16. Nora
Nora
the devil in the dar k
His small hand’s drawn into a loose fist as it dangles slightly over the brightly painted step. Deep red, glossy blood drips down the concrete and then onto another, slowly trickling toward me, as I stand frozen in place at the bottom of the staircase. I can’t see his body; only his tiny hand clenched in fear. Only his blood, that still looks so full of life. And then I hear her screams, piercing, heartbroken, agonized.
J olting upright in bed; my heart races. Sweat slicks my skin, the fabric of my satin negligee fusing to my body. Shame that accompanies thoughts of Marna and Elijah heats my face. I pull the negligee off, desperate to feel the cool air on my skin. While night casts a shroud of darkness around most of my bedroom, it’s suffocatingly humid. Shadows dance across the wall in the far corner of my bedroom; the shimmer of moonlight reflecting against the surface of the pool downstairs. A little reminder that the peace I want is within reach. A siren calling me to my favorite watery grave. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes before reaching for my phone; a groan slips out of me as the screen lights up—two A.M. God. I feel dizzy.
After our kiss, my escape from August was immediate. Bolting from his house, and racing up the stairs and into Dima’s cottage, the house greeted me with desolate silence. Ricky and Dima were out. So naturally, after pulling a bottle of wine from the rack in the kitchen, I got hopelessly drunk—alone. The same bottle, now empty, stares up at me now from the floor next to my bed. Fuck if I can remember finishing it, but clearly, I did.
Kicking the covers off, my legs drop over the side of the bed and unsteady steps carry me to the balcony doors. The image of my nightmare; the burning shame slowly clinging to my soul like a second skin haunts me. I need the pool tonight, but I won’t go. Instead, my feet carry out onto the balcony as crisp, cool air fills my lungs.
Nightmares aren’t new to me, but tonight they’ve left me devastated. Tears well in the corners of my eyes as a painful truth settles deep inside my heart—this life, my life —is built on a weak foundation of lies. God, they’ve become such frequent whispers in my mind. A part of me believed them, used them as a safety net. And then August arrived in this house, and that foundation cracked. Our visit to The Heights, the little boy, Elijah, our kiss last night, Bassey… All of it ripples like fissures designed to crack my entire world open.
Staring down at the pool, a chill in the air pebbles my skin, hardening my exposed nipples. Closing my eyes as the air cools my skin, drying the cold sweat of my nightmare. The pool has been a constant source of comfort, but tonight I force my eyes away from it. Tonight I see it for what it truly is: self-harm. God knows, Dima’s reminded me often enough. I know what going into the water means.
When I was young, I overheard Ricky and Gracious talking about my parents’ death. There was a fire at our house. They never saw it coming, no chance to escape. Burned alive in their beds. Years later, I read about how drowning could feel like being burned alive. And I tried. Tried to feel what they’d felt. I tried to place myself in that room with them. I tried because for so long I wished I was there with them. That I’d burned too.
The nightmare flickers in gruesome detail at the front of my mind, and I feel lost. Things are shifting. I don’t know what it means, but with that detective’s visit, and my growing unease in the house, it feels like something terrible is coming. A breeze picks up like an icy omen. My shoulders shake with a shiver that sends a fresh wave of goosebumps prickling along my skin. The garden is mostly dark garden, and I watch as the trees slowly rustle with the breeze. My thoughts may be loud and menacing, but beyond the invisible bars of my cage, Port Manaus is quiet, breathtaking in a cold, evil sort of way.
Turning back toward my bedroom, my body stills as movement in the far corner of the garden catches my eye. Squinting to make out the shadowy figure is a waste of time, because seconds after seeing him, August steps into the soft dam of light illuminating the stone path beneath my balcony.
It’s not lost on me that the only fabric covering my body is the floral cotton granny panties that have absolutely seen better days. A soft smile tugs at my face when his eyes meet mine, humor dancing in my gaze while something darker lingers in his—deep brown eyes map the heavy weight of my breasts, the hard peaks of my nipples. He’s affected by the sight of them—by the sight of me. It leaves me feeling powerful af ter a moment of absolute weakness.
One last lingering gaze. That’s all I allow myself before turning and heading back into my room. The night he caught me in the pool is still fresh in my mind. No one other than Dima has seen it before. I’m not ashamed he caught me then or that he saw me tonight. These moments, the vulnerability he bears witness to, that’s who I am.
A woman who habitually drowns herself, who drinks too much, who stands naked under the moonlight, who supplies criminals with guns that inevitably kill children. But August? The man paid to protect me, to kill on command for my Godfather? The man whose arms feel like home, whose kisses consume me… The man with violence pumping through his veins as surely as blood does? He’s not like the rest of us, not like me. He’s good. Despite what lurks inside of him, I know he would never do the things I have; he would never allow himself to become a pawn in Ricky’s lethal game of control. It doesn’t matter if he sees the broken pieces of me, because a part of me hopes that maybe his grandmother was right, maybe he is the wounded healer… Maybe despite all of his broken parts, he’ll find a way to fix mine.
“ N onny!” Pounding fists slam against my door. “Nonny, why’s the door locked?” Ricky demands through the door while I lay sprawled, half awake and half naked, on my bed. My chest hurts, a lingering side effect of the tears I tried and failed to suffocate last night.
“Sorry,” I choke the word out as my limbs attempt to move. “Sorry, I just got out of the shower. ” The lie is effortless, and my winch shut as his grating voice continues to penetrate the thick wooden panel of my bedroom door.
“I have your dress for tonight,” he says, impatience dripping from his every word.
“Tonight?” Coughing the word our, my hand rubs against the skin on my bare chest.
“The mayor’s ball.” Ricky clicks his tongue, the reprimand silent but somehow also screechingly loud. I’m not allowed to forget, not things like the mayor’s ball. I’m not allowed to forget the moments when I’m let out of my gilded cage, the moments when I get to perch on Ricky’s arm and smile and nod and be his little sparkling trophy.
“Oh. Sure. Yeah.” Fuck my entire life. “Just hang it on the door. I’ll get it when I’m done.”
“Be ready at five. I am heading into the city, but I’ll be back later.” The slap of his footsteps echoes outside my door as he makes his way down the staircase. The front door slams closed, and finally, the groan I’ve held in slips free.
I don’t want to go to the fucking mayor’s fucking ball. I don’t want to be paraded around a room full of Ricky’s friends. Slipping my robe off the hook on the back of my bedroom door, I open the door slowly. A black garment bag hangs on the door handle. Carefully lifting it, I try to picture the monstrosity it likely contains before turning back into my room and kicking the door shut behind me. With the garment bag discarded on my bed, I grab my phone and text Thalia.
Nora
Mayor’s ball tonight?
Thals
Adam uninvited me…
Nora
FaceTime?
A few seconds later, her beautiful face lights up my phone. “What do you mean he uninvited you?” I demand before she says anything else.
“I dunno.” She sighs before her eyes dart over my face. “You look like you’ve been fucked repeatedly for days.”
“The only thing fucking me right now is life. What’s going on with you and Adam?”
“Things have been weird since our fight. I thought it was just about school and how focused I’ve been, but he’s been distant, Nor. Last night he texted to say he’d be working at the ball and didn’t think it would be appropriate for me to come.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, a beat of silence strains between us. “Wanna go for coffee?” I ask quietly.
“I can’t. I have classes soon.” My answering nod is somber as a twinge of jealousy sparks at the reminder that some people get to drag their education out for as long as they want.
“Okay. Maybe tomorrow,” I offer. She makes a noncommittal sound. I’ll kill Adam if he fucked things up with Thalia. Friends are in short supply in my life. He’s one, she’s the other. And while I don’t really care if he sticks around, Thalia’s friendship is a loss I would not survive. After we say goodbye, I start my “Best of Etta James” playlist, turning the volume all the way up.
My mood shifts as the soulful sounds of her voice fill my room. Ricky wants his little puppet on display tonight? Well, those strings have been cut and shre dded. Fuck him. Fuck Adam. Fuck August and his stupid fucking perfect face. Fuck them all.
Dancing over to the mirror as Miss Etta sings about yet another worthless man, it’s hard to miss how utterly fucked I look. My hair’s a knotted mess hanging limply over my shoulders in tangled waves, my eyes puffy and swollen from the night spent crying.
My eyes are still locked on my reflection, as my fingers slowly pull at the ties holding my robe closed, watching as the silky fabric slowly parts. My breasts rest against my chest, round, heavy, dark brown nipples pebbled against the otherwise smooth skin. The hunger in August’s eyes last night flashes through my mind. Standing in the garden, looking up at me like a starved man at his first meal… A sick part of me relishes knowing I hold a microscopic amount of control over him, he wants me; he doesn’t want to want me, but he wants me, nonetheless. And we both know that if he acts on the impulses driving both of us… Nothing good will come of it. Trailing my fingers over my nipples; my lashes lower and imagine what they’d feel like in his hands. Would they fit in his palms, would the pads of his fingers scratch against my skin as he kneads them softly, would every inch of me burn when he drags the stiff peaks into the warmth of his mouth?
I don’t have time to wonder about any of this right now. In exactly three hours, Ricky will be back. I need to shower, do my hair and makeup, and get dressed.
A fter the longest shower of my life, I walk back into my bedroom and stare at the black garment bag. Draped across my bed, it mocks me. I know what it contains. Ricky expects me to dress a certain way when we’re out, and I’m sure whatever he picked for me is atrocious.
Picking it up, I move to hang it on my wardrobe door before unzipping it slowly. A soft pink feminine dress with capped sleeves and floaty layers drifts out. Not a chance.
He wants a pink Cartel Princess? Too bad. He’s getting the devil that hides in the dark of his house. Anger simmers inside me as my fingers yank the zipper shut. Fuck this dress. After shoving into the back of my wardrobe, I reach for the dress August picked at Fawn’s. Holding it against my body, I face the mirror once again and smile to the mirror and smile.
A t four-fifty-three, a knock sounds at my door. Someone clears their throat and the velvety darkness of his voice rushes over me.
“Ricky said to come get you,” August mutters from the other side of the door.
“I don’t need an escort,” I say, applying a layer of blush to my cheeks. “I’ll be in the driveway at five.” Misting a cloud of perfume around my body, the sound of his retreating footsteps has me smiling at my reflection.
The long-sleeved dress is made from sheer black fabric dotted with small stone-like studs and lined with light satin that matches the color of my skin perfectly. If you looked quickly, you’d easily think I was naked underneath. Which, thanks to the plunging neckline that dips deep between my b reasts and the nonexistent back that skims the top of my ass, I am. The long slit cuts the skirt of the dress from ankle all the way up to mid-thigh. Turning, my eyes move over the expanse of rich brown skin stretching over my back and I grin again. Ricky’s going to shit himself. Throwing on a coat, I check the time—exactly one minute to spare—grabbing my purse; I head for the door.