Chapter 11 Rayzor
It was a small room for such a big night. Or at least that’s how the shit felt. A newer event– something I’d have to get used to with this newfound notoriety.
Standing in front of the mirror, I adjusted my cufflinks then my collar. Shirt and pants crisp, coat hanging over the back of the chair. I smoothed down the few wrinkles that the camera could pick up, and my stylist went over my pants with a lint brush.
“This was such a good color choice,” she said.
I gave a closed lip, curt nod. “’Preciate it.”
My phone rang on the table.
I let it ring while she worked then took the call.
“Yeah?”
It was Morrison.
“It’s a big night. You ready?” he asked, voice laced tight. “Remember what I said. Focus. No funny business. Clean. Everything else out the window.”
“I’m good.”
“Rayzor–”
“I fuckin’ heard you. You called just to say that shit again?”
“I jus–”
“She’s ready!” the stylist called out from the other room.
I hung up.
I slid into my coat, buttoning it up and turned. The double French doors opened. Everything slowed down and the background noise ceased. Nobody else matter or existed as the spotlight focused on Eris.
She walked in wearing a black halter-type dress hugging her curves. It gave enough peek for illusion, but classy enough for show. Hair up, curls falling to the side, makeup flawless with a nude lip with gold accents. Her shoulders shimmered.
Her perfume met me before she did.
“Damn,” I murmured.
“Everything okay?” she asked, pointing to my phone.
“Better now that I see you.”
She tugged at the fabric. “I didn’t want to do too much. The options were endless.”
“Keep ‘em all.” I licked my lips. “I wanna see you in every last one. Ankles by my head, heels on.”
She blushed. “You’re so nasty.”
“Hell yeah.”
I pulled her into me. She tried hiding, blushing.
I spun her around slowly, taking her in from every angle.
“You don’t think it’s too much?”
I caressed her bronzed shoulder. “They about to forget a nigga exists. This shit gon’ be about you.”
She smiled.
“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. So, thank you again for bringing me, baby.”
“Wouldn’t have it no other way.”
I kissed her lips, letting it linger.
“This color scheme screams royalty,” the stylist said with her staff behind her nodding in agreeance. “You and Eris look like a dream come true.”
The photographer standing off to the side snapped pictures.
I wrapped my arms around Eris and let him work.
“There’s gonna be lots of cameras tonight?”
“Every angle.”
“And people?”
“Lots.”
She nodded, bracing herself. “Okay, I can do this.” She exhaled. “Just don’t leave me alone.”
I held her from behind, camera still going. “I got you.”
“You’re so calm. Your nerves not on edge?”
“A lil’. I just don’t let it get to me.”
“The cars are downstairs.”
I looked at her reflection through the mirror. “You ready?”
She let out an extended breath. “Yes, I’m ready.”
Hands interlocked, we stepped out.
It felt different walking the halls with Eris. A smooth shift. Like she belonged by my side this whole time. I’d been to plenty events, but this one hit different.
With the world watching me, they were about to be watching her too.
I was gonna protect her. She said she was riding, and so was I.
Eris was sprawled out across the bed. I was half-sleep, shifting toward the bathroom to take a piss and deal with some shit I’d been avoiding. The TV was on low, drowning out sound. ESPN covered the latest topic.
Shots of Eris and me from the premiere flashed across the screen. The reporters were intrigued, saying if this was a fling or something permanent. Running with any narrative that fit their story– anything for views and clicks.
I shook my head and continued to the bathroom.
I finished, washed my hands then leaned toward the mirror preparing myself. Taking a long breath. Almost like a mothafucka was nervous.
Eris stepped in moments later.
“I was dreaming about swimming and knew–”
The silence was loud.
I didn’t stop. Kept my head straight and continued with removing my prosthetic eye.
I allowed her to see me. Fully see me. Not Rayzor. This was Courtland. This was a secret I shielded from the world. A part of me that I felt was a curse.
“Courtland–” she squawked, full of emotion.
“It’s a fake,” my voice stern, but that pain was on edge. I placed it back in. Deliberate.
Her hand softly laid on top of mine. Not a tremble. Not fear. But empathy.
I hadn’t felt empathy from a woman since mama.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
I turned to her.
“Didn’t know how you would take it.”
“I’m not shallow.” She swallowed. “I mean… yeah, I have some ‘no’s, but this? This isn’t something you can control.”
I washed my hands then exited into the dark. It was a heaviness in my chest thinking about how this shit would shift what we had going on. I purposely kept this part of my life separate. Darkness from the light.
But Eris was my sunshine that I liked having around.
I killed the TV.
She finished handling her business and came back to bed.
We laid in silence– a heavy one.
“How did it happen?”
“I was hanging with my Pops…”
The memories and the twinge in my chest wouldn’t stop. That pain that got better was hitting me heavy as fuck right now. All I could do was think about those last moments.
“After his last fight, a nigga ran–stabbed him up. They say it was supposed to be a robbery, but I can’t remember if they took shit.”
She grabbed my arm like she visualized the trauma. “Rayzor, my God.”
“I know.”
“You couldn’t have done anything to stop it. I’m sorry about your father.”
“It’s growing pains, baby.”
I could’ve and tried but failed.
She laid her head on my chest.
“When you said people run from you, is this what you meant?”
“Nah, that’s a cosmetic flaw. I’m talking about the darkness. I’m me for a reason.”
“And I want to get to know all of you.”
“You still tryin’ to ride with me after seeing this?”
I grabbed her, placing her on top of me. She yelped with a giggle. I smiled. Although we couldn’t see each other’s faces, I hoped she felt what I did.
She kissed my lips. “I’ll stay through the rain. Just make sure you hold the umbrella because when you let it fall, so will we.”
Wrapping my arms around her, locking her in place, my fingers melted into her skin. Sliding my hands down to her ass, I spread her cheeks before lowering her down onto my dick.
“Lord. I think I made a mistake saying yes to you.” She giggled.
“It was an open book test, and you still chose your answer.”
Locking her in place, I slipped into her.
She buckled, pressing her hands into my biceps.
Her nails scrapped against my skin. Not enough to break skin but enough for me to know that’s the spot.
She slowly rocked her hips before lifting her head and coming down again.
Using my tongue as a muffle to hide her screams, I lift her head up, wrapping my hand around her throat.
“It was the right one.” She smiled.
Morrison called for a meeting. I already knew when I walked in it was some bullshit. Nigga been tense since the premiere. Been blowing my line up since. I wasn’t fucking with it.
I slouched deeper into the seat across from him, hands in the pouch of my hoodie. Unfazed by him or his presence.
“What you want, Morrison?”
He exhaled.
“You need to think about the brand. You’re the newest star.”
He dropped the tabloid’s photos down of Eris and I from the premiere. We looked good as fuck. I wasn’t worried about none of that shit he was talking about.
“A woman just–”
“She ain’t going nowhere.” I leaned forward. “Now what?”
‘You lose one fight–”
“You still got to get paid, nigga,” I interrupted. “I show up. I bleed. I’m the product. Don’t worry about my personal life.”
Silence.
He slid more photos my way.
I frowned. Instantly, I wasn’t fucking with the heavily photoshopped photos. Most of my tattoos were gone and I looked like a clean-cut, lame ass nigga. This wasn’t me.
“Who the fuck is this?” I asked, tossing the pictures back down.
“It’s you. Without all the tattoos.” He glanced at the photo. “You clean up nice.”
“That ain’t me.”
He got up from his desk, rounding it, coming to the edge, crossing his feet at the ankles. That’s usually his closer when he was about to lay some shit on me that I didn’t fuck with.
“This is for billboards… for TV.”
“What the fuck’s wrong with my look?”
“Nothing.” He rested his hand on my shoulder.
I shrugged it off. “It’s for the image of the company.”
“Then they came to the wrong mothafucka.”
“Rayzor, you’re the newest face of heavyweight boxing. Everyone wants you. This isn’t something we need to throw away without thinking about it first.”
“Morrison, you ain’t new to this. I don’t need mothafuckas trying to change me.”
“And they’re not.” He paused. “They want you to be the face of their campaign. Men’s cologne. Not all of the tattoos must go. You’ll be covered up for the most part.”
“Then why the fuck are they worried about tatts?”
“We just need to get you in full makeup for your neck.”
I glanced back at the picture. It wasn’t me. I didn’t like the way they made my ass look too one-dimensional. Even my eyes were brighter. I hated how they altered looks and shit.
“What’s the number?”
“Seven million.”
I paused.
Seven was big. All of this was still new, no matter how often we had offers on the table. I wanted to remain who I was.
“So, they’re paying to change me?”
“That’s not what’s happening at all.”
“Then why all this shit?” I tossed the pictures then stood.
“I already told you when you get these campaigns and shit to let them know I’m raw.
We got the sports drinks and other shit where I can freely be me.
I'm comfortable like that. It’s when you bend the knee and give these mothafuckas a few feet that they want the whole mile.
I’m not letting y’all mothafuckas change me. ”