Tragic Desires (3 page)

“Can I buy you a drink?” I
give her a quick glance as I divide my concentration between her and the crowd.  

She
inspects me and shakes her head. “No, thanks. I got this.”

“Ah, you must be with someone
, then. Maybe your boyfriend?”

She doesn’t answer, but shrugs instead.

“Okay, my loss, his gain. Lucky guy.”

She turns then and looks me straight
on. Eyes like onyx, so dark, they’re nearly black. In fact, it’s close to impossible to distinguish her pupils from her irises. Fuck. Me. Dead. They’re the most exotic things I’ve ever seen. Large, almond-shaped, fringed in thick obsidian lashes, I’m drawn into their startling depths. With great difficulty, I force my gaze away from them and move it down to her mouth. Damn if I don’t want to suck my breath in because her lips have that kiss-me, lick-me, bite-me look written all over them. And I would pay for that mouth to be wrapped around my dick right now.

Shit! Get your head straight, man!

My mind buzzes
as it tries to figure out if she’s Hispanic, Italian, Asian … Her olive skin and black hair are dead giveaways for any of those, but one thing is certain: she possesses the purest form of beauty I’ve ever seen. She’s so damn perfect; it almost hurts to look at her. My lewd thoughts skyrocket as I continue to gape like an idiot. My dick wreaks havoc in my jeans, taking every coherent thought right out of my brain and sending it straight to my fucking balls.

Without a word, she turns back toward the bar and wait
s for the bartender. Clearly, she wants nothing to do with me, which is tragic in way too many respects. For once, it doesn’t seem right that I land in a place where such hot beauty exists … but I force those thoughts out of my head as quickly as they appear. Now I start to hope like hell she isn’t a target because the thought of anyone laying a hand on her makes my gut seize.

The bartender
hands her a beer, and she’s gone. It’s time for me to get my mind off my dick and back in the game.

As I scrutinize
her, I notice she’s alone. She switches from beer to shots of clear liquor, which I presume to be tequila. She’s not wasting any time getting hammered.

My
ear piece crackles. “Eagle One to Lone Wolf. You copy?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Anything happening?”

“Nothing. Copy.”

“Stay sharp. Out.”

As far as I can tell, Onyx Eyes is the only female
who’s alone right now. It’s time to start cruising the place. I motion to the bartender to let him know I’ll be on the move. Slowly, I make my way from one end of the room to the other. There’s a live band playing, so I weave around the perimeter, keeping Onyx Eyes in my sight, but also trying to scan the room for any other lone females.

My alarm bells start to ring when I see two guys approach her, but she acts like she knows them. They share some brief words
and then she pulls cash out of her pocket and passes it to one as he hands her something. I’ve just witnessed a drug deal. What the hell is she doing? She doesn’t fit the profile of a typical user. Then again, looks can be deceiving. A couple more minutes pass after the two dudes leave and she tosses back whatever’s in her hand and takes a swallow of her drink. Then she walks to the bar and orders another shot. I snag some photos of her with my phone.

“Lone Wolf to Eagle One, you copy?”

“Eagle One. Come in, Lone Wolf.”

“I may have a potential target. Copy?”

“Roger that, Lone Wolf. Details?”

“I just witnessed a drug deal and target is alone
.”

“Copy, Lone Wolf. Stay on target.”

“Roger that.”

The rest of the night i
s spent tailing Onyx Eyes, but nothing else happens. After the club closes down and we make sure the streets are empty, we head back to the hotel to debrief. No one has anything extraordinary to report, other than my incident.

“It may be that she’s just a recreational drug user,” Colt
says.

“True, but my fears are that if she is, that puts an even bigger bull
seye on her back. Easy pickins’ and all.”

“Okay, let’s see what we have.”

I send the pictures I took of her with my phone to Colt’s computer and he puts them up on the screen for everyone to see. “Take a good look and keep her photo with you. I’ll shoot this to you all. If you see her anywhere, tail her. We also need to find out who she is. Dylan, run a search on her. Let’s see what we can find.”

It’s four in the morning when we finish and head to our rooms.
My sleep is disturbed by a dark-haired goddess with eyes as dark as the midnight sky and my dick that’s way too hard for comfort. 

My apartment is
only a few blocks from Sixth Street, the place in Austin where all the nightlife is. It’s convenient for me, as I am now quite the barfly. How nice. I never thought things would turn to this, but my desire for alcohol and drugs has to be fed and the clubs have connected me with the right people to do just that. My days are filled with sleeping off the effects of my evening rituals, dealing with a crucifying migraine, or usually both. If the pain subsides enough, that’s when I make my way to the clubs.

This particular evening, I get out of the shower and look at the face that stares back at me in the mirror. Gone are the sparkly, laughing eyes. My hair that used to be so shiny is
on its way to dull and lifeless. My lips are chewed and I wonder how they got that way; I can’t remember doing that to them. The question that keeps firing through my brain is how much longer can I go on like this? This isn’t life; it’s just some sort of sad imitation. Oftentimes I think it would be so much easier to just take too many pills and not wake up in the morning. I’ve had them in my hand too, ready to swallow. But then a voice comes to me and changes my mind. That really isn’t the answer, and I know it.

I pull on jeans, a black
T-shirt, and finally my boots. I detangle my wet hair with my fingers and shake my head. That’s it for styling—honestly, I don’t give a shit how it looks. It’s clean and that’s enough for me. I put on some face cream and some lip gloss, to help heal my gnawed lips. Jewelry’s a thing of the past. It holds no appeal anymore. And I take one final look in the mirror and realize how strung-out I look. I decide maybe a bit of makeup would be helpful after all. I add a touch of blush to my cheeks, some eyeliner, and that’s it. Shoving money, one credit card, ID, and my phone in my pocket, I head out the door.

By the time I get to Red Skies, the band is playing and the place is crowded. My connection will be here around eleven, so I get a drink and cruise, checking things out. Some dude wants to buy me a drink, but I give him my best stink eye, though I’m not sure I even have an adequate one anymore.

The edginess that claims me eases when I see who I’m looking for. We make our transaction and as soon as they hit the road, I throw back the Xanax and down it with my drink. Now it’s time for a shot of tequila to speed things up a bit. I need some relief and that’s just the thing to do it. Soon, I feel that sweet calm seeping into my muscles, invading my bones as it inches along. My jangled-up nerves are soothed; scrambled thoughts are realigned. The numbing effect takes over and I’m breathing easier. The muscles in my neck gripping me like claws finally release and I can feel the tiniest hint of a smile. It doesn’t last because I know this is only temporary. The monster that has invaded my body will return all too soon, taking my pleasure away with it.

As the band play
s, I head to the dance floor and join the others as they move to the beat. I’m enjoying myself but all too soon, it’s closing time, so I make my way home. When I arrive, I know the morning will bring pain, and lots of it. I make sure the curtains are drawn as tightly as possible, not allowing even a slit of light through. Then I put an extra pillow next to me so if I wake up and my head is splitting open, I can put the pillow over it. The last thing I think of before drifting off is my mom and how much I miss her. I wish she were here to help me. She would find a way to get rid of my pain. I know she would.

The axe man
is back and I’m his victim. I beg him to decapitate me and get it over with, but he ignores me again. I roll off my bed and under it, writhing in pain. This room can’t be dark enough. After a few moments, I know I need to get my pills so I rock to my knees and struggle to the bathroom. Fumbling around, I locate them and pray they work. I’m shaking so badly, the water I attempt to drink pours everywhere except into my mouth. I pull off my shirt because now it’s soaked and I crawl back under my bed.

In the distance, I hear a girl moaning. Deep in my mind, I recognize the voice but I never put two and two together
that the girl is me. I want to injure myself somewhere else on my body, just so that I can forget how bad my head hurts for a moment. My mouth has a metallic taste, so I know I’ve bitten my tongue, cheek, or lip, but I don’t feel it. Right now, I would bargain with the devil to stop this pain. It’s relentless.

I crawl back to the bathroom and take another pill. Ice. I need some ice to put on my head, but I don’t know if I can make it to the freezer. Knowing I must try, I set off for the kitchen. It takes me a few minutes because I have to stop several times
before I get there. Finding a Ziploc is nearly impossible—my brain isn’t functioning properly right now. Getting ice into this bag is like climbing Mt. Everest. More cubes land on the floor than inside the bag. Whoever thought such a simple task could be so difficult and painful? When I finally succeed, I don’t have the strength to do anything but stay on the kitchen floor, holding the baggie to my head.

Crying only makes the pain worse, but my brain won’t listen to me. It seems that crying and migraines go hand in hand, one bringing the other. The pain never gets better, but I become drowsy enough that I doze off.

“Gemini, where are you?” Her voice is always tinged with worry when she doesn’t immediately see me.

“I’m here, Mom. Don’t be such a worrywart.”

“You know I can’t help it. Don’t leave my side when we’re out.”

“But I was only …”

“Gemini, I don’t want any back talk.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I can’t understand why she gets so out of sorts when she doesn’t have her eye on me for a second.

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey
?”

“Can I go to camp this summer?”

“Gemini, we’ve talked about this before.”

“But
all the other kids are going. I’m the only one who doesn’t and I really want to.”

“I know you do. But you know how I feel about it.”

“I swear I won’t get hurt.”

“Gemini, you know what my answer is.”

“Okay.”

Images flash through my mind and now I’m celebrating my sixteenth birthday. I’m hoping for a car, but I doubt I’ll get one.

“Happy birthday, sweetie!”

“Thanks
, Mom!”

She’s carrying a perfectly decorated cake with sixteen glowing candles. And then she sings me the traditional Happy Birthday song. When she finishes, she squeezes me so hard I think I’m going to crack in half.

“Gemini, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mom. Is it chocolate?”

“You’re going to have to cut it to find out,” she teases.

When I do, I think about the other kids I know and the birthdays
I overhear them talk about. How they have parties and do special things. But it’s always just been my mom and me. No other family or friends.

“Hey
, Mom … How come we don’t have any relatives or friends? I mean, I know you said my dad died before I was born and that your parents died when you were young. But didn’t you have any cousins or anything?” It suddenly hits me how odd it is that we’re so isolated.

My mom’s usually tanned face suddenly pales. Her head slants away from me so now I don’t have a clear view of her face. “No, sweetie, I never had any cousins.” Her voice is choked.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” I go to her and hug her. “I didn’t mean to hurt you by that.”

“It’s okay
, Gemini. You can ask me anything you want. It was just an unexpected question.” She hugs me back. Then she leans away and asks, “Hey, you want to open your present?”

“Well, yeah!”

She turns around and hands me a tiny gift bag. It surprises me because I was expecting something larger, such as a box filled with clothes. Now, I think she must have gotten me jewelry. I grin.

When I open the bag, all I see is tissue paper. I pull it out until I find the gift.
A car key.

“Oh my God. You didn’t?”

She smiles. “I did. But before you go and see it, you have to swear to me you’ll take the most care driving it that you’ve ever taken in your life. I mean it, Gemini.”

My smile is so huge
, I’m sure my mom can count every tooth in my head. Now it’s my turn to squeeze her to smithereens.

“Gemini, I can’t breathe,” she squeaks. Then she grabs my hand and pulls me into our garage, where she apparently hid the car yesterday. It’s a white Ford Escape and I’m in love with it.

“Do you want to take it for a drive?”

“Can I just ride in it first?” I’m too excited to drive right now.

My mom laughs so hard, tears form in the corners of her eyes. She’s as happy as I am. We jump in and take my new baby for a spin. I play with the radio and the air conditioning and windshield wipers, just so I’ll know how to work them.

When we pull in
to our driveway, my mom turns, a serious look on her face, like she’s about to say something epic. But then she says, “Gemini, promise me you’ll be careful. Please don’t take any unnecessary risks.” And then she says something very strange … something that sticks with me for a long, long time. “And always watch your back, you know, your rearview mirror. If you think you’re being followed, do not come home. Drive straight to the police station. Okay?”

“Yes
, ma’am.”

When I wake up, the ice has melted; I never zipped the bag, so I’m soaked. My migraine has eased a bit, enough for me to get back to my bedroom. I refill the bag and close it tightly before I go back to bed. Most people would say that I shouldn’t drink or take drugs. And that if I didn’t, maybe my headaches wouldn’t be so bad. If only that were the case. But it’s not. They’re just as excruciating without the alcohol and drugs. In fact, they’re worse because I get no reprieve at all.

As I
lie here, I think about my dreams. It’s been a while since I’ve had any about my mom. It’s probably because I miss her so damn much. Whoever said that time eases the loss of a loved one was a big fat fucking liar. The grief I feel now is just as overwhelming as it was when she died five years ago. Sometimes, like right now, it’s worse.

Glancing at the
nightstand clock, I see it’s close to six in the evening. Time to get a shower and eat something. I’ve been out of it all day and my plans are to hit the clubs again tonight. Before that, though, I need groceries. Mother Hubbard’s cupboard is bare. Going out in the daytime isn’t an option. It’s too bright and my headaches spike.

I shower, dress
, and head out. It doesn’t take me long to grab what I need, so I’m home in no time. My neighbors must think I’m a recluse because in all the months I’ve been here, I haven’t met a single one of them. During my periods of gravest pain, I’ve wondered if they can hear me crying out. They never knock so I guess they can’t. I’m glad for that—I couldn’t answer the door anyway.

After I make a sandwich and eat, I dress and head back out to Dirty Sixth. I know I’ll be able to score another
Xanax from my connection at Red Skies. If they’re not there, they’ll be at the Hairy Hound, or one of the other clubs on Sixth Street. My mood lightens as I get closer to my destination. It pains me to think how much further away from my dreams of becoming a marketing expert I get each day. Before too long, it will only be a memory from the distant past.