Chapter 14
F uck, he looked so good. Kian had taken off his coat, and under it, he wore a tight, long-sleeved shirt that showed off every single peak and valley of the muscles in his arms, chest, and shoulders. Paired with his protective gear, he somehow gave me Viking vibes. I wouldn’t consider myself to be a highly reactive person. I generally had a chill personality. At work, I was always the one who helped calm down an irate customer or talked to the delivery people when something got messed up. Yet here I was, feeling primed to go and smash some shit. I didn’t have to dig as deep as I thought to access some rage. With a yell, I hit the copy machine with the crowbar. I cracked the top, but it didn’t fully break so I kept going, hitting the machine over and over. For my mom, who had died too young. For my dad, who had left us for no reason. For the man who had repoed our car when we were living in it, and for the men who had touched me without my permission. For Myles’s dad, who had beat him, and for the girl who had gotten Myles hooked on drugs. For every single night I had gone to sleep cold and hungry. I swung that crowbar until the wires of the machine were showing, the plastic was cracked, and the pieces of glass were scattered around me in smithereens.
Oh my god, that had felt so good. My arms vibrated from the effort, and my heart was going a mile a minute. I turned to look at Kian, who was watching me, his eyes wide, with a glint of emotion in them. I grinned, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Hit something, music man,” I encouraged him. He held up an aluminum bat, swung, and began to destroy everything around him. He was so strong that items shattered immediately as he hit them. The muscles in his arms swelled and contracted as he swung, and as much I liked to see it, I had some shit to break.
I turned and attacked several mirrors. They shattered, their wood frames twisting and cracking. Then I took a box of china and one by one I crashed every piece. Some by slamming them to the ground, and others I tossed like a frisbee at the wall. Then I joined Kian in beating the crap out of an old jukebox. I was breathing heavily, standing next to him, swinging my crowbar over and over, feeling any negative emotion completely leave my body. I was so in the moment that I had never felt so exhilarated in my life. Plates were flying, glass was smashing, and I watched as Kian picked up an entire TV, hoisting it above his head, and with a wink, he chucked it across the room, where it crashed into multiple parts.
“Fuck!” I screamed out to the ceiling, laughing as pieces of a mug went flying through the air. Kian turned back to look at me, holding his bat loosely in his hand, his chest heaving from the effort of destroying the room around us. We stood there staring at each other for a second, and then he practically prowled over to me, pushed me against the wall, and kissed me until my knees gave out. I grabbed at his shoulders, and he growled and hoisted me up to hold me in his arms as he attacked my mouth. It was messy, sweaty, desperate, and everything I had ever needed.
“You. Are. So. Hot.” He moaned into my mouth. I felt him tug at my hair until it hurt slightly, and I leaned into it, encouraging him. I arched back, baring my neck, and I felt him bite down on my chin, followed by a pinch right over my jugular, and then came a lick to soothe it.
“I have never been this hard in my life,” I heard him admit to me, his mouth by my ear. His tongue flicked out and traced the edge of it. “If that girl wasn’t right outside this room, I would fuck you right here.”
His voice was ecstasy in my ear. I was dripping and grinding myself on him as he fondled my breasts with his free hand and then pulled me down for another searing, heart-palpitating kiss. The music suddenly shut off, and a voice came on over the mic. “Don’t you fucking dare make babies in there.”
We flew apart. The moment was over. We looked at each other and burst out laughing. Kian let me down gently, and the broken glass crunched under my shoes. He then surprised me by taking out his phone and snapping a selfie of us in the room that we had just demolished before we brushed off all the dust and shards and left the room to remove the gear.
Back outside, we began to walk toward Kian’s van. On the corner was a food truck selling churros and waffles.
“Want one?” he asked me. I was getting uncomfortable with him spending money on me. For one, it wasn’t like we were a couple and even if we were, I didn’t know how I would feel about it. Secondly, the man lived in his van, yet he didn’t seem to be that worried about saving his money for important things like gas and basic food. I had never had the luxury of a day like today. I didn’t just do things because I wanted to. I didn’t buy things on a whim because I was in the mood for them. That was a privilege not afforded to people like me. I was feeling slightly out of my element here. Like I was a little girl who had gone into my mom’s closet and came out pretending I was an adult, wearing heels six sizes too big, lipstick smeared on my face, and a fur boa around my neck. I didn’t belong here, buying churros in the middle of the day as if I didn’t have a care in the world, standing next to a man who could easily be on the cover of GQ . Instead of word vomiting all of my convoluted thoughts, I just shrugged. I was usually one to just say what I was thinking, as Kian knew very well by now, yet here, some of my preconceived notions about life and my experiences thus far choked my ability to speak.
“I’m gonna get some. You can watch me eat them, or you can join me.” He got in line and ordered way more than one man, even one of his size, could eat. I knew exactly what he was doing, and I rolled my eyes when he came back to where I was standing with an armful of options. Way too many for two people.
“Something is wrong with you.” I laughed. He nodded, licking caramel off of his fingers.
“Mmm hmm.” He agreed with me. “Are you gonna make me get diabetes by myself?” He held one of the filled churros out to me. I sighed and leaned in to take a bite directly from his fingers. He watched me with those piercing eyes of his, something flashing across them as I left a little swipe of my tongue on his finger. I pulled back and chewed the delicious pastry.
“Good?” he asked, taking a bite where my teeth had just sunk into the warm Nutella and fried dough. I nodded.
“Thank you,” I murmured. He gave me a genuine smile as he handed me one of the heart churros; a little bit of powdered sugar sat in his beard, and I reached up to brush it off. His head turned, and he landed a small kiss on my thumb before he took another bite of his food. I didn’t acknowledge it, just like we hadn’t talked about our soul-igniting make out earlier either.
I found it fascinating how quickly I felt comfortable and at ease around this man. It was easy and simple, something which my soul craved. I hadn’t had a lot of easy and simple, and Kian was giving that to me in droves. We kept walking toward his van as we ate when I heard someone say my name.
“Jessa?”
I turned and saw one of the girls who had lived in the tent community at one point, sitting on the sidewalk with a collection cup in front of her and a cardboard sign asking for help.
“Carrie! Hi!” I paused and crouched down to talk to her.
“You look good.” She gestured to the man standing a few steps behind me and the food I was eating.
“So do you.” I smiled. “Your hair is beautiful as always,” I complimented her. Carrie always rolled her dirty-blonde hair into dreadlocks to maintain its integrity and then hooked little charms and bits of ribbon through them. It was difficult to avoid matting with very curly hair while living on the streets. I was lucky that my mom had left me all of my legal documents, so I was able to actually work and afford to take care of my hair. I had also never picked up hard-core drugs, so I still had my wits about me and was able to keep a job. I winced when I thought of Myles telling me that he was a loser. The fact was, being sober and responsible had always given me an advantage. Although I had been living on the streets just a week ago, I had made sure to always work, showered regularly at the gym, and always did our laundry to maintain good hygiene to hold onto some semblance of normalcy. Not everyone was so lucky. I looked down at the heart churro that I held in my hands.
“It’s still warm,” I told her and held out the pastry bag. Carrie took it and immediately took a bite.
“Good, huh?” I smiled. She nodded. I stood back up. “I’ll see you around.”
She nodded again, her eyes shifting to the next person walking by. I walked back to Kian, who wordlessly handed me another churro. We didn’t say anything more until we got back to the van.
“Do you want to…?” Kian started.
“I need to do laundry,” I said at the same time. He started up the van as I laughed.
“What were you going to say?”
He shook his head.
“Laundry sounds like a great idea; I have a load myself.”
“I bet you do,” I teased.
“Get your head out of the sewer, Jessamine.” He pretended to be scandalized as he pulled the van out into traffic. I watched the scenery flash by as he drove, resting my head on the window next to me. Kian was humming, which then turned into full-blown singing, and I closed my eyes, letting his voice and protective energy wash over me.
“Jessa.” I woke up with a start.
“You’re drooling,” I heard him say gently. I lifted my head and wiped at the corner of my mouth. I was drooling.
“Sorry, I guess I was tired.” I looked around—we were back at the hotel.
“I feel bad about that.” He looked ashamed that his screaming nightmare last night was why I had needed a nap in the first place.
“Don’t worry about it.” I patted his arm and opened the door to jump out of his van. “Thanks for an amazing day off,” I said quickly as he came around to where I stood holding the Goodwill bag.
“Thanks for letting me have a day off too.” He stood there, his hands in his pockets, his gorgeous, bearded face distracting me from my mission to get back to my room where I could get started on some practical errands like cleaning our clothes and buying some groceries.
“I never get days off,” Kian told me.
“From busking?” I asked. Kian took the bag from me and began to walk me to the doors of the hotel. He paused and then nodded.
“From music. The grind is… a lot,” he said vaguely. “Today was exactly what I needed.”
“Me too,” I admitted. “I’ve never done something like that before,” I told him, referencing the rage room.
“Same,” he said softly. We stopped at the door to my room.
“Thank you.” I leaned over and wrapped him up in a hug. It occurred to me that this man had been inside of me, done dirty things to me, and kissed me like his life had depended on it, yet we had never just hugged. Kian froze for a moment, and then his arms came around me and he held onto me as I rested my cheek against his slab of muscle. I felt him shift as he bent down and pressed a kiss into my hair.
“I’ll see you later?” I heard him murmur. I nodded. Why did I feel like crying? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t look at him again. I just pulled away, unlocked the door, and slipped inside.
I shut the door behind me and leaned back on it for a moment. I wanted him to stay. I wanted to invite him in and suck him off until he came all over my chest. We’d shower together and then curl up in bed, and he’d listen while I told him about living on the streets and how it had aged me before I was ready but how staying happy and positive was so important to me.
I stepped away from the door. I could not get attached. My heart could not get used to warm churros and a man who was stern and uptight with everyone else, but around me, he smiled so warmly that his eyes crinkled up on the sides.
I heard the sound of someone throwing up in Myles’s bathroom, and I froze for a second. Wasn't Myles on a healing hike? I heard a groan and realized that Myles was definitely not on a healing hike right now, and I rushed into the room. Myles sat on the floor in just his underwear, holding onto the base of the toilet, his head hanging to the side. The smell of vomit filled the air, and I had to breathe through my mouth. I noticed that my brother's body was covered in a sheen of sweat, his brown hair was stuck to his head with it.
“My?” I knelt down, and he turned his head slightly.
“You don’t need to see this, Jess. I got it.”
He tried to shoo me out of the room with a weak wave of his hand.
“Shush.” I quieted him as I took a washcloth and ran it under cold water. I squeezed out the excess and placed the cold towel on his forehead. He made a sound of protest but didn’t move away. His skin was clammy yet sweaty, his arms were trembling, and when he spoke, he sounded slurred.
“I hate this part.” He was crying now.
“Come back to bed.” I flushed the toilet and took the garbage can with me as I helped Myles get up and practically carried him to his bed. He was so lethargic as I propped him up with his pillows and then pulled the blanket up over him. My plans of doing laundry left my mind as I made a list in my head of items I was going to need to buy to get him through his withdrawals. Ginger tea for the nausea, ibuprofen for the pain, a heating pad for stomach cramps, and chocolate to help increase his body's natural endorphins. I was going to have to use some of the grocery money for this, which would lower our food options. The front desk told me that my room came with three meals a day, so we would stick to the more limited choices from room service until my next paycheck.
“Feeling like shit eventually goes away,” I heard Myles mumble. He was curled up in a fetal position with his hands clenched by his face. “But the thoughts in my brain will never quiet without the…” His voice trailed off, and I knew he was referring to the drugs.
“I don’t want to be like this, but I have no other way out.” He sobbed. “When I’m sober, all I can hear is my dad telling me what a waste of space I am. I can feel him beating me. I know he hates me, and I can’t figure out why. It makes me not want to be here sometimes because it’s too hard…”
My heart jolted in my chest. I didn’t know what to do. I was not a medical professional, nor was I a mental health expert who knew what to say when faced with his difficult thoughts. I wished I could just magically take it all away from him, but this is what trauma looked like. This is why he stayed high all the time, because his brain was a painful place to live in. I reached out and brushed the hair off his forehead.
“Try to sleep. I’m going to get supplies, and I’ll be right back.” I took his phone and put on some gentle yoga music, and I saw his body relax as he let sleep overtake his troubled mind. Grabbing my wallet and my coat, I slipped back out into the hallway and started the ten-minute walk to the grocery store. There, I bought everything I needed for him plus a bag of mini marshmallows for me. I kept my head down as I walked back to the hotel since the wind had picked up, making it very cold outside. When I got back to the room, I found Myles dealing with a leg cramp as his body revolted against him.
“I can’t do it, Jessa, I can’t do it.” His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was now plastered to his head, and his nose was running.
“You can do anything because you are strong, and you have me, and together we get through everything,” I said gently. I was acting calm, but I was really worried. The last time he had detoxed, he had done it in a hospital, but I knew he didn’t want to go through that again. The people there didn’t treat addicts like humans. They treated them like trash. They humiliated them and spoke down to them. I would never force Myles to go anywhere unless I really couldn’t take care of him myself but just in case, a few months ago, I had found a private detox center that cost a pretty penny.
I knew I would have to call if I absolutely needed to. I briefly wondered what he would be like tomorrow, because although I did need to go to work, I would never leave him alone like this. I handed him a cup of electrolyte water with two tablets of ibuprofen. I had guessed that could help somehow and had spontaneously grabbed a bottle off the shelf. He drank them down and then moaned as the leg cramp acted up again. I took the plug-in heating pad that I had purchased and wrapped it around his leg. When he quieted down, I made him a glass of ginger tea and let it cool before I brought it over. He took a couple of sips before leaning back on his pile of pillows. I was so grateful that he was doing this in bed and not shivering in a sleeping bag where the people in the tents next to us could hear him barfing.
I just didn’t know what “after this” looked like. I loved him so much, and as much as I would do anything to support him, I was really out of my scope of abilities here. I was a barista. I could make coffee. I didn’t know how to keep someone sober. Cognitively, I knew I could never keep him sober anyway. No one stayed sober unless they wanted to. I couldn’t beg him, I would never shame him, and there was no reasoning or form of emotion that could convince him. It had to be him and his desire alone that would help him face and beat his demons. I just wished I had more access to choices for him—a fancy rehab or better therapeutic options. I felt stuck. As if he could hear my frantic thoughts, he looked up and said, “I love you.”
“I love you too, My,” I replied. “I’m going to start the shower for you. Can you manage that?”
He nodded. The ibuprofen had kicked in, and he looked a tiny bit less wrung out than before.
When he was in the shower, I changed into my sweatpants and the black sweater I had picked up from Goodwill this morning, not caring that it wasn’t washed yet. Earlier today felt like eons ago, I realized. It was crazy how quickly real life had rudely pushed me out of my good feelings from all the fun I had on my day off. I then ordered room service: a soup with crusty bread for Myles, and lasagna with a side of vegetables for me.
I looked over at my phone, which sat silently on the counter. Although hours had passed, I hadn’t received any missed phone calls or texts. Most of the time, I felt proud of myself for being self-reliant, yet sometimes, in moments like these, I could very much feel the chasm in my life due to having been genuinely alone since I was nineteen. Nineteen and raising a younger brother. Navigating the streets and selling a little piece of my soul every time I slept with that man in order to have basic necessities. I truly considered my friends at work to be real friends, but Alanna was raising a son by herself, and Eric had elderly parents he was supporting. As a result, we didn’t really talk much in between shifts. I shook myself out of my rare woe is me moment when I heard Myles call for me. He was wrapped in a towel, shivering in the bathroom, eyes downcast as he asked me to help him get dressed since his muscles were too stiff to do it himself.
Once he was back in bed, freshly made with new sheets that housekeeping had put on when they stopped by, he ate his soup and took some more ibuprofen. I gave him a kiss as he fell asleep. I was happy that his skin was feeling warm and healthy again instead of the clammy flesh from earlier.
“Good night,” I murmured. I left the door slightly ajar so I could hear him if he needed me, but six hours later, I hoped that maybe the worst was over. As I got ready for bed, I felt my body begin to give out. I was so tired. Not just physically but mentally and emotionally too. I longed for someone to hold me and carry my burdens with me. I had done such a good job at managing my hardships on my own for so long, and all it had taken to shake me from the monotony of what I had always known was a beautiful busker showing me what it felt like to have someone carry my bag in from the car.
The problem was I could not let myself hope for more. Everything I had loved eventually faded away, and I found it easier to just not want at all. As I got into bed, my phone buzzed unexpectedly, and a text came in. It was from music man. I opened it to find that he had sent me the selfie he had taken of us at the rage room. My hurting heart fluttered at the sight of it. He was standing slightly behind me, his tan arm flung over my shoulder. My hair was a mess around me, held down by the protective goggles. We were laughing, our lips both slightly swollen from the kiss we had just shared. The room around us was destroyed, dust from the plates clung to our clothes, and the wreckage we had created was indicative of the amazing time we had. I looked happy. He looked at peace somehow. The thought “and in the middle of my chaos, there you were” flitted through my brain as I fell into a fitful sleep.