notion that Dallas was actually enjoying the two of them being in the space together, Terry found himself relaxing for a moment with a small smile, “ Speaking of…I don’t think you’ve ever told me how your parents met.” Dallas shifted, “ I think after my yapping it’s only fair I get to hear how Terry Richmond came to be.”

When a small silence took a space with them in the booth, Dallas mentally kicked herself for becoming comfortable enough to let her curiosity sour the content mood they’d built over the course of the last two hours. She could especially tell by the way Terry had suddenly gone quiet, opting to send her a small tight lipped smile before he said, “ It’s getting late, D. And I wanna make sure you get back home before it gets too dark..  So, how about I tell you another time, yeah.” Terry quickly explained before motioning for the young waitress to return to the table for their tab. 

From there returning to the car had been even more awkward then the actual drive there. 

It wasn’t much to be said under the guise of the setting sun who so graciously painted a picture on its surface using hues of pinks, oranges, and blues that Dallas focused on through the windshield, instead of paying attention to the many racing thoughts she had in her mind. 

Whereas all Terry could try to do in addition to watching the road in front of him, was to try and sort the many thoughts floating into his brain into a variety of different categories that were already filled to the brim with previous things he’d put there in a promise to himself to sort later.

The only thing was, now just couldn’t be later.

Instead now , just needed to be now. 

And at that moment he needed to figure out how to rejuvenate the atmosphere between them that his involuntary shut down at the restaurant had induced. Because while he hadn’t meant to recede into himself in that way at the innocent question posed by her, he still couldn’t help that it was as if he had felt every vein in his body calcify into stone as his chest began to weigh down with an eerie feeling of grief…and anger… at the thought of his parents. 

But whatever personal shit that he needed to work out between himself and the unfamiliar person he’s seen in the mirror every morning for the last eighteen years would have to wait. 

Because he didn’t want anything to taint his time alone with her while he had. 

Not even himself. 

“ Dallas, look... I’m sorry.” His voice broke over the low sound hum of the radio,  “ I didn’t mean to brush you off like that it’s just that–

“ It’s fine, Terry. Really.” Dallas quickly turned, offering a sympathetic, “ I should’ve known better. I just forgot that that’s a sensitive topic for you. So it’s my fault for talking too much.” She apologized, returning her gaze back out of the passenger window.

“ Hey.” He softly called, “Hey.”

When attempts failed he pushed forward,“ Lorraine.” 

At the sound of her actual name, Terry succeeded in grabbing her attention once more before speaking, “ Dallas, you weren’t talking too much. You talking is never too much, alright?”  He did his best to watch the near vacant road while still trying to hold the seriousness of her eyes. 

“ If anything…” He paused, “ It’s really just about me learning how to talk more about stuff. Even things that’s a little sore for me…”

“ So you don’t have anything to be sorry for.” He spoke, “ If anything I’m sorry for cutting it short. Cause I really didn’t want us to stop talking.” 

“ I like us talking.” The words coming out small but meaningful across his lips. 

“ I like it, too.” Dallas quietly quietly, allowing a somber smile to take residence on her face once again. 

Then there was another silence that took to the air, only this time it felt…comfortable. 

That was until the universe decided to reveal a gesture to the two of them, as that song began to plan on the radio...

We were holding hands in the park We had to hurry home before it's dark I can't wait to see your smile again And I love the time we spend...

Out of the corner of his eye he caught the slight turn of her head she did, more than likely wanting to gage what his reaction to it would be.

“ You can turn it if you want.” He spoke, timid in a way meant to not scare her off.

“ No, it’s alright…I like this song.” She whispered, feeling a long forgotten fleet within her stomach she hadn't in she couldn't recall when.

“ Me too.” 

I just wanna be alone with you (I just wanna be alone with you) And there's nothing else I'd rather do (There's nothing else I'd rather do) I just want the chance I had again…

Though neither of them would acknowledge why. 

The same way neither of them would acknowledge how their hands had found their way to clasping together on top of the console just as Terry hit the side street leading back to the back parking lot. And with each turn of the wheel, another thought seemed to turn in the back of Dallas’s mind. Thoughts that she knew were being brought on by the better part of her conscience whom she usually always listened to without failure…at least until now.

Because as of now it had seemed that the finicky little organ beating rapidly in her chest had begun to take over, and it seemed that all Dallad could do was say a silent prayer that the man next to her would mistake the sound of her loudly beating heart for the bass of the song they both knew they loved.

From there it only took a moment before the car became stationary in the lone back parking lot beside the black Audi A5 that sat close to the garage door.

His grip never seemed to slip on her hand.

“ Thanks for going with me.”  He spoke first, looking to her. 

“ No, thank you for offering.” She countered, “ It felt nice to talk over dinner for a change. Usually we if I don’t visit Nory & Ethan or go visit my Mama, It’s just me, some meal prep, and a stack of paperwork.” 

“ Mmm. Well maybe we'll have to start changing that more often.” He shot out into the air, hoping she’d receive it. 

“ Yeah, maybe.” She hummed in agreement, “ Not too often. But every once in a while wouldn’t–Ah—mmm.” She winced out in slight pain.

“ What? What’s wrong.” The concern in his voice was prominent as he lowered the radio, ready to hear whatever discomfort he was sure to try and remedy. 

“ Nothing stupid eyelash.” Dallas waved him off, reaching up blindly for the visor. 

“ Let me see—

“ No, Terry, it's fine. It’ll come out on its own in just a minute. I got I–”

“ Dallas.”She felt her body slightly jolt when she heard her name come across his lips again that way.

 There goes that tone again, she thought to herself. 

“ Move your hand and let me see.” He beckoned her over.

Reluctantly complying to his request with a small huff of protest and pain, she let go of his hand and released herself from her seat belt before clambering to somewhat lean in his direction, careful to steady her shaking hand back on the console.

When he noticed she stopped short he encouraged her further, “ Come closer.”

Alarms going off in her head at the prospect of being almost face to face with him if she moved a couple inches more to the left, Dallas fixed her mouth to protest again, but found the words falter once she seen the stern set of his own mouth out of the current good eye she had.

So now she had moved so close she could feel his minty breath gently blow against her cheek as he attempted to get the eyelash, and in turn made her eyelashes and heart all in one sick synced movement.

“ There.” He said, “ Got it.”

“ Thank you.” She whispered, drawing back some, but not completely. 

“ You’re welcome.” He whispered back, the air stilling between them. 

“ I should go.” She practically had to force the words to tumble out, seeing as it was a declaration that was the complete antonym of what she actually felt.

“ Yeah, you should.” He paused, “ But I don’t want you to.”

Girl, don't leave me, don't leave me Don't leave me, baby (Ooh) Girl, don't leave me, don't leave me You know I'll be here for you (Oh) Girl, don't leave me, don't leave me Just me and you (Mmm)

“ I don’t really want to either.” She returned, this time letting honesty coat her words. 

“ Then don’t.”

She didn’t have time to blink or be confused about his last statement because all the working power her brain had left was zapped with the quick shock that inhibited her body at the feel of his hand on her cheek and the taste of his lips on hers.

The moment his lips touched hers she should’ve pushed him away, but instead her hands desperately grasped at the flex of his back to draw him closer into her. 

With only one thing being whispered into the cool Savannah air against each other’s lips.

True to her word, Dallas had met Terry that next morning on the steps of the funeral home to fulfill her pledge of an open minded conversation. And while she still refused to discuss or acknowledge certain aspects of that night at Tulane, after hearing the sincerity in his voice that said what apologies she would allow out loud against the cool Savannah breeze, there sitting side by side on the faded cement steps, she let her heart be persuaded to give an inch of effort.

“ After hearing all that, I can tell you that I accept your apologies, Terry.” She sighed, fiddling with the sleeve of her black sweater, “ And I hope you can accept mine too for how cruel I may have been to you recently. You're dealing with an unimaginable loss and the least I can do is be a bit more considerate of that." She said, earning a nod from him and a small pause of silence until she spoke again.

“ Look, I’m not going to promise you that we’ll ever be the way we were again. Cause after that night I just don’t think that’s possible.” She started.

“ But I promise you that I’ll try to be more cordial from now on when we see each other during the renovation or around town.” Dallas spoke, “ And to not ‘ignore that you exist’. Honest.” She affirmed, turning her head to look and see the hint of a smile pull at his lips as he said, “ That’s all I’m asking for from you, Dilly.”

Immediately the young mortician’s cheeks heated and she couldn’t help the smile that spread on her face as she heard the almost prehistoric nickname Terry had once given her leave his lips.

“ Aye’ DO.NOT.” She placed a hand to her mouth in a feeble attempt to smother her small laughter, “And I mean. DO NOT! Call me that. Oh my gosh! PLUH-EASE! Spare me, Terrance! How and why do you even remember that?”

“ Because I’ll never forget you acting like you’d just discovered the eighth wonder of the world.” He teased, referring to the time when the school’s botany club had taken a field trip to the Oatland Island Wildlife Center to visit their conservatory. And during that time walking around, Dallas had discovered the joys of a Dilly bar and had quickly inhaled two during their time at the Island. Before ranting about their delicious taste all the way home on the bus to Terry, who in secret had found her to be absolutely adorable. As he even once went out of his way to procure a box just for her, for her 16th birthday, which to Dallas at the time, had been the most sweetest gesture given that no one at the time could find them in stores in their region.

“ Oh my–Knock it off! They were good, dammit! And don’t be acting like you weren’t right there with me. With chocolate all on your fingertips and stuff too. Plus you bought them!” She playfully swatted at his arm, as he chuckled at her sudden bashfulness, while a warm and familiar feeling of being able to laugh with her again overtook his body. And with her having her guard down with him again like this, it prompted him to push his luck with his next statement.

“ I’ve missed this.” Terry started, “ And I’ve missed you.” His head turning to examine her body language. " A lot."

His words, a gamble that at the moment, seemed too big, because just as quick as he'd put that smile he so longed for on her face, just as quick he had banished it with confession. As he watched it fade back into calculated stone and those couple of little bricks he’d managed to remove from her wall be put right back in their place too. With more force too.

His eyes carefully followed her frame as she rose, dusting herself off and clearing her throat, while gathering her bag to leave to begin up the steps.

“ Well It’s almost 7:00 and I have some work to do before Mr. Ducane arrives, ” Dallas said, “ So if you’ll excuse me.”

Cursing himself for jumping ahead, Terry did his best to recover.

“ Understood. Not a problem. The guys and I will start looking through the blueprints for the back chapel and looking to order the material y’all picked. So we can start as early as next Tuesday if all goes to plan.” He spoke, rising and moving to the bottom step.

“ Sounds good.” She nodded, “ I appreciate it, Terry. Really.”

“ No problem.” He says as he went to turn away but was stopped by his need to say, “ Thank you for this.”

“ You’re welcome.” She responded, beginning to ascend up the stairs toward the door before she stopped and shifted, catching him before he made to his truck.

“ And Terry?”

“ Yeah?”

“ When you are here, could you please try and keep the noise to a minimum.” She said, a small smile on her face.

“ Yes, ma’am.” Another small smile tugs at the corners of his face as he nods, “ Of course. Barely hear a peep.”

====

And as he said they would, Richmond & Co. began their construction contract with the Dubois Family Funeral Home that following Tuesday morning. Ensuing an interesting dynamic between the two rekindled friends, with glances often being shared and small conversations occasionally had in the hallways between work.

It wasn’t much, but Terry wouldn’t complain. He was more than willing to take what he could get.

In the mornings while Nefari would still lie in bed and the Georgia sun hadn’t quite kissed the sky yet, Terry would go for a morning ride and come back energized for the day. Feeling a rush as he got ready.

He usually couldn’t lace up his steel toe boots fast enough to get out of the house and down to the funeral home to start the substantial manual labor in exchange for even just the slightest hope of a glance or mumbled word from Dallas in passing.

And as the first round of the project began to wrap, Terry found himself using his key given to him for the project and coming back after operating hours to look at the finished work before he and his team could begin to formulate their next move. It was during this time that he was passing through the quiet hallways lined with paintings of depicted comfort and love, that he drifted toward a buzzing noise that came from the way of Dallas’s personal office.

Moving forward, he stopped at the door that spilled out the sound of some kind of heavy metal he’d never heard from the crack in it. He used two knuckles for a couple taps before her voice beckoned him in to see her, hair clipped up and glasses equipped, as she muddled away at her desk that was drowned in a beige and white sea of manilla folders and stray paperwork.

“ You still here?” Terry blinked looking down at his watch that clearly read a quarter to eight. Which puzzled him since operating hours ended at six thirty sharp.

“ I’m sitting here aren’t I?” She shot back, eyes never leaving her perfectly color coded time sheet.

At her statement, Terry’s left eyebrow quirked, just as he came to take a seat at one of the chairs across from her desk. “ Since when did you develop such a smart mouth?”

“ My mouth has always been smart, Terry.” She matter o’ factly quipped back, “Just never was with you. You hadn’t ever given me a reason to be.”

“ Yeah? And what’s the reason for it, right now?”

“ Would you like a definitive list?” She smiled, obviously taking pleasure in her joke.

With a small eye roll, he decided to brush it off, as Terry shifted topics, “ What are you listening to?”

“ Nosy, much.” She playfully pointed out.

“ I’m serious, D?” Terry sat back, curiosity piqued, “ What is it?”

“ Well if you must know it’s the Nova Twins. They’re this sweet duo out of the UK.” She turned her monitor to give him a glance at their album cover for Who are the girls?

“ Mmm.” He nodded his head to the melody, listening to the bass that lightly thumped her desk,“ They sound dope.”

“ They are dope.” Dallas confirmed, “ I think you’d like them. Not exactly on the same cadence as Bad Brains, but you should give them a listen sometime when you go for your runs or whatever. You still take bike rides in the morning?”

“ Yeah. I usually hit the trails early before the joggers get up. That way I’m not in anyone's way if I wanna pick up a little speed.”

“ Still never got into it?” He asked, recalling a time where Dallas had once expressed an interest in taking up endurance biking, yet after one go with Terry on a beginner trail back in college, she never did attempt it again. As evidenced by the large bruise she'd received on her thigh after she'd accidentally gone over a rock with the front wheel and lost balance, which consequently had Terry guiding two bikes by hand by up the trail with a slightly wailing Dallas attached to his back in the middle of the forest.

“ Nah.” She waved him off, “ More of a low cardio girl. I’ll take a good treadmill session, an hour on the stair master, couple laps at the country club pool anytime. Even may pick up some weights for a little core training here and there. But I’ll leave you to your road running.”

“ Core training? You talking my language now.” He lightly clapped.

“ Yeah, Yeah. Nigga, don’t be going and getting too excited. It’s just a couple of ten pound weights every once in a while. Nothing crazy. I’m not like you lifting weights to look like I wrestle albino alligators and shit for fun. Have my neck stretching the bounds of my shirt like that.” She pointed to him.

“ Hasn’t anyone ever told you steroids are bad for you, Terrance?” She smirked.

“ Maybe once or twice. But even if I was. Isn’t that what you’re into?” He chuckled, “ I remember you having a crush on one of those big WWE steroid and corn fed looking motherfuckers back in the day.” He recalled when all Dallas used to do was swoon about some white boy on Tuesday mornings during school that she’d drooled over the previous night.

“ His name is Randy Orton, and whatever corn they feed them down in Tennessee has them looking fine as hell on my TV screen, tell you that much! Just like whatever they feedin’ them Samoan men down in Florida has them looking right! Specially’ Roman. Mmph Mmph Mmph.” She made a noise, “ Absolutely delicious.”

“ You talking about the big nigga with the long hair and the big ass domino teeth?” Terry laughed at the scowl that his comment produced on Dallas’s face, which was really her masking a smile that wanted to erupt across it.

“ Uh Uh. Rudeness! Don’t hate, Richmond.” Dallas said, whirling the monitor around,“ Besides, I like the long hair. It’s sexy.”

“ Ugh.” Terry’s groan was immediate, “ Please, don’t ever call another nigga sexy while I'm around. Thank you.” He held up a hand.

Amused by his slight annoyance, Dallas decided to poke the bear just a little further.

“ Oh, but that’s what friends do, Terry. They listen to you talk about your crushes and stuff.” Dallas smirked, “ I mean aren’t we supposed to be friends again and all now,? Can’t I confide in you?"

“ You know can, Dallas. About anything." He affirmed, " But we never talked about things like that before when we were friends way back. So, please let’s not start now.”

“ Fine.” Dallas chirped, turning her attention back to the screen before her, “ Well as riveting as this little chat has been. You’ll have to excuse yourself so I can get back to working on correcting these death certificates Mrs. White’s new apprentice screwed up before I have to send them to the county clerk’s office to be certified.”

“ If I’m lucky, I’ll be done before the rooster crows in the morning. That way I can go home and finally get something to eat.” She groaned, mouth practically salivating at the thought of the meal prepped turkey bowl awaiting her in her frig.

“ When’s the last time you ate?” Terry leaned forward, examining the sole glass tumbler at the corner of the desk.

Noticing the knit of his eyebrows and the lift of his shoulders, Dallas immediately attempted to deflect “ Terry I-

“ Dallas.” His voice was firm cutting her off, sending a small wave of goosebumps across her back in the same way it had before in the hallway, “ When?”

“ Urmm…” Looking to the corner of the computer monitor for the time. “ It’s almost 8:00 now. And if I came in at seven but didn’t have breakfast—“

" You skipped Breakfast?" His voice ceased her pondering, and she could tell her by the look on his face that he'd now become officially annoyed, " Why, Dallas?"

“ It’s been a busy day, Terry. What can I say. I’m the queen of rolling lunches.” She threw up a hand, " Besides Breakfast was-"

“ And none of this can wait until tomorrow?”

“ I–” She sighed, “ I mean it probably could. But I’d rather do it–"

“ Good. Grab your stuff. We’re going to Treylors. And I’m driving and buying.” He stood up, keys jingling in his grasp.

“ Haha. No, WE are not.” Dallas laughed with no amusement present in her voice, while looking at him as if another head had just popped out of his already too tight collar, “ Terry, do you know what that would look like? Huh? Do you know what people would say seeing us out... together…alone.”

“ Yeah, it’d look like two old friends grabbin’ a bite to eat and catchin’ up. Nothin’ more. Nothin’ less. Which to be honest, I personally don’t care what the fuck anyone else has to say anyway. And you of all people know that.” He reasoned back, “ Besides the only reason I’m offering to drive is because you drive like you're driving Miss Daisy and I don’t have time to talk you out of a ticket for driving slower than paint dries, today.”

“ The only metal head I know that’ll be full on raging in a car while doing thirty five in a forty.” He teased, “ I can still remember you mee-maw driving all around town in that little pink beetle every when they let you have a license.” Terry teases, vaguely remembering the day Dallas had received license on a technicality related to a flickering traffic light and her almost being slide swiped by an oncoming car in the turning lane.

“ Screw you.” Dallas playfully shot him a bird, “ Don’t be mad at me cause I choose to be a careful and law abiding citizen.” She joked, as she watched his face harden a bit at her words.

Immediately she regretted them.

“ And I’m not?” He folded his arms across his chest with a more serious expression painted on his face, making Dallas mentally face palm at the ill landing joke.

“ Terry I didn’t mean–

“ Don’t sweat it. It’s cool. I know you didn’t.” He spoke, moving closer to her desk, “ But if you wanna make it up. You’ll get in this truck and go split a BLT and Cajun fry with me. Simple.”

Noting how the hard set lines of his mouth then melted into a teasing smile, Dallas had realized what she had just been manipulated into. And any other time she would called out for it and playfully told him to stick it where the sun didn’t shine.

However, since she practically could feel her stomach lining eating away at itself, combined with the offer of being driven for once not sounding bad. She decided to give in.

“Fine.” She carefully began closing the tabs on her computer, “ But I won’t be splitting anything, thank you. I’m having a whole! AND I'm paying for my own! ”

“ You sure?!” He quirked an eyebrow, “ This is coming from a girl who I remember could barely finish a half piece back then.” He spoke, ignoring her protest of wanting to pay for herself all together, since he knew that wasn't going to be something he'd have to worry about once they got there. He could handle her if she got squirrely about it.

“ Yeah well, you may not be aware but that’s back then. Things have changed. And I can definitely finish what’s on my plate now.” She shot back, feeling the tiny bit of tension that slowly built throughout their conversation really begin to rise to the surface.

True to her word, Dallas had met Terry that next morning on the steps of the funeral home to fulfill her pledge of an open minded conversation. And while she still refused to discuss or acknowledge certain aspects of that night at Tulane, after hearing the sincerity in his voice that said what apologies she would allow out loud against the cool Savannah breeze, there sitting side by side on the faded cement steps, she let her heart be persuaded to give an inch of effort.

“ After hearing all that, I can tell you that I accept your apologies, Terry.” She sighed, fiddling with the sleeve of her black sweater, “ And I hope you can accept mine too for how cruel I may have been to you recently. You're dealing with an unimaginable loss and the least I can do is be a bit more considerate of that." She said, earning a nod from him and a small pause of silence until she spoke again.

“ Look, I’m not going to promise you that we’ll ever be the way we were again. Cause after that night I just don’t think that’s possible.” She started.

“ But I promise you that I’ll try to be more cordial from now on when we see each other during the renovation or around town.” Dallas spoke, “ And to not ‘ignore that you exist’. Honest.” She affirmed, turning her head to look and see the hint of a smile pull at his lips as he said, “ That’s all I’m asking for from you, Dilly.”

Immediately the young mortician’s cheeks heated and she couldn’t help the smile that spread on her face as she heard the almost prehistoric nickname Terry had once given her leave his lips.

“ Aye’ DO.NOT.” She placed a hand to her mouth in a feeble attempt to smother her small laughter, “And I mean. DO NOT! Call me that. Oh my gosh! PLUH-EASE! Spare me, Terrance! How and why do you even remember that?”

“ Because I’ll never forget you acting like you’d just discovered the eighth wonder of the world.” He teased, referring to the time when the school’s botany club had taken a field trip to the Oatland Island Wildlife Center to visit their conservatory. And during that time walking around, Dallas had discovered the joys of a Dilly bar and had quickly inhaled two during their time at the Island. Before ranting about their delicious taste all the way home on the bus to Terry, who in secret had found her to be absolutely adorable. As he even once went out of his way to procure a box just for her, for her 16th birthday, which to Dallas at the time, had been the most sweetest gesture given that no one at the time could find them in stores in their region.

“ Oh my–Knock it off! They were good, dammit! And don’t be acting like you weren’t right there with me. With chocolate all on your fingertips and stuff too. Plus you bought them!” She playfully swatted at his arm, as he chuckled at her sudden bashfulness, while a warm and familiar feeling of being able to laugh with her again overtook his body. And with her having her guard down with him again like this, it prompted him to push his luck with his next statement.

“ I’ve missed this.” Terry started, “ And I’ve missed you.” His head turning to examine her body language. " A lot."

His words, a gamble that at the moment, seemed too big, because just as quick as he'd put that smile he so longed for on her face, just as quick he had banished it with confession. As he watched it fade back into calculated stone and those couple of little bricks he’d managed to remove from her wall be put right back in their place too. With more force too.

His eyes carefully followed her frame as she rose, dusting herself off and clearing her throat, while gathering her bag to leave to begin up the steps.

“ Well It’s almost 7:00 and I have some work to do before Mr. Ducane arrives, ” Dallas said, “ So if you’ll excuse me.”

Cursing himself for jumping ahead, Terry did his best to recover.

“ Understood. Not a problem. The guys and I will start looking through the blueprints for the back chapel and looking to order the material y’all picked. So we can start as early as next Tuesday if all goes to plan.” He spoke, rising and moving to the bottom step.

“ Sounds good.” She nodded, “ I appreciate it, Terry. Really.”

“ No problem.” He says as he went to turn away but was stopped by his need to say, “ Thank you for this.”

“ You’re welcome.” She responded, beginning to ascend up the stairs toward the door before she stopped and shifted, catching him before he made to his truck.

“ And Terry?”

“ Yeah?”

“ When you are here, could you please try and keep the noise to a minimum.” She said, a small smile on her face.

“ Yes, ma’am.” Another small smile tugs at the corners of his face as he nods, “ Of course. Barely hear a peep.”

====

And as he said they would, Richmond & Co. began their construction contract with the Dubois Family Funeral Home that following Tuesday morning. Ensuing an interesting dynamic between the two rekindled friends, with glances often being shared and small conversations occasionally had in the hallways between work.

It wasn’t much, but Terry wouldn’t complain. He was more than willing to take what he could get.

In the mornings while Nefari would still lie in bed and the Georgia sun hadn’t quite kissed the sky yet, Terry would go for a morning ride and come back energized for the day. Feeling a rush as he got ready.

He usually couldn’t lace up his steel toe boots fast enough to get out of the house and down to the funeral home to start the substantial manual labor in exchange for even just the slightest hope of a glance or mumbled word from Dallas in passing.

And as the first round of the project began to wrap, Terry found himself using his key given to him for the project and coming back after operating hours to look at the finished work before he and his team could begin to formulate their next move. It was during this time that he was passing through the quiet hallways lined with paintings of depicted comfort and love, that he drifted toward a buzzing noise that came from the way of Dallas’s personal office.

Moving forward, he stopped at the door that spilled out the sound of some kind of heavy metal he’d never heard from the crack in it. He used two knuckles for a couple taps before her voice beckoned him in to see her, hair clipped up and glasses equipped, as she muddled away at her desk that was drowned in a beige and white sea of manilla folders and stray paperwork.

“ You still here?” Terry blinked looking down at his watch that clearly read a quarter to eight. Which puzzled him since operating hours ended at six thirty sharp.

“ I’m sitting here aren’t I?” She shot back, eyes never leaving her perfectly color coded time sheet.

At her statement, Terry’s left eyebrow quirked, just as he came to take a seat at one of the chairs across from her desk. “ Since when did you develop such a smart mouth?”

“ My mouth has always been smart, Terry.” She matter o’ factly quipped back, “Just never was with you. You hadn’t ever given me a reason to be.”

“ Yeah? And what’s the reason for it, right now?”

“ Would you like a definitive list?” She smiled, obviously taking pleasure in her joke.

With a small eye roll, he decided to brush it off, as Terry shifted topics, “ What are you listening to?”

“ Nosy, much.” She playfully pointed out.

“ I’m serious, D?” Terry sat back, curiosity piqued, “ What is it?”

“ Well if you must know it’s the Nova Twins. They’re this sweet duo out of the UK.” She turned her monitor to give him a glance at their album cover for Who are the girls?

“ Mmm.” He nodded his head to the melody, listening to the bass that lightly thumped her desk,“ They sound dope.”

“ They are dope.” Dallas confirmed, “ I think you’d like them. Not exactly on the same cadence as Bad Brains, but you should give them a listen sometime when you go for your runs or whatever. You still take bike rides in the morning?”

“ Yeah. I usually hit the trails early before the joggers get up. That way I’m not in anyone's way if I wanna pick up a little speed.”

“ Still never got into it?” He asked, recalling a time where Dallas had once expressed an interest in taking up endurance biking, yet after one go with Terry on a beginner trail back in college, she never did attempt it again. As evidenced by the large bruise she'd received on her thigh after she'd accidentally gone over a rock with the front wheel and lost balance, which consequently had Terry guiding two bikes by hand by up the trail with a slightly wailing Dallas attached to his back in the middle of the forest.

“ Nah.” She waved him off, “ More of a low cardio girl. I’ll take a good treadmill session, an hour on the stair master, couple laps at the country club pool anytime. Even may pick up some weights for a little core training here and there. But I’ll leave you to your road running.”

“ Core training? You talking my language now.” He lightly clapped.

“ Yeah, Yeah. Nigga, don’t be going and getting too excited. It’s just a couple of ten pound weights every once in a while. Nothing crazy. I’m not like you lifting weights to look like I wrestle albino alligators and shit for fun. Have my neck stretching the bounds of my shirt like that.” She pointed to him.

“ Hasn’t anyone ever told you steroids are bad for you, Terrance?” She smirked.

“ Maybe once or twice. But even if I was. Isn’t that what you’re into?” He chuckled, “ I remember you having a crush on one of those big WWE steroid and corn fed looking motherfuckers back in the day.” He recalled when all Dallas used to do was swoon about some white boy on Tuesday mornings during school that she’d drooled over the previous night.

“ His name is Randy Orton, and whatever corn they feed them down in Tennessee has them looking fine as hell on my TV screen, tell you that much! Just like whatever they feedin’ them Samoan men down in Florida has them looking right! Specially’ Roman. Mmph Mmph Mmph.” She made a noise, “ Absolutely delicious.”

“ You talking about the big nigga with the long hair and the big ass domino teeth?” Terry laughed at the scowl that his comment produced on Dallas’s face, which was really her masking a smile that wanted to erupt across it.

“ Uh Uh. Rudeness! Don’t hate, Richmond.” Dallas said, whirling the monitor around,“ Besides, I like the long hair. It’s sexy.”

“ Ugh.” Terry’s groan was immediate, “ Please, don’t ever call another nigga sexy while I'm around. Thank you.” He held up a hand.

Amused by his slight annoyance, Dallas decided to poke the bear just a little further.

“ Oh, but that’s what friends do, Terry. They listen to you talk about your crushes and stuff.” Dallas smirked, “ I mean aren’t we supposed to be friends again and all now,? Can’t I confide in you?"

“ You know can, Dallas. About anything." He affirmed, " But we never talked about things like that before when we were friends way back. So, please let’s not start now.”

“ Fine.” Dallas chirped, turning her attention back to the screen before her, “ Well as riveting as this little chat has been. You’ll have to excuse yourself so I can get back to working on correcting these death certificates Mrs. White’s new apprentice screwed up before I have to send them to the county clerk’s office to be certified.”

“ If I’m lucky, I’ll be done before the rooster crows in the morning. That way I can go home and finally get something to eat.” She groaned, mouth practically salivating at the thought of the meal prepped turkey bowl awaiting her in her frig.

“ When’s the last time you ate?” Terry leaned forward, examining the sole glass tumbler at the corner of the desk.

Noticing the knit of his eyebrows and the lift of his shoulders, Dallas immediately attempted to deflect “ Terry I-

“ Dallas.” His voice was firm cutting her off, sending a small wave of goosebumps across her back in the same way it had before in the hallway, “ When?”

“ Urmm…” Looking to the corner of the computer monitor for the time. “ It’s almost 8:00 now. And if I came in at seven but didn’t have breakfast—“

" You skipped Breakfast?" His voice ceased her pondering, and she could tell her by the look on his face that he'd now become officially annoyed, " Why, Dallas?"

“ It’s been a busy day, Terry. What can I say. I’m the queen of rolling lunches.” She threw up a hand, " Besides Breakfast was-"

“ And none of this can wait until tomorrow?”

“ I–” She sighed, “ I mean it probably could. But I’d rather do it–"

“ Good. Grab your stuff. We’re going to Treylors. And I’m driving and buying.” He stood up, keys jingling in his grasp.

“ Haha. No, WE are not.” Dallas laughed with no amusement present in her voice, while looking at him as if another head had just popped out of his already too tight collar, “ Terry, do you know what that would look like? Huh? Do you know what people would say seeing us out... together…alone.”

“ Yeah, it’d look like two old friends grabbin’ a bite to eat and catchin’ up. Nothin’ more. Nothin’ less. Which to be honest, I personally don’t care what the fuck anyone else has to say anyway. And you of all people know that.” He reasoned back, “ Besides the only reason I’m offering to drive is because you drive like you're driving Miss Daisy and I don’t have time to talk you out of a ticket for driving slower than paint dries, today.”

“ The only metal head I know that’ll be full on raging in a car while doing thirty five in a forty.” He teased, “ I can still remember you mee-maw driving all around town in that little pink beetle every when they let you have a license.” Terry teases, vaguely remembering the day Dallas had received license on a technicality related to a flickering traffic light and her almost being slide swiped by an oncoming car in the turning lane.

“ Screw you.” Dallas playfully shot him a bird, “ Don’t be mad at me cause I choose to be a careful and law abiding citizen.” She joked, as she watched his face harden a bit at her words.

Immediately she regretted them.

“ And I’m not?” He folded his arms across his chest with a more serious expression painted on his face, making Dallas mentally face palm at the ill landing joke.

“ Terry I didn’t mean–

“ Don’t sweat it. It’s cool. I know you didn’t.” He spoke, moving closer to her desk, “ But if you wanna make it up. You’ll get in this truck and go split a BLT and Cajun fry with me. Simple.”

Noting how the hard set lines of his mouth then melted into a teasing smile, Dallas had realized what she had just been manipulated into. And any other time she would called out for it and playfully told him to stick it where the sun didn’t shine.

However, since she practically could feel her stomach lining eating away at itself, combined with the offer of being driven for once not sounding bad. She decided to give in.

“Fine.” She carefully began closing the tabs on her computer, “ But I won’t be splitting anything, thank you. I’m having a whole! AND I'm paying for my own! ”

“ You sure?!” He quirked an eyebrow, “ This is coming from a girl who I remember could barely finish a half piece back then.” He spoke, ignoring her protest of wanting to pay for herself all together, since he knew that wasn't going to be something he'd have to worry about once they got there. He could handle her if she got squirrely about it.

“ Yeah well, you may not be aware but that’s back then. Things have changed. And I can definitely finish what’s on my plate now.” She shot back, feeling the tiny bit of tension that slowly built throughout their conversation really begin to rise to the surface.

“ I mean he can’t be serious. He’s doin' this to spite me.” Dallas Dubois raved from her place under the portable hair dryer in the living room of her childhood home. “ There can’t be any other reasonable explanation. Because, Mommy,  when have you ever heard of Devin being concerned about anything that goes on up there other than when it’s time to come collect his check each week.”

At her ranting and raving, Hildria Anne Dubois smiled at her pouty mess of daughter who in that moment looked like every bit of her late husband, as she set out the required tools for styling her hair.

“ I dunno’, Dumplin’. I mean while I’m not saying that Devin wouldn’t do something like this to get under your skin. Is there even a ounce of you that would consider that maybe he's finally growing up. Wants to be more involved?” She shrugged, playing devil's advocate while hoping that maybe this was a sign that her step-son was finally growing into the man that her and her husband at one point had worked tirelessly to try and raise, despite both the lessons and natural traits he'd inherited from his mother.

“ No.” Dallas raged, “ Please! Maybe he can fool everyone else. But not me. I wouldn’t trust Devin as far as I can throw him.” 

" I do all the work, and he gets to claim half the glory from the public and still complains behind the scenes about what I do."

“ Freaking Ingrate.” She muttered, roughly adjusting the steaming dryer on her head.

“ Alright now, let’s just calm right on down.” Hildria said, “ Now I know Devin’s cornbread ain’t exactly done in the middle but let’s not start the name calling. Don’t stoop to his level, hear.”

“ Yes ma’am.” Dallas sighed, taking a pause before speaking again, “ Mama, Terry Richmond is moving back here.”

“ I know.”  Hildria didn't miss a beat with her response, shocking her daughter, “ How?!” 

“ Because, the day before yesterday I got a call from your Aunt that Nefari Simms of all people had the audacity to walk into her salon and ask how much a booth was to rent.” At this statement, Dallas felt her eyes buck a bit.

Considering it was an all too well known fact that her Aunt Tootie had had a longstanding dislike for the Simms family way before anything had ever transpired between her and Nefari, with their incident only worsening that dislike into a deep distain. The fact that Nefari, as bold and uncaring as she seemed, still made an effort to attempt something like that still somewhat surprised Dallas.

“ Told Aunt Tootie that her and Terry were moving back here and she was looking for somewhere to set up shop.”

“ And? What happened?” Dallas unknowingly felt herself moved to the edge of her seat, mainly because she the way her Aunt was, and how she had an affinity for getting people together both in and out of a salon chair.

“ What happened? What do you think happened, Dallas!”  Hildira laughed, “ Had it not been for her having Mother Ethel as a client in her chair, you know she would’ve asked that little girl to step outside into the parking lot with her. But instead she just told her, every booth was already promised to girls coming straight out the hair school.”

“ Thank the Lord.” Dallas shifted back in her seat, “ I just wouldn’t be able to handle running into her at the shop on the regular of all things. I’m stressed enough.” She closed her eyes, rubbing at her slightly aching chest.

At this Hildria instantly felt a pang of empathy as she all too well knew some of the stress her daughter was under. It wasn't easy running a business like Dubois Family Funeral homes and she knew that from the experience of attempting to manage things for the first few months after her husband's passing.

But between her lack of knowledge, the heavy demands of time and dedication while still trying to see about her own business, mixed with her grieving. It was a task that had all but pushed her into a depressive state, with the responsibility of managing partner then falling on her eldest step-son, Ramsey, who despite never having ambitions of working within the family business, made his sacrifice of overseeing the main home until Dallas's graduation and completion of her apprenticeship.

And with all that being considered, it would never cease to amaze Hildria of what her daughter managed to do day in and day out at just twenty six years old that she hadn't been able to manage within her late forties with years of previous entrepreneurial experience.

“ Oh my poor baby.” Hildria cooed, bending down underneath the dryer to place a kiss to her daughter’s sullen face, “ It’ll all be fine, Dumplin. Mommy promises." She smiled, producing a small one on on her only daughter's face.

“ Who knows, maybe this will be good for everyone! Ain’t that right, Percy? Tell her.” Her mother spoke to the timid little puppy looking on from his spot on the couch.

“ Now, after I get done how about Mommy goes in the freezer and pulls out some chicken and dumplins’ for her favorite dumplin to heat up? Hmm? AND you can spend the night so we can have some sherbet and stay up late to watch re-runs of SVU.” The beautician posed, unknowingly making the offer as a real way of sparing herself another lonely night without the human companionship that her little four legged friend just couldn't provide her.

“Sound good?” 

Immediately Dallas's spirit felt lifted by the proposal, “ Yes ma’am. Sounds great.”

“ Alright. It’s a plan.” Hildria clapped, coming over to lift the dryer, and inspecting the long blow-dried hair that peeked out of the wrap she'd put on. “ Now let’s get to this head. What we doing today? I’m thinking tight curls?”

And after an evening of laughter and love with her mother that rejuvenated and instilled her with some new found confidence, Dallas had gathered the courage to text her brother and request a small meeting in her office the next morning to try and discuss the matter at hand. Making sure to note that she'd like to keep things civil between them.

The only problem being her brother didn’t know what the word civil even was. Because for as long as Dallas had known Devin Lamont Dubois, which was her entire life, it was one thing that was always clear. And that was the fact that for every second of her life that she's had breath in her lungs, her brother had absolutely despised her very existence, without the slightest indication as to why. Which made it not only difficult to grow up in the same house alongside him, but it also made it a hell of a task to try and run a business with someone who secretly wished she was in one of the caskets they sold.

And on days like today where the two had to be in communication with one another, Dallas always felt like going downstairs to pick a pretty soft pink one and hop right in it instead. Figuring that it'd be a more peaceful fate than sitting across a desk from her elder brother by two years who couldn't care less about the conversation at hand.

“Dallas you’ve been talking about getting someone to get in here and do the renovations for months. So what's the issue?" Devin Dubois waved a hand while scrolling through his phone and ignoring the whole ten minute spill his sister had just given him about exactly what her 'issue' with the situation truly was.

“ You’re right I have.” She acknowledged his statement through clenched teeth, “ But as I said before I had already been looking at companies for a while before you decided to enlist someone without running it by me first, Devin. And I also had a very clear and laid out lists of things I wanted done that just don't quite align with the work you ordered from Richmond & Co."

“ Right. Well I didn’t think I had to. Since your name isn’t the only one on this building. It’s Dubois Family Funeral homes, I don’t see the name Dallas anywhere up there.” He shrugs, sliding his phone into the pocket of his Gucci trousers.

“ Therefore I don’t have to run shit by you before I make decisions about the business that both our names are attached to. Need I keep reminding you and everyone else around here that we’re partners. Since all y’all keep fucking forgetting that part.”

“ Don’t curse at me please, Devin.” Dallas tried to keep her voice steady, “And need I remind you that while we are partners. I’m managing partner which means I have the final say, and this is something you should’ve discussed with me before you went making plans and promises to that man.”

“ Ain’t nobody cursing at you, you’re so gottdamn sensitive it’s ridiculous.” Devin sneered, “ And while you may be managing partner, for now. That don’t give you the right to act like I don’t have a say in what goes on around here.”

“ Of course you can have a say, Devin. We both do.” Dallas began to reason, “ But we’re supposed to be a team. And with you doing this behind my back, it doesn’t feel like that. It honestly makes me upset.”

And with that all too familiar look in his eye, Devin Lamont Dubois began doing what he did best when he couldn't get his way, which was antagonize.

“ Well I’m sorry you feel that way. You can go home and bake a mountain of pies, cakes, or whatever the fuck you make nowadays so you can throw it up later to feel better. I don’t care.” Devin threw out, shifting in his seat.

His comment making Dallas feel as if she’d been punched in the gut at the way he so carelessly threw her past condition in her face. One he’d helped to bring forth… Since it never helped that after all these years of recovery and hard work. She'd never been able to move past this obstacle in her life as long as he kept up his job of being a living and constant verbal reminder of that time in her past.

“ You’ll be fine, you always somehow are. So you need to stop whining and pull it the fuck together. Because they’re coming in for a meeting next week to discuss the plans.”

In a split second of letting the sting of his words pass through her gut, Dallas made the quick decision that instead of backing down and letting him bully her into the same mind frame of the small helpless young girl who he sat across at the dinner table with for all those years silently tormenting, all it took was one glance down at the shiny gold placard on her desk with her name on it. To ignite the fire in her loins to get him together.

“ Are they?” Dallas quipped, rising up from her seat, which in turn made Devin rise up from his. 

“ Yeah. They are.” He said.

“ Huh?” Dallas sounded, “ And when it’s time to sign the contract and contact the bank to pay them for all this, Devin. You’re gonna sign off on it, yourself?” 

“ Oh wait.” Dallas paused, “ You can’t.” 

She pointed to herself, “ Cause I’m the one signing the checks around here. Not you. So let’s make that inherently clear, once again.”

“ What are you being so fucking difficult about this for? Huh?” Devin snapped.

“ I know this ain’t about no high school shit.” A bitter laugh rumbled from his chest.

“ He’s marrying Nefari Simms of all people, Dallas.” When his ex classmate's name came off his tongue she could’ve sworn she seen it drip with salivation onto the floor, “ Do you think that man is gone’ be up here stuntin’ you. Be for real, man.”

“ No, Devin. That’s not what I’m talking about. Terry and I’s past friendship doesn’t have anything to do with this.” She ignored him, feeling her eyes begin to moisten, though she kept it together.

“ And Stop. Cursing. At. Me.” She snapped, feeling her positive disposition waned.

“ Because your lack of respect for me and how I run this practice is becoming too obvious. That’s what I’m talking about.” She fired out.

“ How you run it?! His octave jumped this time when he spoke, almost startling her if it weren’t for the fact that she knew if this man laid as much as a singular finger nail on her there would be nothing stopping Ramsey from coming down on the first thing smoking from Atlanta and finally beating living hell out of their brother like he’d been wanting to do since their father’s funeral years prior. 

A fact they both knew.

“ Let’s not forget the real reason why your big spoiled ass is even managing partner in the first place.” He seethed, “ Because of me. I let you have it. I put you where you are. And this how you thank me. By actin’ like a little bitch?” 

“ Yeah, you and your inability to keep your head out the bottom of a fucking whiskey barrel did a fine job in securing me my position, Devin. So I shouldn’t be thanking you. I should be thanking Jack Daniels or Elijah Craig instead."

“ A position that you should’ve stepped down from once I recovered. Because it’s my spot. It’s my birthright!" He slapped his chest, looking like everything a fool could be all at once.   

“ Is it? That’s new to me.” Dallas folded her arms across her own,“ Because as I recall Daddy’s will said that the managing partner of the practice goes to whichever child could be deemed fit by the board to take over.”

“ And here I am. Fit.” He said, doing a once over of his sister,“ More than you in a couple ways too.”

Brushing off yet another dig at her physicality, Dallas continued to stand firm in her position, “ Well if you feel so strongly about that. I suggest that you gather the board and we can all have a nice little meeting about that.” Dallas shrugged, “ But I promise you. It won’t go the way you think.”

“ I’m serious when I say you need to stop bitching about this and accept it for what it is, Dallas. Or I just might take you up on that offer for a different kind of meeting.”

“ Right.” Dallas nodded, “ But until then you can see you and that empty ass threat. Out of my office, Devin. The door is that way.”

“ You’re dismissed.” She pointed, sitting back in her seat and ignoring both his glare that burned into the side of her face and derogatory mumbles to himself as he excited with a light thud of the door. 

Waiting a few seconds until she was sure he was gone, the young women got up and dashed into the bathroom connected to her office, promptly locking the door and letting out a muffled sob of distress into her burning hands as she felt her whole body practically rattle with angry and discomfort about the last two weeks of her life. 

Feeling the hot black tears begin to race down her face, she shakily grabbed a small hand cloth to wipe away at the muddled mascara mess on her cheeks as her brain ran a mile a minute with thoughts of how she’d survive the next couple weeks.

Between her brother, the mess with Terry, the fear of her past bout with an all too tiring eating disorder coming back, and just the general worries and responsibilities that came with owning a business as amassed as hers. Dallas felt her chest weigh heavy with so many burdens sitting on top of her heart. 

And when her breathing became too erratic for her to calm with a simply hand to her sternum, she immediately reached in her Navy sweater’s pocket to produce the small hot pink inhaler she kept on her at all times. 

Lifting it to her mouth she administered three measured pumps before closing her hands and leaning back against the bathroom wall for just a moment of reprieve. As she tried to get herself together for the rest of the day. 

A moment of silence that was too soon interrupted by the sweet voice of one of the young office assistants, Fionna. 

 “ Ms. Dubois?”

“ I’m in the bathroom, sweetheart.” She called back, hoping the young woman would leave.

“ I know it’s just that… The Jones family is here and they’re asking questions about Mrs. Ursula’s cremains and how they can be divided between the family.”

Dallas nodded to herself, remembering the specific family and their interest in making their fallen matriarch’s ashes in keepsakes for everyone in their family. 

“ Right. Well you can direct them to Ms. Peters. I’m sure she can explain everything to them.” She mentioned one of the seasoned counselors. 

“ I know and I suggested that…” Fionna fingers tapped against her clip board, “ But they specifically asked for you. They say they don’t wanna speak to anyone else. They seem a little testy too, ma’am.”

“ For fucksake.” Dallas mumbled, “ Okay I’ll handle it in a moment. Thank you, Fionna.” She heard the footsteps retreating before she stopped her.

“And Fionna? "

" Ma'am?"

" I appreciate the hard work you do here. I truly do.” Dallas began.

“ But please. The next time I tell you I’m in my personal bathroom taking a human moment, sweetheart. Please leave and come back later or let me come find you, alright?”

“Okay. I'm sorry! Won't happen again." Dallas heard the response, as well as the slight whimper to her words that she was sure would be followed by a accumulation of tears in her mentee's eyes. She was such a perfectionist after all.

“ No no no. None of that.” Dallas quickly comforted her through the door, “ You’re not in trouble, Fionna. I understand you probably just felt pressured and wanted to do what you could right away. I get that.”

“ But one of the things you’ll learn soon here in this business is that there’s a lot of patience to be had with both us and the customers. So keep that in mind.”

“ Yes, ma’am. Got it.”

“ Wonderful. Now tell them I’ll be out shortly. Thank you.”

“ No problem, ma’am.” Fionna said before leaving out of the office. 

With a sigh Dallas gave herself one more glance in the mirror before reaching under the sink cabinet to grab her makeup bag in an attempt to patch up her soft masterpiece she’d done this morning. 

Once she was satisfied with her work, she patted herself on her shoulder with a deep breath and exited the bathroom and then her office into the bustling hallway. 

She didn’t believe she had made it a good ten feet down the hall before she saw him standing there talking to an obviously frazzled Fionna. 

Which prompted only one question in Dallas's mind as she approached: What in the fuck was Terry Richmond doing in her lobby, bothering one her favorite workers?

“ Ms. Dubois I was just letting Mr. Richmond know that you were coming out of your office from a meeting and heading straight into another one with a family. He said he’d been trying to reach out so I suggested that we try and look at what appointments you had available for next week.” Fionna pushed her glasses up, and showed her the iPad in her hand that displayed Dallas's packed calendar.

“ And as I initially let this young lady know, who is very good at her job I might add.” Terry flashed the young girl a weak smile that only Dallas could tell was his best effort to mask his annoyance, “ That I would only need a few seconds of your time.” 

“ Well thank you…um sir…but again I promise I explained to him Ms. Dubois. That you’re quite busy today and—"

“ It’s alright, Fionna. I understand.” Dallas nodded, doing her best to ease the young girl, “ Do me a favor and have Mrs. Peters go and offer the Jones family some coffee, tea, biscuits or whatever while they wait.”

“So that I can briefly talk to Mr. Richmond here about some business with the home.”

Looking between them with skeptical eyes, Fionna chirped a, “ Yes, Ma’am.”  Before she retreated off to do as told. 

Leaving the two ex friends and their strained smiles on display as Dallas whispered, “ Follow me.”

As she swiftly led them both past greeting townsfolks and down a secluded and empty hallway in the way back that had stairs leading to the morgue.

She only took a moment to make sure the coast was clear before she said, “ Have you lost your mind?! I’m working.” Dallas quickly snapped, “ So if this isn’t important—

“ We need to talk. Now.” His voice was low and serious, prompting Dallas to halt her miniature tantrum as she unfortunately felt some kind of natural urge to listen to him.

“ About?” She questioned.

“ Us.”

 The words rang around in her brain half a second, almost sounding nice...sweet... even before another set of words drifted with bold colors through her mind.

Liar,

Deceiver,

Asshole,

Engaged.

Which were all enough to send her back into the reality of the moment, “ Oh for fucks sake.” Dallas groaned, feeling a migraine beginning to stir, “ There isn’t anything for us to talk about, Terrance. There is no us. I’ve told you that a million times now. You’re wasting my time. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She went to walk away but was met with a hard chest in face as Terry moved to block the hall. 

“ Dallas.” A hand moved to her shoulder, “ Please.” The singular word leaves his lips with a force behind it meant to convey a whole hoard of words and pleas he just couldn't quite get out.

“ What is there to say, Terry! “ Dallas threw up her hands, a tart laugh escaping past her lips. “ I mean shit. What do you want from me?! Why won’t leave me alone?”

“ Well to start I’d like for you to stop acting like I don’t exist.” He immediately fired back.

“ Oh God.” She groaned, eyes rolling to the ceiling.

Because in my world you don’t. She thought.

“ You don’t think I hadn't noticed that every time I’d come into town to visit my Uncle over the last six years you always seemed to miraculously be out of town or on sabbatical with no one being able to reach you.” 

“ Or how you haven’t returned a single letter, phone call, text message!” He rattled off.

" And whose fault is that, Terry! Huh? Quickly, tell me." She snapped her fingers, " Because as I recall only one of us standing here sent a message that morning by leaving the other. A message that they couldn't."

" So guess what, message received. You couldn't take it, so I left you the fuck alone like I always should have from the start. End of story. So don't stand here in front of me like a lost fucking puppy looking for it's favorite toy to play with and tug on. Because you won't find it here. Not anymore." Dallas raged, tears threatening her waterline.

" Besides six years my fucking ass." She scoffed, " You didn't start reaching out to me until a year ago after Daddy's anniversary and you know it." She recalled the letter and bouquet of pink peonies that been delivered to her house with a note and a card signed T.R.

And against all her insticnts of tossing them in the trash like she'd wanted, Dallas had ripped up the card without ever looking at it's message and instead donated the flowers to a family for a funeral service in one of the home's chapels.

Immediately Terry came to his own defense with a grave look on his face, " Dallas that isn't true. I've always bee-"

" Save it." A tired hand shot up to cease his speech, " Just save it, Terry. And do us both a favor by leaving me the fuck alone. Please."

She'd hoped the emphasis she's put on her last word would be enough to sway him to move out of her way, so she could resume her work in an attempt to make this horrid day end faster.

Yet her words only had an opposite effect as his demeanor and the determination in his voice only became clearer as he returned a single word with an emphasis of his own, " No."

Blinking hard at him like he'd spoken Pig Latin, Dallas could only parrot him for confirmation and her own understanding, " No?"

" No." He confirmed, “ I’m going to leave you alone, Dallas. Because I understand that I hurt you that night. And I’ve been trying to apologize to you about that and hell of a lot more since.” 

“ But you won’t even give me an opportunity to.” He defended.

“ You won’t give me an opportunity to try and get my friend back.”

“ Why do you care so much, Terry? Huh?” Dallas quipped, “ I mean seriously what is this about?”

At her words, Terry took a pause, just to look into the same shining hickory colored eyes beating in his, that he had once watched cry tears for him to stay rather than for him to go all those years ago, “ It’s about the fact that I don’t want us to be strangers.” Terry simply said, watching as his statement brought a softness to her face just the way he’d hoped it would. 

 “ I promised you that the morning I left for basic that I’d never let us ever become strangers and this is me trying to keep that promise to you, me, and our younger selves." He recalled the conversation the two of them had that morning in front of his Uncle's house before he was carted off to a US military academy to become forever changed by the philosophies and ideologies of Uncle Sam and his friends.

He'd never forget wiping the tears from her eyes, and relieving her of some long strands of eyelashes that got in the way as she'd softly sobbed away while clinging tightly to him with whispered promises of them staying in touch being exchanged, as he too had held onto her just a tad bit tighter with the thought of receiving her letters with the bubblegum pink pen ink already lifting his spirits about the agony and trials that awaited him ahead.

After basic, once they'd finally started to come in, he'd kept them all safely tucked away as they'd become oh so important for his reading when he needed that boost of hope and joy only she could give him.

“ That’s why it’s important, Dallas. Our friendship is important to me. And even though I haven’t always shown it the best. I’m here now.” He said, a new card of vulnerability being shown from his deck," I’m trying.”

“ And I hope you’ll try with me. At least one last time.” He pressed, “Just one chance.”

And with his final words spoken into the air between them, and that look on his face that she just couldn't quite shake from infiltrating her mind. She'd couldn't tell if this was genuine talent on his part or another tactic with an awful acronym that he'd picked up from his time in service that disarmed her this way, and had successfully knocked out a small tiny wall in her defense, which was enough to get him a measly toe across her boundary line, “ Look, the only time I have to truly talk is tomorrow morning before we open. We usually have the doors open by 8 but I’ll be here at 6. You can meet me at the front steps and we can have a conversation then. This way maybe you can get whatever closure you need to move on from it.”

“ That good enough for you? Does that make you feel better?” She leaned forward, a scowl spread across her lips.

“ It is and it does, yes.” He answered, trying to keep the smile that wanted to stretch on his face at bay, knowing full well that any mentions of “closure" wasn't apart of Terry's masterful plan to get back in her orbit, seeing especially as phase one had just completed itself.

“ Good.” Dallas forced, clearing her throat when a particularly intoxicating waft of asphalt and sandalwood had begun to finally invade her senses at this wrong moment, causing her quick dismissal of herself “ Now if you’ll excuse me. Like I said. I’m working.”

“ Right. Well, have a good day.” He nodded, slowly stepping aside and watching as she hurrily passed him, creme manolo blahniks clicking against the polished floor,  “ And see you tomorrow.” 

“ Same to you, Terrance.” She called over her shoulder while racking her brain with thoughts of what the hell she’d agreed to, while also mentally searching for what she'd picked as her vice of the night to escape her life for a couple hours this evening.

While full well knowing that her preferred option was off the table...unless she'd seek out permission to open that coveted bottom draw of her bedside table, from a man literal states away.

Although maybe she could still pop open and explore it's contents as a secret only her and her delicious little buzzing rabbit could keep for the night.

However, since next visit wasn’t for another four weeks out, she wasn’t sure if she was too eager to break the rules and touch herself.

Because he’d know.

He always knew.

Yet in still, it was a risk she was gonna have to take tonight if she wanted to ease some of the mental tension she felt. 

If she was gonna relax enough for a meeting tomorrow morning she was sure was going to set her nerves on fire for the foreseeable future.

A month later, things were changing fast. Vlad is happy. Outwardly. Truly. He smiles big. He makes jokes. He hums to himself when he makes me breakfast. Zanto said there would be a change, and there absolutely was. I knew the heartbreak would always be there, but he made more space for it. At times, I swear I nearly see color in his cheeks. And while Vlad was brown, the winters in Wallachia could be harsh. Or it was the vampirism that made him look a bit washed out at times. Either way, he was glowing. 

He doesn't hide his desire anymore, and neither do I. That had to be the biggest change yet. Verbally expressing desire without shame. Something I was still having an issue with. He doesn't hide his staring either. I wasn't always big on eye contact, but you get used to it when it comes with such positive reinforcement. 

I’m an authorized user on his credit card. He expedited my passport.  My clothes hide in random closets around Poenari and around the Pontchartrain estate. I insist that he leave some of his blood canisters at my house. If he came over, I could feed him at least—a nice change from wine or coffee. He ensured I had his driver, Dimitri, on speed dial. I now have access to his private roads via an identification card.

I got a few new changes to my car, too. I refused to give up my daddy’s 2007 Escalade with his black dice hanging from the mirror. We compromised. New tires on my car. A much-needed oil change. Break pad repair. Vlad did a once-through on my house. The kitchen floors are being redone next weekend. The guest bathroom toilet and sink are being replaced at the top of next month. A few walls are being repainted right along with it. He flicked his spindly fingers against my dishwasher and called in a replacement for that, too—same day. Our big old white refrigerator from the early 2000’s was moved into the garage. Vlad had that replaced with a foreign brand that looked more like a large cabinet than an appliance. It helped that he could hear leaks and problems before they gave out. Apparently, my fridge was on its way out already. 

I had a deep fear that this could become transactional. Vlad, of course, didn’t see it that way at all. We talked about it for quite a long time over dinner. We talked about how the parameters of a typical relationship wouldn't translate well to human-vampire/interspecies relationships. I’ve never heard a guy I'm dating use the word “courting” in my entire life. Apparently, this courting thing doesn’t ever stop. He’s already trying to mesh his lifestyle with mine. I could say “when,” but there was an emphasis on its normality. Vlad and I have two very different lives. He felt it would be better to gradually get me accustomed to his lifestyle. There was a man or woman somewhere in this world—maybe even a few states away going through this exact same thing. Being taken care of in many ways. Vampires who love—love very hard. 

Vampires positioned themselves as caretakers, in a way. Because a vampire who didn’t at least meet their human partner's basic needs and necessities was deemed unfit. It was a moral failing amongst their species. Even in arrangements where a human wanted to serve under a vampire, they too had to be taken care of. It was written in vampiric law. So, when you’ve lived for a few centuries, you have some economic pull, which you naturally use to your advantage. Of course, this was different if they decided you were food. He bugged his eyes out when I explained what love bombing was. 

I jokingly called him Bougee, and he took offense. He said, “ I was in favour of the prolétariat uprising. I supported the French Revolution. Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité. The aristocracy were no fledglings of mine. They were terrible candidates to be one of us. They were the moral equivalent of stray dogs—too many problems. They were going around feeding on the working class. We had to come together, hold court, and decide who would be taken out. Desperation is one thing. To target the weak because you know that nobody will care? Low.” 

... The intensity was worsening. I've never memorized the sound of someone's footsteps before his. I've never gotten excited at the sound of someone's footsteps either. I knew when he was close to me. Similarly, he always had this 6th sense to pick up almost everything about me. It wasn't the mind-reading thing. I trusted him enough to not use it without my consent. He knew when I was hungry, when I was cold, when I woke up. He picked up on my routine with frightening accuracy. I have to ask him if we've always been this way. He confirms it was, and I guess I should have known. I saw it for myself in that projection. This is why they tell women to have a multitude of hobbies when they’re dating someone. He couldn’t be the sun. I can’t allow him to be the center. I’ve tried tirelessly to distance myself from that kind of naivety. I knew heartbreak very well. I knew limerence, too. 

He rewired my brain every time he touched me. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He has me surrounded from every angle. I’m being taken care of in every way an adult could be. He updated my health and dental insurance for God's sake. I should be pulling away by now. I should be coming up for air. I really, really should…but—I couldn't. 

I think back to Los Angeles. How ethical was it to provide a fantasy? To give in to the deepest desire of a man? One could argue that most men did not deserve it. That some desires are best left where they are. That giving in is a trap. A cycle you'll be doomed to repeat for as long as you stay within his orbit. A desire is a desire. A fantasy is a fantasy. Could I sustain what I’d brought into reality? Could I handle that? Would I be trapped with him in it? I don't think I'll always want control. But that intensity was spreading to every aspect of our dynamic. I wasn't expecting the guilt to come with it.  

Between that plane back to Louisiana last month and Sunday night, we recreated the night in the hotel quite a few times. Each time was equally tantalizing and exhilarating. The meaner I get, the more he unravels. How do I get past the haze? Do I let myself drown in this? To sink deep? At what point does this come crashing down? I once read that wealthy men were some of the most dangerous of all. They could lure you in with a security you've never known, thanks to their endless fountain of resources. Before you know it, you're in a gilded cage. Sometimes intentionally and other times unintentionally. Unintentionally, because they only communicated in transactions and contracts. Life for a man like Vlad was all about the exchange. He's business-minded. What are the chances of that happening to us? 

He’s still bringing me lunch. Sometimes he sleeps over during the week just because I ask. I decide to keep a little more distance between the two of us to clear my head. I take Friday off with the intent to organize my exploding closet. Vlad made sure I looked the part wherever we went, and that meant new outfits and accessories for every occasion. On top of what his stylists put together for me, I was running out of space. I needed to get my house in order and get back to the mundanity. 

I refresh and reset my altar. I take a long shower and press my hair. I clean around the house. I make a small grocery list for later on in the day. Tackling my closet is a beast in itself. The shoes alone require space I don’t have. I decided to make my first purchase with Vlad’s card. I get my groceries delivered along with a couple of shoe organizers and clothing racks. One of the guest rooms would have to be turned into a closet. 

I spend about 2 hours hanging up clothes and putting up shoes. In the afternoon, I came across the bags of lingerie that the twins had packed all those weeks ago. Agent provocateur, I.D Sarrieri, Marjolaine and Empreinte. I twiddle my fingers around the soft white lace material. It’s beautiful. Some pairs look more like bridal lingerie than anything. Then I see a set with garters and a veil. What had the twins heard on that cerebral channel that made them pack me 10 honeymoons' worth of lingerie? I shake my head at the red pair of crotchless panties. Jesus. 

I try on a few pairs. One of my favorites was a bra-and-thong set from Agent Provocateur. I pull on my work pants. No panty line in sight. The bra was super comfortable. My phone buzzes against my dresser. Vlad lets me know he's working a few hours late. I suppose I could bring him dinner. Return the favor for bringing me lunch. He had a habit of depriving himself when he was busy. He’d appreciate the gesture, I think. We’ll talk, and then I’ll go away for a few days and clear my head. Yeah….talk and then clear my head. I’ll lay down some boundaries. I’ll mention wanting some ME time. That’s exactly what I’ll do.

My work uniform was black slacks and a white button-up. It’s business attire—or business casual at least. I’m sure it would be perfect for whatever setting he’s in. Since the agent provocateur fit me so well, I keep it on. I throw on some mascara and a little gloss to look a little more put together. I find the canisters of blood he kept in the fridge, and I pack one of them into a lunch box with ice packs. I call Dimitri, and he picks me up within minutes. Next thing I know, I’m in a black car speeding towards the central business district. 

We cut towards a high-rise skyscraper. Not long after, I'm dashing up an elevator and waiting with a receptionist. Then, I'm clicking down a long hall of frosty offices. At the end of the hall, I can see his name on his office door. The mumbling I hear seep from beneath the door makes me want to turn around and run. I hated interrupting people. I hear a quick ruffling, and then the door clicks open. An orange light poured from the sides of Vlad’s head like some warped halo. “ …Amina”, he purrs. 

“ Is this a bad time?” I mumble nervously. 

“ Perfect time. Come in,” Vlad insists. He steps to the side, and I see he’s on a business call. He stalks back over to his phone and waves his hand, motioning for me to sit down. I walk over to the round table in the corner of the room and take a seat. 

“ Prietene, va trebui să reluăm asta mâine”, he laughs into the phone. 

The mumbling from the other side makes him laugh. I look past him at the New Orleans skyline. There was about an hour and a half of daylight left before sunset. His office was gorgeous, and the city view was breathtaking. It sat at the very top of the building, standing so tall that the people on the street looked like ants. At the far end of the room is a table and seats. A thin couch and two cushioned seats sit in front of his large oak desk. A large TV is behind him, projecting the stock market. I could see the river from here as well. It shimmered in the distance, bouncing off the light of the afternoon sun.

Vlad is chattering away in Romanian. Something I rarely hear from him. Clearly, he was in his element and likely more relaxed because he was understood from a linguistic standpoint, of course. I pull out his canister of blood and set it on the table. 

“Ne apropiem. Da, vom vorbi mâine”, he says before hanging up the call. He turns and fixes me with a look, and I feel my stomach flutter. Something that’s only gotten worse the more time we spend together. We’re matching, except his tie is also black. 

“ I see you brought me food?” he says with a warm tone.

“ Well, you’ve done it for me. I figured I should return the favor, and I didn’t know if you’ve eaten”, I shrug. 

“ I’m in stock”, he points to a mini fridge in his office. 

“ Oh. I should have known”, I sigh. 

“ No, no. What’s one more?  Besides, it’s the perfect excuse to see each other again. Frumusețea feței tale e ca un suspin de ușurare”, he laughs softly, closing in on me from across the room. 

I look up at him. “ What does that mean?” I grab his hand, interlocking it with mine. He towers over me, slowly leaning down to peck my mouth a few times. I lift up in my seat slightly when he pulls away. 

“ Your beauty is like a sigh of relief”, he murmurs against my cheek. I smile at that. 

“ I thought you were getting tired of me”, he teases, squatting down to meet my height. 

“ I don’t think that’s possible at this point”, I shake my head. 

“ No?” He insists. A playfulness dances in his eyes. 

“ No”, I parrot. 

His eyes search mine for a moment before looking down at my outfit curiously. “ You didn’t work today?” he asks. 

I shake my head. “ No, I got dressed up for you. It’s twin day, apparently,” I joke. “ I just wanted to talk to you. I missed you, and I’ve had a lot on my mind”, I said. His attention turns to another call. He excuses himself and picks it up, staring at me the entire time. 

He loosens his tie as he goes on and on about stocks

and other shit I have no clue about. I nervously tap my foot as I wait for the call to be over. He’s back beside me ten minutes later, sitting across from me at the table. 

It comes out in a clattered mess. In a clunky, clattered mess. Rushed and panicked. And nervous—all that. I hate how inexperienced I sounded around him. I have experience. I just don't have healthy experience. I don't have experience in “Constructive adult conversation about relationship insecurities.” I talk about everything from my fear of losing myself, from the intensity, from the feelings that I don’t know what to do with, from sex, from how overwhelmed I am, from how mind-bending all of this is. I mean, he’s a vampire. If this keeps going, what does the next 10 years look like? Twenty? Thirty? It all comes out, and when I realize how long I’ve been talking, I just abruptly stop and stare at him. And he’s staring at me intently and quietly. No nervous laughter or jokes. 

I can feel myself start to cringe. “ …You know what? I think… I'm gonna go…home….” A slow and nervous smile spreads across my face as I begin to slowly stand from my seat. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“ Sit down”, he says sternly. 

I drop my bottom right back into the hardwood and sit up straighter. He pulls out a chair and scoots across from me, sitting in it with as much grace as a swan or something. " There’s a lot on your mind, obviously. You’re scared to lose… who you are? You’ve done that before? With that ex… what's his name? Bryan?”, he squints in thought. 

My eyes widen. “ You knew…?”, I trail off. 

He frowns in disgust. “ Terrible to witness. He’s balding now. And he also still thinks about you. He can’t keep a relationship because he has a terrible gambling problem as well as early-stage erectile dysfunction”, he lists. 

I gasp. “ It’s them percs…”, I shake my head in disbelief. 

“ It is in fact 'them' percs,” he nods in unison. 

“Everything is such a non-issue… I don’t know why I came. I’m overthinking all of this. Let me just shut up before I fuck it all up…”, I shrug in embarrassment. I go to stand again, and he gently grabs my hand. 

“ I can always feel it for you”, he suggests gently. I look down at him carefully. 

“ That’s a very romantic way to say mind reading”, I scoff. 

He smiles knowingly. “ I am not human. There are many, many things we can relate to, but it doesn't negate the fact that there is a barrier. We don't process information the same way that mortals do. Giving me a peek into your head can help me better understand how all of this feels for you, without projecting what I think you should feel onto you. What do you say?” he suggests.

I slowly sit back down and nod, giving him permission because clearly I couldn’t voice any of this. Not in a coherent, organized way, at least. So he sits there, absorbing everything. His gaze sharpens as he concentrates, pupils doing that weird shaky thing they always do. It takes him all but maybe two minutes to process everything. 

“ I can only hope you don’t think that every time I touch you, I expect some grand performance. You’re not some medium for me to express my desires. The part that you won't say out loud is that you think you'll be used in the long run. This version of the world you live in”, he gestures around the room and then out the window as he speaks. “ This world believes that every time a woman has sex, she loses something. And because you grew up in it, you secretly believe it too”, he states. 

I begin to shake my head. “ No…I don't. I don’t think that at all…”, I refuse shyly. 

He nods in protest. “ I was just in your head. It's so buried deep that you don't even know it's there. Plus, the exchange of it all. The transactional aspect. The gifts, the sex, the lifestyle. You don't think you deserve any of it because you don't think you worked for it”, he hums. 

I close my eyes in defeat. I didn't want a commentary. I don't know why I didn't expect one. 

“ I don’t believe vampires to be morally superior to humans. Some of them do terrible things. There is one thing I’ve always admired about our kind however…”, he pauses and walks to his minibar for a drink. He offers me one, and I decline. He’s back beside me with bourbon. “ We don’t overcomplicate the desires of the heart and the flesh. We don’t operate in shame. Pleasure is pleasure. And we express pleasure and give it freely. No politics or morality attached. It’s as simple as breathing. It can be used as a medium for love and passion, art, and anger. It’s life. You’ve unfortunately met men who see it as leverage. A tool used for control. I see it as an offering”, he sighs boredly. I watch his Adam's apple bob as he takes a sip of his drink. 

“ An offering...”, I test. 

“ We give it away because it is endless. I can’t expect you to see it this way, given the world that molded you into who you are. It would take years of deconstruction to see it my way. I don’t see sex as a favor. You were my wife. You’re also your own person. We can both get what we need in this. It’s not a contract. Exploration does not equate to obligation. I can appreciate your desire to please me. But it's not your job to do something simply because you think it will get me off. What you want also matters. Allow yourself to let go of the pressure in this situation. We are two beings learning each other's likes and dislikes. Let it be simple”, he suggests. 

I blink in thought. “ Well, don’t get me wrong. I did enjoy slapping the shit out of you”, I blurt. His soft laugh lightens the load.

“ You want to know why I like it when you hurt me?” he tilts his head. He picked that up, too. A thought from the hotel. I kept wondering what he got out of it.  My eyes trail up to his face. Crinkled in sincerity and urgency. I nod quietly. 

“ The pain. I felt like I was alchemizing it for you. I thought that maybe I was digesting what you couldn’t. Before you I only knew pain. I knew it raw and plain. Then I became a man, and it was my turn to hand it out. Inflicting it quelled the desire at first, but then it wasn’t enough. And maybe the idea is sick and fucked up. We were sick and fucked up together—all those years ago. I loved you in the best way I knew how. I was devoted to you entirely, and every second of discomfort from you made me feel alive. Shit…maybe I was already dead before I became what I am. I just grew tired of all the reverence. My title took away my humanity, and you gave it back. And you gave some of it back in that hotel room…”, he breathes. I watch the way his hands tighten at certain words. The way his body language opens. 

I'm completely speechless, staring at him. I don't even have a response; I'm just wide-eyed and stunned. His fingers seep into my palms until he's holding them. 

He continues. “ You feel you have to reanimate parts of yourself that have passed on. Every version of you is different. You're a Medina, You’re a Smith, You’re a Boudreaux. I should have made it clearer—I want to know Amina Boudreaux. You’re you. And there are nuances and differences in your very being. Which means that the parameters on how you show up in this relationship should be built entirely on your own ideals. I don't always need the pain. Sometimes I want you and nothing else. No frills,” he soothes. 

And I’m melting again. And I’m softening. And I’m leaning into the palm outstretched against my face. And I realize how silly this whole thing is. 

His eyes roll over my lips and then my eyes. I want to kiss him. “ There is no catch. It’s never coming. Yes…Maybe I have been coming on a little strong. This has been a lot to process for you. You're right, I can't be the center. There are so many other interesting things about you, not just me. Some of those things you haven’t even begun to discover yet. How about…I give you some time to yourself. We’ll put a pin in the gifts, the travel, and the repairs. And after you’ve had some time to recenter, we can do whatever you want. You said you want to host me. I’ll let you host me”, he says. 

“ Well…wait. I mean— I mean yes. Yes to all of that, but maybe I haven’t been completely honest with myself about the Kink shit ”, I rush. I shift in my seat uncomfortably. He just told me to find myself, and I’m getting aroused. Horrifically horrible timing. 

When his eyes darken, I know he can feel it. Be a thought or a shift in my body chemistry or whatever. “Tell me “, he prompts. The energy in the room shifts. His breathing slows, and his focus on me borders on fixation. 

And I don’t have the words for it. The feeling is too big for my body. I'm pinching the inside of my palms, foot tapping nervously against the floor. My heart is racing. “ L-look. I think I get what you’re trying to say. We decide what our dynamic looks like. We don’t hold anything against each other. I can appreciate that, and that’s wayyy more wise and measured than how I initially saw it. A-and if that’s the case then…”, I trail off. 

He nods. Waiting patiently. 

“ I— I've wondered what you got out of it. So..thanks for…for giving me your perspective and shit. I think I understand. I can admit that sometimes I don’t want all the control. Amina Medina seems to have had a very dominant personality overall. I have my moments for sure. But I do have an urge…at times”, I explain carefully. I’m moving my hands around. I’m talking in circles. Looking stupid as fuck. 

There’s a knowing look on his face. Almost as if he sees no point in torturing me any further. “Do you want me to find it?” he asks quietly. I nod. 

He goes quiet again, and he digs around inside my head, and it takes him barely anytime to find it. I know he's found it when he straightens in his seat. His face rests in confirmation, but his eyes. No more green or brown…no. Just black in the iris. Blown out. “ I can give you what you want, but your mind is mine until you leave this office? Not only for your safety but for my use.  Do you agree with those conditions?” 

I blink and look around the office. “ Now, here?' I question. My hands are balling anxiously in my lap. 

He nods calmly. “Right here, right now,” he sighs. 

“H-How many people are in the building?” I ask nervously. 

“ It’s the end of the day. My floor is empty, except for the receptionist and the janitor. You won't need to worry about sound, though. Nobody will be able to hear you if I will it into reality”, he threw his ankle over the top of his knee and leaned back into his seat. “ So, do you agree to those conditions ?” he asks again. No urgency in his voice. All patience. 

I pause for a moment. The fuck am I doing????

“ Fine. That’s fine…”, I sigh nervously. 

“ Fine”, he parrots. And for a moment, he sits there in silence. And the quieter he is, the more my emotions bind up. I haven't the slightest idea as to what he’ll do. There’s no list and red ink like back at the hotel. With my mind open to him, he’ll easily be able to pick up on what I like and what I don’t. But the anticipation is nearly unbearable. Pretty soon, I realize that’s the point. 

5 whole minutes pass, and I’m throbbing with need. There’s a tremor in my hands that I hide with my fists, blanketing one hand on top of the other. 

“ That’s your secret…to be treated in such a way. To understand it firsthand. You know how to surprise, I'll give you that,” he chuckles darkly, pulling off his tie and resting it on the table. 

I still say nothing. Do nothing. Heart beating out of my chest. Eyes wandering the room. Wondering where I’d end up. Would it be the floor? The table? On the desk? The arm of the couch? The window? I don’t know what side he’s coming from. I knew he was going to fuck with me—he always does. He likes to see me squirm. 

“ You’re right, I do,” he smiles brightly. 

My eyes cut to him. Every single thought that manifested in my skull was being funneled into his own. I'm fucked. So, I think about rainbows. About puppies! Something nice and unassuming. He laughs as he stands over me, shrugging off his jacket. 

“Unbutton your shirt ”, he says in a quiet tone. His words turn downward. No time to think. Just do it. 

My trembling hands unbutton from the top down. Each thump of the cotton as it releases from the button reveals layer upon layer of lace. When I get to my navel, his eyes curiously graze my cleavage. 

“ You just wanted to talk, hmm?”, he teases quietly.

I look down at the last button and unloosen it, revealing the lingerie underneath. I see no point in pleading my case or proving my innocence. It wouldn’t convince him. 

“ You convinced yourself, draga. Lift up,” he signals for my pants. 

I lift my hips from my seat, and he unbuttons my pants and pulls them down to my ankles. His hands trail up my thigh as he loops his finger under the band of my thong. 

“ You know what….I think I like white on you better than black now…”, he rasps, hands roaming my body at his leisure. I feel his thumb press against my nipple through the lace. I’m sensitive all over, something I’ve noticed since we got together. I feel my body in places I didn’t before. Teasing my breasts never used to get much of a reaction out of me, but with him, it’s different. His mouth sucks my nipples through the lace of my bra, and I can’t help but throw my head back. My clit is throbbing again. He takes his time with it until I can see my flesh poke through the thin white material. Then his fingers swirl around it, pressing and flicking, watching the way the material strangulates it. His hot tongue wets the fabric to the point that I can feel the wetness. 

Then he trails down to my lace panties that don’t hide much. He kissed the outside of them, pressing his lips to my clothed clit before placing his nose against the material. He rubs it up and down the lace to the point that I can feel the sensitivity ignite against my bundle of nerves. I thank god for his wide nose. I’m practically rolling my hips into his face as his hot and heavy tongue laps over the fabric. 

“ Fuck”, I slur. He hums against me in a chuckle when I start to discreetly hump his tongue. He pulls away, pressing his thumb over my clit, the lace a barrier of annoyance at this point. 

“ Please…”, I whined. 

He looks at me. "There will come a moment when you’ll want me to have absolutely nothing to do with this. Be careful what you ask for", he warns.

I lean forward to kiss him. His hand wraps around my throat, more so as a support than as a display of dominance. His lips touch me like I’m fragile as our foreheads meet and press together. It burned slowly until it got harder. Our lips rush into each other so hard our teeth knock. I don’t fight for what I want. I let his tongue have its way. He’s leaning over me in the chair when he pulls away and kisses down my neck, smelling that too. A grunt of appreciation leaves him. As if the blood rushing below my skin were a bouquet of roses or a pot full of food. 

He levels his face with mine before he gets back on his knees. I can see the fangs elongate in his mouth. He’s going to bite me, and he’s not going to tell me where. I brace my body for the attack, and in an instant, sharp teeth penetrate the skin on my inner thigh. His grip is firm around it, likely a precaution to prevent the injury from worsening. I yelp when I feel it. 

The pain is molten hot. So hot that I’m pushing him away when he starts drinking. I take a deep gulp of air as my finger furls around the sides of the chair. The pain feels so much more pronounced here. He pulls away and licks at the skin until the blood begins to coagulate. It’s still throbbing in pain, and I’m waiting and waiting and waiting. My chest is moving rapidly as I try to regain my composure. When he pulls away and licks his lips, I feel the trickle of wetness in the corners of my mouth. I wipe my face. Black streaks of mascara paint my fingers. 

What little makeup I had on was ruined, and I’m sure I look deranged. When the pain begins to taper off, he pulls my pants back up to my hips and buttons my shirt up halfway. 

“ Vlad,” I groan pathetically. My head whips back and forth to see where I’m going as he pushes my chair under the table and places my hands on top of it.

My knee jerks into the table, knocking down the canister of blood, causing it to bust open and splatter against the floor. I’m writhing in my chair from the sensation. A bite to the thigh turned into more than pleasure. Arousal to the highest degree. My nipples cut through the lace of my bra so sharply that it stings. The colors in the room brighten. Every part of my body was alive and pulsating. Goosebumps litter my entire body, and the sound in the room becomes dampened with the beat of my heart. I’m so wet, and I’m so tightly wound up.

I throw my head back in a long and low moan that cracks behind my lips. The feeling is like being on the precipice of climax but never reaching the top. Vlad walks up behind me, and I can feel his fingers sink into my hair as he gently cranks my head to look up at him. 

His tone is dark and authoritative. So quietly reprimanding and booming

“ Look at the mess you made..”, he tsks. Then he firmly but slowly jerks my head in the direction of the mess. I’m biting my lip to stop the sound from getting out. My thighs squeeze together. His silk tie is carefully nudged between the slit of my mouth. He fastens it behind my head and ties it. 

“ There. Nice and presentable”, Vlad hums. I feel his fingers straightening my collar and fixing my hair. 

“ Mmmph!”, I mumble around the gag. My back bends from the wood. I’m dangling over the edge of my climax only to be suspended there. I need to cum so badly. So badly that I almost don’t care about my restriction on talking. 

“ Do not move your hands from this table”, he warns. My hands flatten against the glossy oak. I’m unable to lift them from the table. He’s compelled me. Fucking bastard! 

He stands in front of me, the table between us nothing but an obstacle and an annoyance. He folds his arms as if to discipline. “ I’ll have to call the janitor and tell him to come and clean up the mess you made”, he sighs.  My eyes widen into saucers. He just looovess that. My panic has him chomping at the bit. 

With his tie prohibiting my speech, my threats sound less like “Vlad!” And more like “Babahh!”

My legs kick out from under me as Vlad calls for the janitor. I can hear heavy footsteps approaching as he opens the door, rolling in with a mop. The man stands at just under 6 feet, late 30s, greying, with a long beard and hair. His panicked expression does nothing for the torturous feeling in my core. 

I’m desperately trying to suppress the sound seeping behind the silk in my mouth, but a wave of pleasure wracks my body as I shout, throwing my head back as I wriggle in my seat. Squeaking loudly as I slide down my chair, hands still stuck to the table like they were glued there. 

“ Don’t be a hero”, Vlad’s eyes narrow at the janitor. 

It’s as if the feeling upped the ante when the janitor came in. My head is throbbing with the sound of my heart. I’m so close I can taste it. Slyly, I begin squeeze my legs together, applying pressure to my clit. It’s enough stimulation to give me the release I’ve been looking for, and when I do, my forehead falls on the table, and my back bends outward, knees reaching for my chest. I let out a long, haughty moan that tapers off into small whimpers. I turn my cheek and press the side of my face into the table as I watch the janitor mop the floor. 

The janitor and I make eye contact, and he’s trying to compute if this is a hostile situation, something kinky, or both. So I do us both a favor and wink at him. His shoulders seem to relax, but he’s still weirded out. I don’t have enough time to feel sorry for him because that wave of arousal finds me again, working me back up. I’m back to groaning and whining, wriggling like I was on some substance. Vlad’s eyes are pure fire as he watches me. I’ve never seen him so angry. The janitor finishes up and wipes the wet floor with a paper towel. The silence is thick as nothing, but the sounds of my groans and moans fill the 800-square-foot office.

“ You will forget you saw her when you leave my office and have no memory of cleaning this mess”, Vlad commands. The janitor is in a daze as he nods zombie-like and walks out the door. The door closes on its own accord behind him, thanks to Vlad’s creepy little tricks. 

When Vlad sets his sights back on me, I feel my stomach drop. He’s on me in seconds, standing behind me and lifting me under my arms and pulling me onto the table. My pants are pushed down to my ankles. I’m bent over it, with my left arm pinned against my back. 

I have no time to compute anything besides the sting on my ass. I’m being spanked on both cheeks, one by one. I’m squirming in his grasp, but he’s leaning over me in such a way that I can’t run. 

What was supposed to be an “ OOww wait, sorry!” came out as an “OOHOHHOHhnmmm!”,  behind my silk. I sound like a basset sound as I squeal under his grasp. 

“ What would make you think it was okay to do that? You’ll pay for what you took”, he seethes in my ear. He doesn't stop until my skin is hot. I’m trembling under him, legs shaking. I got maybe 20-40 lashes and with such a swift hand, his palms stung more than I anticipated. When he finally pulls away, I can feel fresh tears trailing down to my chin. 

He leaves me pressed face-first against the table and comes back with the ice pack from the lunch pail. He presses the pack against my skin, and I let out a long, drawn sigh of relief. He alternates between each cheek, pressing for 30 seconds, then switching. This goes on and on for about ten minutes as I lean over the table, compromised, teary, and ashamed. He stops and places the ice packs next to me. I can feel his fingers pull my panties to the side and press against my slit. 

I’m sopping wet. So wet that his fingers slip together over my skin. He shakes his head. “You’re a fucking problem”, he scoffs. 

“ Sorry,” is slurred behind my gag. 

He fixes my panties but leaves off my pants and sets me down in my seat. His hands come down to my shoulders as he stands behind me authoritatively. Slowly, he leans down next to my ear. “You will not get up from this seat until I come to retrieve you. If you get up before I tell you to, the consequences will not be enjoyable for you. Not in the slightest. There will be more tears? Do you understand me, Amina?” he hums quietly. I nod with urgency. Swearing not to make the same mistake twice. 

 He left me there, suspended and wanting and writhing for 1 whole hour. In that time span, I swear I went through every stage of grief. The sun got lower as he spoke rapidly into the phone, jumping from Romanian to Spanish to Italian to French to Amharic. He doesn’t look up at me once. He speaks louder when I get belligerent. I start to wonder if he’s going to forget about me. 

I’ve died and come back to life so many times that by the time he comes back over to get me, I don’t even get excited. I can see him undo the tie and remove the gag from my mouth. He tilts my jaw up at him, tucking his hand under my face. 

“ Are you ready to follow instructions?” he asks me carefully. His face is chastising me. One hour ago, I would have wanted to claw his eyes out. Something had changed since then. An hour of edging has made me most agreeable. I don’t know what he’s unlocked or rewired in my brain, but my mouth is watering. I know what comes next by the way he adjusted himself earlier. 

“I'm ready to do whatever you want me to do...”, I beg. 

With the lasting effects of the bite worn off, I’m just left with the throb of need. Knowing how Vlad is, he will likely draw this out. He unzips his trousers, and then he unbuttons my shirt, pulling it off me. I drop down to my knees in a hurry, balancing my hands on his knees. First, his slacks drop, and then his trousers, and when he pulls himself out, I feel like I’ve struck gold. I could feel the heat radiating off of it. His scarred chest expands as he towers above me 

“ Can I…please?”, I groan. He gives me the nod of approval, and I waste no time. I grab him and shove him so deeply into my mouth that it hurts. I don’t stop until I feel my drool coat and pool down to my chest. I pull back and spit on him and then turn my head to twist my mouth up and down his base. I sink deep into him until I feel the tip of him reach the back of my tongue. I gag loudly, pushing past the reflex and swallowing him down. He hisses when he feels the tightness of my airway. A harsh gag pushes him out as I cum up for air. 

“ Fuck. Amina…don’t hurt yourself”, he spat. He grabs the back of my hair, looking at me incredulously. 

“ Where’d the tough guy act go?” I tease breathlessly. I blow bubbles underneath his base, running my lips along the skin. 

His fingers sink into the back of my hair. I open my mouth wide, and he shoves himself inside to the hilt. “Stick out your tongue”, he groans. I do, and I completely ruin my bra with saliva. My nose rubs against the trimmed hair on his pelvis as he slides down my throat with an ease that surprises me. If I were going to find extra throat for anybody, it would always be him. My throat constricts around him, and he grunts in approval before I pull away quickly for air. I'm gasping, eyes watery and blurry, tapping him on my tongue. I suction my mouth around the head nice and tight. He hisses through it. I massage his sack slowly, in time with the bobs of my head. 

It’s weirdly masochistic the way I enjoy choking myself out on him. I shouldn’t derive pleasure from this. It’s wet and constricting. I have to time my breathing. But I lose myself in it, and my mouth goes all numb. and tingly, and I’m making such a huge mess. Every sound he makes is fuel…it’s food, damn near. I’m rolling my face into him, tapping him against my cheek and tongue. 

I pull away and open my mouth to wait. I seem to have surprised him because he stops for a moment before he reads my mind. A line of spit webs its way from his mouth into mine, and I fuck my mouth onto him with it. I pull him out, mouth open, waiting again. He repeats, and I fuck my mouth with it. Again, and again and again. A sounds gurgles from the back of my throat that borders on deviant. 

“ More, please,” I groan with my mouth open. He spits again, and I use the extra lubrication to push him to the hilt until his knees are buckling. I pull him out and tap him against my lips. 

“ You are fucking filthy. Do you know that?” he grunts. I smile in agreement. And it sounds less like an insult and more like a declaration of admiration. It makes me giggle into his sack, suctioning the skin into my mouth as I round my hand over his tip. 

I spit on the tip, lick it off, and spit again before I sink myself back onto him. A loud noise comes from him, sounding like a shout but verging on a cry. He looks down at me, blissed out. “ Ai un contorsionist ascuns în gât, dragostea mea?” He groans. I know he just said something disgusting. Something....about a contortionist???

Giving a man a head was an ugly thing. And I’m sure it was a sensory nightmare for some people. But when you love someone, it’s almost like their pleasure is funneled back to you. Whatever I’m doing, I’m doing it right beside him, and he can’t stop grunting in broken Romanian. Learning Romanian was on my to-do. For no other reason but to understand the dirty shit he said. “ Gâtul tău e un vid fără fund. Unde le ascunzi pe toate? Iubirea mea. La naiba!. Fuuuckkk!”, he sneers. He’s thrusting into my throat with a dizzying speed, and I’m gagging with every plunge. His tip tickles the back of my throat, and his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

“Așteaptă. Așteaptă, așteaptă, iubito”, he pleads, hands wrapped around himself as he pulls out. A string of my drool follows him as he pulls away. I lick my lips, wanting more but knowing my limits. He lifts my chin and kisses me on my mouth, sucking my tongue and my lips. 

He reaches past me and slips his fingers under the lace of my bra. He sweeps over my nipples, looking down at me, muttering things in his own language. When he pulls at the skin, I hiss at the sensitivity. I can feel him swiftly undo my bra, allowing it to tumble to the floor. 

He reaches behind me and palms my ass before pulling my thong to the side to touch me. He groans when he feels the wetness clinging to my skin. " I should be selfish today. But you look so delicious. I’ll find a way to compromise”, he purrs as his fingers sink around my clit. I want to rock against him and finish, but I know the skin on my ass would be worse for wear. 

I crawl to the couch after his command, bending over the back of it, as he positions himself behind me. He peels my thong off slowly, and I can feel the air hit my wet skin. He discards them somewhere in the room.  A hot tongue sweeps through my folds, and my nails dig into the back of the couch for support. His hands rub against the globe of my ass, soothing the sting he left behind earlier. I rest my face on the couch, pushing back against his tongue.

His face presses into the back of my thighs as his tongue nestles inside me. I’ve failed to ask him how he moves like that, but my mind soon goes blank the moment his tongue swirls around my clit. I groan into the padding of the couch as I rock against his mouth. One of his arms wraps around my legs, holding them together as he suctioned himself flat to me. 

He laps at me with just the right pressure, and I have half the mind to reach around and grab the back of his head. The moment the thought forms in my mind, he pops my ass for it. I grunt out an apology, which he accepts with a suck on my clit that makes my toes curl. 

His tongue implants itself so deeply inside of me that with the right angle, he could fuck me and get me off on it. He spreads the back of my thighs to get even deeper, and I'm sighing profanities that don't even make sense. 

With his tongue thrashing against my walls, he slides his skilled and slender fingers underneath me. His pointer and middle digits find my clit, and he does that thing he does. Who needs an hitachi wand when there's him. With lethal precision, he combines the two sensations of his fingers and his tongue, and my back bends in the way that frightened cats do. That earns me a swift and firm pop on the side of my thigh. 

I bend my back, squirming away from the stimulation by moving my hips. That earns me another pop to my inner thigh that makes me yowl. Vlad moves his head, pushing his tongue in and out of me as I cry out in bliss. 

His tongue laves over me, and it goes up and up and up until there's practically nowhere else to go but ONE place. And when I think “nah, he won't,” he surprises me. He completely hurries his face into my backside and tongues with vigour. He makes a pleased sound. As if he just dunked his head into fresh pie. 

“ Fuck….”, I choke into a nervous laugh. Which then rolls into a butchered moan from the absurdity, or rather, the audacity. And the incredulous feeling of his tongue and how I was on the verge of actually coming from something like this. 

With his nibble fingers still buzzing around my clit, he hums into my cheeks. “What am I doing to you? Say it,” he spanks my left cheek. 

I gasp. “ Y-You’re llicking me”, I groan. My hips swivel back towards him. Not wanting him to stop. 

“Where?”, he groans into me, licking my again. Tongue sinking deeper.

“My aoohhhhhmmm”, I sputter. I don’t make it far. I cum from the dual sensation, bending away from his fingers and mouth. He holds me there until I finish before pulling away with a final lick. 

I'm still bound tight from my orgasm as he pushes into me, feeling the resistance of my walls. Still riddled with aftershocks as he hisses in pleasure, settling inside bit by bit. 

I sigh at the familiar feeling of having him inside of me as I bend over the couch cushion. He doesn’t waste time once he’s fully seated inside of me to rock me back and forth into the pleated cotton. I’m digging into the armrest for support as our skins slap together in a bright and loud echo. 

One hand is at my hip, and the other cups my throat. I can feel his stomach on my back as he leans into me. The scrape of his fangs on the side of my face sends a shiver down my spine. 

My mind goes blank as I close my eyes. I can’t even be bothered to make a sound, I just let him drop into me. And I realize maybe this was all I wanted. All I wanted was a moment of silence. To slow my thoughts down. I can feel the welts of his scars sliding down my back. And he’s so warm and hard in the right places. His hand around the front of my throat is an anchor. He doesn’t squeeze, though I secretly wish he would. I don’t have time to anticipate my release. It just happens. It happens so intensely that he can barely move inside of me when I do it.

And it happens again, and once more, and then I feel that familiar spurt of wetness between my legs. The couch is ruined. He’s lost the grip of his feet on the floor. He curses quietly and pulls out of me to inspect the mess. He spanks me hard, on both cheeks. I’m squirming away, and he pulls me up on my feet, hand buried in the back of my hair. 

I can see the irritation bubbling behind his eyes, but I don’t think it’s because I messed up his couch. Rather, he’s angry because he had to stop. “ Look at that mess you made? Who’s going to clean that up?” he sneers, pointing my Head in the direction of the slippery floor. 

“I’ll make it right ”, I beg. I don’t even recognize my voice. It borders on begging. I don’t beg. I’ve never really had to. 

“You’re going to make it right?” he taunts. I’m grabbing onto his wrists behind my hair. He’s not hurting me, but I feel the tug. 

“Yes— I’ll make it right”, I pout. 

“ Kneel right where you made that mess”, he tests. I drop to the floor without an ounce of hesitation. My knees and chin are wet as I take him back into my mouth. My hands rest behind me on the couch. He controls the speed as I unlock the tension in my jaw. At one point, I wonder if maybe his venom had to do with my slackness because my mouth stretched to capacities that I didn’t even think were capable. 

I take back a little control, wrapping a hand around him. 

He’s sweating as I swallow him down, sticking out my tongue to pet the underside of his skin. I play with him by slinking him in and out of the side of my cheek, pressing him into the elasticity of the smoothed flesh. I follow it with a firm suckle to the tip of his Head. He calls it quits and pulls himself out of my mouth. 

I’m being told to keep my hands on the couch as he kneels me over the seat. My knees on the ground are throbbing, slipping through the wetness if I don’t stay still. His tie is back over my mouth. On his feet, he inches himself back into me. Dropping into me at an angle that makes me gasp. 

The tops of my feet slap against the floor as I mutter intelligibly around the silk on my mouth. He's brushing up against everything I need him to. His fingers snake under my belly to rub my clit, syncing up with his angled thrust. I'm drooling around the tie with my eyes rolled back into my head. 

“ Don’t scream...”, he mutters in a breathless tone. He’s twitching inside me. At first, I think it’s just his body's reaction to me. I’ve felt him do it before—maybe unintentionally. But he does it again and again until I realize what he’s attempting to do. Just like with his hands, I feel that flickering of his skin deep inside me. 

My eyes widen when I realize what this evil fucker was doing. From tip to base, he’s buried inside of me so deep, vibrating so quickly that I yelp.

“ Quiet”, he whispers. I want to scream, and god do I try. But I can’t. He’s compelled me into near silence. Flesh buzzing into my flesh. Not a single insertable inch left to spare. Thrashing underneath him earns me another firm press from his hips. 

He moves his hand to my neck. His hands are so long that they nearly wrap around the entirety of it. He uses it to bounce me off him. His other fist pins my hands behind my back. I’m wheezing behind my gag; every noise I make is closer to a bleating animal than the supposed sex bot I was earlier. 

My body absorbs the shock of his thrusts as our skin slaps together at a rapid pace. I’m seeing stars and going seconds between thrusts without breathing. I cry into a release that leaves tears pooling at the corners of my eyes. He’s persistent, his hips barely faltering when I cum. 

He’s seesawing against my G-spot, barely pulling himself out before he rushes back in. My body is locked up so tight that my muscles ache. The vibration on his tip is the harshest there. I can’t scream, though I so badly need to. Sound relieves pressure. It expanded my mental bandwidth. Without the ability, I’m winding up and up and up. Pinpricks litter my body, starting at my toes and spreading everywhere. My head is fuzzy. 

….Holy shit, I might just pass out. 

I’m lifted onto the couch like nothing. I’m on my back, and Vlad presses the back of my thighs flat against my chest. He slides into me without an ounce of resistance, resuming with the flutter of his length burrowed inside me. He’s so deep I can see the imprint at the bottom of my belly. And even though he wasn’t actually IN my stomach, he might as well have been. 

It’s even more unbearable in this position. Even worse, he’s got my legs locked in place as he thrusts in and up into me. I can’t buck out of his grip. I’m gridlocked with my legs nearly behind my head. My hands scour his expansive build, trying to grip or scratch something. I can’t get more than a squeak out of my throat, and I feel like tearing my hair out. It’s so much. Too much. Too good—if good ever bordered on bad. There was such a thing as too much of a good thing, right? I mean, surely there were limits on the human psyche. 

Couldn’t this hedonistic motherfucker understand that? Mortals break under far milder circumstances. Grief, isolation, hurt feelings, confinement—drugs!. My hands reach for his face, and he moves it just out of my reach, pinning one of them to my stomach. I should be getting numb by now. After you overstimulate the nerves, eventually they fizzle out for a few hours. I’ve already cum so many times, but it seems like there was no ceiling to this sort of thing. 

My throat is tight from my cries—or lack thereof. I reach for the tie in my mouth, and he stops me. “ Do not take that tie off”, he grunts between thrusts. His eyes send a warning. Compelled again. 

And then my hands are back to his chest and stomach, pushing, balling my fists until my nails bite my skin. 

“ MMhmmmFffuuhmmm!!!”, I whine, looking down at the complete mess forming between us. If he were human, I’m certain I wouldn’t been pregnant an hour ago. He’s so deep I have to open my mouth around the fabric to get a full breath.

And somehow he turns the dial on how hard he’s buzzing inside of me, and I’m thrashing into him. His thrusts get heavier and more controlled. Could you dry-clean a couch? 

He leans over me, pelvis to pelvis. I can see the wheels turning in his head. His fingers wipe my tears, and then they go straight for my clit. He spits onto his target and rolls his thumb over it. Pitched squeaks seep past my lips as he begins to massage my pussy with his slippery fingers. 

“ You know what I want. We can be here all day. I would hate to have to bring in reinforcements”, he taunts. His eyes dart from the mess between us to my face. I’m so fucked out that it feels like it takes ten years to cover my hand over his thumb. It doesn’t make much difference. He continues to massage it. 

“ Mmmm. Mm. Nmhmm”, I protest behind my gag. I'm begging and pleading, and it seems to fall on deaf ears. He's tunnel-visioned at this point, and I'm far too wound up to stop now. I’m biting down so hard on his tie that I’m sure I look more like an electric chair victim than anything.

Vlad’s patience is through. It would seem he was running low on it today, because when I feel the growing, persistent buzz from his fingers, I stop breathing. Full stop.

“Vreau binecuvântarea ta asupra penisului meu. Ești atât de strâns încât îți pot simți bătăile inimii”, he whispers in a sickly sweet tone. As if this were romance and not him pushing me towards the brink of insanity. Saying disgusting shit to me in a Shakespearean manner. He's turning up the heat now. I'm hissing. Labored breath was partially obstructed by the cloth. My head bangs back and forth into the couch. Digging away from him for distance. Reprieve. 

He pulls himself all the way out and then pushes back in, thumb steady, vibrating against my clit. It's as if he were taking an anatomy lesson, or maybe he loves the way he disappeared in such a small place. The slower he went, the more the pleasure thickened. Every single vein dragged along my walls and lit my body up. I feel him in my feet. He moans.” Mă uimești. Și găurița ta mică e contorsionistă? E atât de însetată după pula mea. E vreun centimetru pe care n-o să-mi accepți dragostea?” 

He reaches down to slip my gag down, and I take a deep gulp of air. “OH my god, oh my god, oh my god. Ohhmygod VladOhm…”, I whimper. He grabs the back of my head and tips my chin to my chest so that I can watch him fuck me closely. He leans down to suck and bite on my nipple, meticulously swirling his tongue around my bud the same way he does my clit. In tandem, his thumb sinks and presses onto my clit, ramping up my need. I make a guttural sound. 

I practically erupt. It's so intense in my body that I close my eyes and try to turn away to no avail. I hear a big gush that leaves me shivering all over. Vlad finally… finally pulls out, and I can breathe again. When I open my eyes, I can see that his entire torso is soaked. His couch is fucked. You'd think by now he'd anticipate the damage, but he’ll likely get a new one. It would be criminal to let anybody sit there. 

He's playing in the mess between my legs with the tip of himself. Sloshing himself from the top and bottom of my pussy. Nudging into my clit. I have to dig my nails into the couch cushions when he dives his tongue between my legs. He doesn't leave a single part untouched. Not a single crevice. I jumped again when I felt his tongue sweep into my ass a second time.

When he pulls away, I realize he hasn't finished. I use what's left of my strength to lift up from the couch and slide down to my knees. 

I hold onto his thighs, mouth open. I grab onto the base of him and stroke him in the direction of my mouth. His haggard breathing is the only thing I hear besides my begging. 

“ Please, I need it…”, I whine. I twist my slippery hands around the base, up and down, rounding my hand around the head. 

His body tenses up, shoulders rounding and hiking, ribs expanding, hissing as he nears release. 

“Give it to me, please. That's all I've wanted all day. Please…please…”, I murmur. 

A choked sound leaves his throat as the spurt of his release lands on my outstretched tongue, coating it with warmth and salt and something appealing. If vampires were built to entice the senses and every part of them was appealing, that applied to every single facet. Even the way he tastes. 

I spit some of it back onto the tip, and it licks it off over and over again, rushing underneath it to catch it with my mouth. Looking up at him as I push him back down. His eyes are fearful that I won't stop, and he's nearly as sensitive as I am. I hear him mutter something about how filthy I am again before I pull away and stick out my tongue. I show him that it's all gone. He’s shuddering. 

He bends down to wrap his fingers around my neck and then kisses me. All possessive and messy and disgusting. The bottom half of my face is covered in drool, and he doesn’t give a single fuck. 

I’m pulled up to my feet and escorted to a bathroom where Vlad helps me clean up. My undergarments, he insists on keeping. I find a claw clip in my bag. My once-straight hair was puffy at the roots. I rinse my face off and try to look somewhat normal before I step back out. 

I’ve got a bottle of Voss in my hand and the underwear that I stole back from him. Every time I say that I’m leaving, we end up kissing. The 5th time was the charm. When I head towards the door, he grabs my shoulders and compels me one last time. 

“ I’m going to be old news to you until next weekend. Use that time to make something out of what you feel right now. Make some art. Sit with your thoughts. After that, I want you to call me when you're done” 

I don’t remember getting home or anything else, other than changing into my overalls and mixing paint in my shed. I look around at all the paintings I’ve done over the last ten years. Hallways and castles and roses and snow. At the time, it all felt so far away. A strange mysticism wafted from them all. The world I’d painted had finally come to life. The turmoil from the “unknown” made it nearly impossible to create anything else but what I dreamt. And for the first time in years, I didn’t want to paint some old-world architecture. Or dark figures or bats in the sky. 

I prime my canvas and add my gamsol to my palette before I splat red right down the center. For the first time, there’s no sketching or outlining. There are no reference photos as a guide. It’s whatever I feel. I work only in shades of red for this piece. Merlot, brick, scarlet, crimson, rose. The paintings make themselves. In a haze of red, I find two bodies melting into each other. They reveal themselves the more I paint around them. And then another, in all blue, blurred faces morphing into one, a swamp of colors. All static and fuzzy. Almost disorienting. 

Female silhouettes with sparks bursting out of the back of her head, slouched over a bed, daydreaming. I think back to the times I’d be in bed, windows closed, sunlight blaring behind blackout curtains. The mundanity of the dust in the air would be the only thing that could pull me out of my miserable rumination. I find room for that too. A way to translate it on canvas.

The glow of a phone in the dark and a looming figure. What would seem like a threat to the untrained eye was actually protection. The sex is there, but I don’t make it obvious. Focusing more on the feeling rather than the mechanics because that’s what counted. Portraits of eyes were my favorite. I found a way to tell a story with them. Glazed brown orbs stare off into the distance. If you look closely enough, you can see the illusion on the inside. 

When I go to work, I can only think about what I’ll paint next. I barely remember the week. Mr.Landry inquired about that dinner. Nya must have brought up Vlad because Mr.Landry wants to meet him. And with him basically becoming a surrogate father to me, there was no room to decline. So I just pushed it to the end of the month, which was about 3 weeks away. Plenty of time to bring it up over a date night or something. 

I don't notice my lack of sleep until I get to my last painting. Bodies walking through portals. Contrasting between life and death. Each portrait encompassed my life for the last few weeks. I put the finishing touches on the painting and left it on the easel to dry. I begin a long clean-up process, collecting my brushes to put in a cleaning solution. My phone rings as I open the shed door to let in more fresh air. It’s Nya. I smile when I see her contact pop up on the screen. “Hey, pumpkin!” she sings into the phone speaker. 

I laugh. “ Pumpkin… is that my new nickname now?”, I question skeptically. 

I can almost hear her roll her eyes, “ Yes, of course”, she sighs.

I squint. “ May I ask why?”

“'Cause you been in that house getting gutted like one”, she blurts. 

“ Nya!”, I scoff. 

“ What?! It’s true”, she snorts. 

“ I’ll have you know that I’ve been painting! I haven’t seen that man in a week !”, I say in defense. 

She laughs hard. " Lord knows you had to stop. He was about to stomp a crater in your shit”, she tsks. 

“Must you be so dramatic? No hello, how are you??”, I groan. 

“ Hello, how are ya? I’ll ask once more. Papa Landry needs to vet this dude if you’re gonna be cooped up in the house with him”, she hints. 

I hold my breath. “Uhhhhhh well I told your dad the end of the month so..”, I trail off. 

“ Well, let’s do it then because we need to get this nigga on the grill and see if he can cook. You know you can tell the quality of the man by the way he grills–that’s what my daddy said. I’m telling you right now if he burns a single hot dog, I'm kicking him in his stomach”, she warns playfully. 

I chuckle, “ You’re threatening my man with bodily harm now? I should tell him you said that. Besides, I don't think he grills. He pays people to do that. Don't get your hopes up.”

"..So what you saying? This white-collar nigga can't hold a spatula? Can he at least screw a light bulb? I have high standards for my friend”, she warns. 

“He screwed my light bulb. That’s all that counts”, I joke suggestively. 

“MMmmm….Right. I need to come over and get the deets about that”, she hints. 

I giggle, “I can’t tell you what my man and I are doing.”

“ Oh, please. All this proper shit. You ain’t fooling nobody, hoe,” she snorts.

I changed the subject to “What do you want for your birthday?”

“A real nigga”, she hums.

“Answer me this. How does your birthday fall on Easter, but you’re a demon?” I ask.

“If you want to get me something for my birthday, find me one of those rich friends your man got. That’ll make my life a helluva lot easier, " she blurts.

“ I’m feeling generous, so I’ll inquire for you, " I chortle. “ I forgot to ask…Whatever happened to that radiologist ?”

She lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “ He made me pay for everything, including my Uber. He asked to split the bill after he suggested this nice ass restaurant on the river. He was from the West Bank, I shoulda known.”

“ Blue collar seems to be where it’s at. You’re the one who said those healthcare dudes are duds”, I remind her. 

“ Yeah, yeah, I did. I’m off these niggas forreal. Anyway, what have you been painting?” she asks. 

I take a deep breath, looking at all the paintings I've created in the last week. There were dozens. “ A lot. A lot of everything. The nightmares I’ve been having are practically gone now. I'm starting to paint other things. Less straightforward and more message-forward. I was thinking about putting my stuff in a gallery. Vlad has one and…”, I trail off with uncertainty. 

A loud cackle echoes from her lips and into my speaker

“All these years I been preaching about you putting something on display, and this nigga beats me to it in a few months ?! What kinda dick he got? Ambitious dick?!”

I stutter. “ Well, it’s not like it was something I pursued. He practically saved a spot for me! It wasn’t even something I asked him about.” 

“ I’m not even gonna argue. Just DO it. You’re sitting on a gold mine, and you don’t even realize it”, she urges. 

“ Yeah, well…I’m building up the courage, I guess. I’m gonna call him tonight and figure out the process”, I admit. 

“Do not back out”, she warns. 

“I won’t. I won’t!”, I swear. 

“ I’m serious. You have no idea how many things are gonna open up for you when you put yourself out there. Trust me,” she says in a cautious tone. 

“I know…”, I trail off, unsure. 

“ Figure out the dates for the dinner. I want to meet this dude. And I’m coming over Sunday. We’re gonna do breakfast. I love you”, she says. 

“Love you more”, I smile before hanging up. 

I kept my word not only to Nya but to myself. For the first time in a while, I don’t betray myself. I called Vlad up for help with the portfolio. It seems like he breathed a sigh of relief when he heard me ask him. As if he’d been waiting for me to say those words. 

It’s painful asking for help. 

Vlad set me up with his assistant at the gallery, Mark, who helped me put it together. Nya helped me pick which paintings to include in my physical portfolio over brunch on Sunday. The digital portfolio took a bit longer to set up as I was shooting for perfection.  I needed 10-15 high-quality images, an artist statement, and a resume. 

Vlad approached this with a level of professionalism that I’d never experienced from him before. I didn't want handouts, and he knew that. I wanted to earn it. The realization stuck with him because his tone lacked any flirtation. It frightened me a bit, but I supposed that I should get used to it. If I commit to my art, there will come a day when I will be faced with speaking to some snooty art director at another gallery. And they won’t be inclined to be as polite as Vlad. 

Early Saturday morning, I’m outside his gallery. I can’t help but notice he pushed the grand opening back. I knew he didn’t want the debut without my pieces, and the thought makes me smile as I walk back into his office. He's dressed down in a black tee, jeans, and a hat. Blending with his environment. He could be a chameleon sometimes. 

I’m so nervous at the interview with Vlad that I feel sick to my stomach. My lack of experience shows. My first job was at a drive-thru right out of high school. My second job was working for Mr. Landry. I make art at home. I've never even had my work showcased in a restaurant. I knew if I asked Mr. Landry, he would do it—because he cares. But I couldn't bring my sled to ask. My voice shakes when I talk about the vision behind some of my choices. His eyes roll over the physical portfolio. His steely gaze softens when he sees an expressionist painting of a man in red rain smoking. The head is the only part that's true to color, and only his profile gives a hint at his identity. He doesn’t ask about it, but it’s implied to be him. I know that he knows it's him. 

“ I’ve seen what I needed to see. I think your art will be the perfect addition to the gallery. How soon can you submit?'' He leans back in his chair, clicking his pen. 

I stutter in disbelief, “ I-I have a couple pieces in my car…”

“ Perfect”, he smiles. 

He preaches to me about the importance of business cards, continuing to build my website, and documenting my work as I go. Apparently, I’ll also need prints and a mix of high-value and low-value merch. Shirts, apparel, totes, keychains, phone cases, posters, high-quality prints and canvas prints, mugs, greeting cards, notebooks, calendars, and jewelry. He stressed the importance of starting small inventory-wise. He warned that next time he saw me, when he cycles into the fall exhibit, I should have my own business cards and gain experience if I want another spot. 

I watch him install 6 pieces all by himself, climbing on a ladder and hammering away. I stare in disbelief as the spotlights shine on my finished pieces. In January, I never thought this would be my life. I never thought I would see my art hanging in a gallery. A NICE one. With fucking marble floors and Jacob Lawrence pieces for decor—not even a part of the exhibit. 

I cry on my way home. Nya screams when I tell her I did it. That small voice in my head tries to convince me that this wasn't special because it was a handout. That he was only doing this because he loves me. I start to voice it to Nya, and she immediately shuts it down. Refuting those claims. “ You've started a pattern now. Vlad won't be the only person who knows Amina Boudreaux’s work in the next 6 months. He got you in the door now, take that opportunity and use it! ”

I tell Vlad my family friends want to meet him. The way his face lights up makes me giggle at the thought. I was pushing it off for quite a while. I didn't know how we'd go about it. But Vlad insists that he wants to meet them. Somehow, before the weekend is over, I've rerouted all Easter plans to my house. He promises to help me cook and clean up after the event.

“ You do know that many families go to church before their easter dinner….right?”, I warn carefully. 

“ Yeah....so??", he nods.

“ Are you sure you won't burst into flames the minute you step in there with me?” I joke, pouring him something to drink from one of the canisters in my fridge. 

“ I’m certain”, he grins. Pulling me into his lap and taking the drink graciously “. 

I gasp. “ Wait!…what about the food ??”

“I'll eat what I can”, he says flippantly. As if it doesn’t matter. 

I shake my head. “You can't eat at all, Vlad.” 

He stares in thought. “ The excuse will be a food allergy, but I'll keep up appearances when I need to.” 

“Just compel them not to notice”, I urge. 

He turns to me with a thoughtful look on his face.

“I know how protective you are of your loved ones. You feel a sense of betrayal when you lie and the compelling doesn’t make it any better. I picked this up about you when we first met. Why make this harder? I will eat a bit. It's no sacrifice.”

I frown. “It’s a sacrifice to your stomach”, I plead. 

“ It’s no sacrifice”, he repeats softly, then he kisses my forehead. 

I think about what next week will look like. “ You're good with really, really loud and sticky children…right?”