From what I could tell, Las Vegas does a damn good job at using bright lights to overshadow all the bullshit Whiskey and I have to deal with. It's amazing at using its lights to distract me from the fact that Balor is hunting us down like animals. Animals who seem helpless but, in reality, actually have a backbone and are willing to fight back at any chance they get. In this case, Balor is the sadistic hunter with homicidal tendencies, and he'll stop at nothing until he gets what he wants.
Even if it means wiping out the entire world to achieve that goal.
One thing's for sure...I ain't gonna let that happen. Not even in the slightest. The world, yes, is a cruel place. I'll admit that. But it still doesn't give anyone the right to burn the entire globe to the ground! Sure, I get angry at the world all the time, but do I go and set it ablaze because of my anger? Hell no! That's why I want to stop Balor before hell freezes over more than it already has...because no one living innocently on this goddamn Earth deserves to be burned all because of one person who can't reasonably control their anger.
I had just gotten out of the shower and felt refreshed after a long run from Denver. I would've expected Whiskey to join me so that we didn't waste water, but I know how much of a gentleman he is. He holds a high amount of respect for me and knows all too well about respecting my boundaries. I guess that's how much of a southern gentleman he is and how high he holds respect for women.
He was sitting on one of the sofas in the room, nonchalantly staring blankly into the space ahead. It was like he was deep in thought. So deep that it didn't seem like nothing could snap him out of his daze. But once I walked into his view while fixing up the towel I had wrapped around me, Whiskey glanced over to me and immediately snapped out of it.
"Hey there, gorgeous," he said, immediately getting up from the sofa to meet me.
I smiled, but only enough to not show my teeth. "Hey," I responded cheerfully.
"How was it? The shower?" he asked.
I ran my tongue along the inside of my mouth. "Well, it was disappointing because you weren't there. But it was absolutely refreshing, so it wasn't a total bust."
"I would've joined you, but I'm still keeping up my promise of respecting you two years later," he smiled, "and that means respecting your boundaries as well."
"No way you're still keepin' that promise after two goddam years," I said out of disbelief, my voice rising to a squeaky pitch.
He nodded slowly. "Way," he said simply.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Whiskey had been keeping a promise we both made to each other over two years ago. To be honest, I thought he'd forget about that promise after about six months or so. But to hear him say that he still kept that promise just—just made my heart happy.
"I—I—I don't know what to say," I said as happy tears slowly filled my eyes. "You kept that promise? After all this time?"
He smiled, nodding slowly and not breaking his gaze off me. "Always and forever," he said sincerely and simply.
At this point, the tears that were building up in my eyes had started to slowly pour out. I wasn't sad. Rather, I was extremely grateful. Grateful for Whiskey and his strong, genuine, undying love for me. I'm eternally grateful for him for multiple reasons, including the all-important inadvertently saving my life bullshit. But in this case, it's a good type of bullshit that I'm willing to deal with for the rest of my life.
He softly placed his hand on the left side of my face, his coarse and calloused fingers coursing my jawline and cheek ever so gracefully. His touch had sent electricity coursing through all the veins and arteries in my body, and I was fighting for my life so I didn't go and fuck him right then and there.
After staring dead straight into my eyes and right through to my soul, Whiskey brought his other hand to the right side of my face, now using both of his hands to bring me in for another tender, loving kiss. I was once again completely engulfed in Whiskey's world. His illustrious, spectacular world. I was completely melted into his arms at this point, and if I had the possibility to spend the rest of my life with him, I would.
I'd jump on that chance as soon as it springs from the depths of the water.
It made it all the more disappointing when we parted. The kiss itself was amazing as always. Whiskey just has his way with me like that. But the only thing that was disappointing was that we had to part. I blame the passing time for that. But it's all good because we could just do it again as many times as we'd like...because we were dating happily, after all.
"Damn you, Whiskey," I said softly.
One of his eyebrows hooked upward, but he didn't break his sight into my soul one bit. "What for?" he asked quietly.
A wide smirk appeared across my face. "For being so damn irresistible," I answered finally.
A low chuckle escaped from his throat, and I knew damn well what was coursing through his mind while we gazed deeply into each other's eyes. I knew that this thought was something dirty. Something spicy, as a matter-of-fact. But I can't give into those tendencies. Not right now, at least.
"And don't you think about fucking me right here and now," I said.
"Damn it," Whiskey muttered under his breath.
A smirk apparently had spread wide across my face, my mischievous intentions coming to the surface. "If we do that now, then you'll get easy access. I have to give you a challenge at some point."
"Oh, so you're one of those?" he asked.
I nodded. "Oh yeah. Plus, I'm already showered and what not. I'm out of commission 'til the morning," I explained.
"At least promise me that you'll scream my name for all of Vegas to hear," he sneered.
I giggled softly like a little girl, but it was loud enough that Whiskey could hear it. "Oh, that'll happen. Just not right now."
"What about tomorrow night?" he suggested.
My face scrunched in confusion. "What's going on then?"
"A little date night to the casino, sugar," he replied.
"Date night?" I asked, smiling sweetly. "I like the sound of that."
He nodded. "But it won't be any ordinary date night. While we're there, we're goin' undercover and scoping out any of Balor's agents."
"But won't they figure out that we're here in Vegas?" I pondered.
Whiskey smirked. "Not if we're all dolled up real nice." He paused for a moment. "I managed to order us some nice clothes for this. Clothes I think are high-class."
"When will they be here? Since you ordered 'em and all," I questioned.
"I'll have to pick them up tomorrow morning," he responded. "We could do that after getting breakfast and our trip on the Grand Canyon skywalk."
My eyes widened. "The Grand Canyon?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Going on that skywalk would be amazing with the view of the sunrise. It'd be absolutely beautiful."
"I can't wait for that," I said. "I really can't."
"Well, get some sleep so we could get to that sooner," Whiskey advised.
"Fine," I groaned in a teasing manner. "I'll get some sleep, but only because you said so."
And even though there was only one bed, I felt comfortable with that. Being with Whiskey just calms me down a whole lot, and it takes me out of the dark reality I'm engulfed in. The dark reality that I'm being hunted down like an animal. I was definitely terrified that I had no clear idea about where Balor's exact location was or when he's about to strike. That fear of uncertainty still rocks me to this day.
But Whiskey's presence especially calms me down a lot.
He's just so understanding and warm, making damn sure that I'm safe and comfortable at all times. His caring, non-judgmental nature just soothes me from the dark, cruel world I was unfortunately born into. I mean, it's sad. So sad that I had to be born into such a cruel and dark world without any idea that it could be as dangerous as it is today. Thanks to Whiskey, however, I know that I'm safe and comforted at all times, even though the sword of death is dangling ever so precariously over my head all the time.
"I just don't want to see the unhinged, possibly homicidal side of you in the mornin', sugar," he said, justifying his reasoning. "That's all."
I had just gotten comfortable in the bed when I was forced to sit up and give Whiskey a particular look. A look as though I thought he was stupid. Of course, he wasn't stupid, but I looked at him as though he was.
"Come on, babe," I commented. "You know damn well I ain't gonna be homicidal toward you. Now, if we're talkin' 'bout Balor, then hell yeah! Definitely! But I would never be homicidal toward you." I held his hand as he came toward my side of the bed. "If I am, then that's not the real me."
He nodded, his lips puckering up as he was understanding my explanation. "I'll keep it in mind, sugar. Always."
I smirked, still keeping a tight hold on Whiskey's hand. There was a part of me that didn't want to let go, mainly because I craved his touch every moment of every day. But I knew that at one point, I'd have to let go. I don't want to let go because what if he leaves? What if he's taken from me far too soon like Devin? There's no way I'll let that happen to Whiskey.
Not when I was too late in saving my twin brother.
And once I fell asleep in Whiskey's arms that night, I dreamt about the future. The future that I had...and I hoped that this future of mine would involve Whiskey forever.
* * * * * *
Despite being in the comfort of Whiskey's arms last night, I still woke up feeling absolutely exhausted. My mind was feeling as though it had been severely overworked, even though it had gotten the proper rest that it needs. Even though my body seemed well-rested, my mind didn't.
Maybe it's all the thoughts that were racing through my head.
The thoughts of all the bad shit that could happen if Whiskey and I get caught. The thoughts of us getting absolutely downright slaughtered by someone who doesn't deserve all the humanity in the world. In fact, they deserve to be escorted forcefully to the deepest depths of hell. And by they, I mean Balor Devlin. He doesn't deserve to live after all that he's done, and I want to stop him before he causes more death and chaos than he already has.
When I finally came to my senses, I remember looking around the room wildly, wondering where Whiskey had gone. Panic had risen to the surface as I looked for him. The worst-case scenarios started to course through my mind faster than a cheetah on crack. I was going at one-hundred miles per hour because I was worried about Whiskey. I hoped to God that he was okay.
Turns out, he was. He was just in the other room, being the perfect gentleman that he is. And how was he being a good gentleman this time? Well, he was nice enough to brew up a coffee for me. Not the real shit that you brew in a pot. I don't like that kind. Instead, he took the time to brew me up my favorite K-Cup drink: White Chocolate Caramel. Of course, that's my favorite drink on a regular basis, but I have other favorite drinks when it comes to other holidays.
"Well, good morning, sugar," he said brightly with a smile.
I rubbed my eyes in order to get myself more awake than I am. "Morning," I finally said groggily.
Once I looked at what Whiskey was doing, I immediately snapped out of my groggy, tired phase I'd been in. "What are you up to?"
He shrugged. "I'm just—making you your favorite coffee," he said.
"You didn't have to do that," I said.
"Oh, but I did," Whiskey answered. "I woke up before you did, so I figured I'd take it upon myself to do this."
I smiled. "Aww. What did I do to deserve you?"
"Absolutely nothing," he replied sweetly. "You were born. You're as healthy as a horse...what else do you want me to say?"
I returned to my sweet smile again. "Thank you," I said sweetly, hugging him tightly.
Hugging Whiskey was like hugging the warmest teddy bear imaginable. It was warm, welcoming, and comforting above all else. Being in his arms meant that I was safe from all the other dangers that lurked in the outside world.
"Please tell me that this stuff ain't the nasty real shit," I joked.
Whiskey laughed as we broke apart from the hug. "No, sugar," he said breathlessly. "It's white chocolate caramel in the K-Cup. I know you too well, and I damn well know that you don't like the real shit."
I smirked. "It just has a weird aftertaste."
"I know," he said. "That's why I made you your favorite stuff."
"And I appreciate that," I said back. "Thank you."
"Anything for my girl," he answered.
Goddamnit, Whiskey! Why do you have to be so goddamn charming all the time? I'm not complaining or anything. I'm just wondering what made you so goddamn charming and irresistible.
"Now, take your time and drink that coffee up," he said. "We have some time before the skywalk opens up."
"Can we at least turn on the television?" I asked.
Whiskey gave me a stupid look. Almost like the looks I give him all the time. "Sugar, this is your suite, too. Go ahead and watch the television. Relax! Go ahead and relax. I'll join you in a bit."
I took my spot on the couch, cozying up as if I was a ball of comfort and fluff. Once the television kicked on, I didn't feel like flipping endlessly through the channels, so I was pressured to become satisfied with watching the news. Sure, there are some stories that I just can't trust, but it was the closest source I had just in case Balor had done something incredibly dangerous and stupid.
Like I say about Balor, among other things:
Stupid is as stupid does.
Have I said that to him face-to-face? No, of course not! I don't feel like dying a quick and obviously painful death. But that was one of the thoughts I had for him. Trust me when I say that I've had a lot more—colorful—thoughts about him. Shitty thoughts, if you will. I've only encountered him face-to-face a select few times, but I could clearly get who Balor is and what he deserves.
And he deserves absolute hell.
My attention was fully on that television when a "breaking news" headline hit. My eyes glued to the impending story, I was fully intrigued with what the breaking news report had to say. It could be anything at this point, and it would be beneficial to me if I kept up on all of the happenings in the world.
"We have a breaking news story to report to you right here and now," the news anchor said. I had turned up the volume on the television so I could hear the story clearly. "There has been a deadly shootout on Interstate Seventy just outside of Denver, Colorado. Over a dozen people have unfortunately died, and the death toll is still climbing."
Apparently, the report had interested Whiskey, who was sitting on the edge of the armchair with great anticipation. He had his coffee with him too, so I could tell that he was definitely invested.
"According to the Colorado Highway Patrol, armed gunmen hung out the windows of a car—a black Lamborghini—and started shooting at different travelers on the interstate, causing many accidents and pile-ups, as well as deaths and multiple injuries," the reporter continued.
"Christ Almighty," Whiskey said. "Who would do such a thing?"
I glanced over to him. "I think I have an idea of who."
"These men have not been identified yet, but authorities believe that these people have a connection to Balor Devlin, who is the world's most wanted man right now," the reporter continued. "As the authorities work to identify these men, their motives, and all the lives they've claimed, many authority organizations are urging the public to be vigilant and to exercise caution as these men are considered armed and extremely dangerous."
"That's terrible," I said.
"In fact, we are just getting reports from the FBI that one of these suspects in the shootout have been identified," the reporter added. At this point, Whiskey and I's interest increased more. "It had been confirmed by both the Colorado Highway Patrol and the FBI that one of the suspects was the most wanted man himself...Balor Devlin."
Both Whiskey and I immediately rose from our seats and kept our eyes glued to the television. Our eyebrows furrowing, both of us had now been locked into internal battles to keep our rages under control.
"Christ," Whiskey said again.
"I figured he was the one behind it," I added. "I mean, my condolences to all those people, but—I knew Balor would do something like this. It's not a surprise that he's hangin' out of windows and sunroofs to shoot at people for no reason."
Whiskey shrugged in agreement. "Yeah. I'm not surprised either. If something sadistic like this happens, it's bound to be Balor."
"Do you think he's now on his way here to Vegas?" I asked.
"Eventually, yeah," he answered, "but he's all the way close to Colorado. He's got about ten or eleven hours before he even reaches the city limits. Plus, if anything, he'll be searching the entirety of Utah first."
My face scrunched up in confusion. "Why do you suppose that?"
"Because Interstate Seventy, which runs basically across most of the country, runs through Utah," he replied. "If he travels along that interstate even up to Interstate Fifteen, he'd still be in Utah. He might think that because nothing really ever happens in Utah, we're there."
"He's overshadowed by the fact that we're in a more populated city that isn't even located in Utah?" I asked.
Whiskey nodded, his lips puckered up. "Yep. I guess that's what it is."
I nodded. "So he's becoming so blinded by his rage that he isn't even scouring through the over-populated cities first."
"Yeah. At this point, he's tired of our shit," Whiskey said, "which is a good thing. That's what we wanted—to wear him down."
"And we're doing that little by little," I added quietly.
He snapped his fingers and pointed toward me, smiling with pride. "Exactly."
"It's still a shame that all those people died," I remarked somberly. "They had so much to live for."
He put a kind hand on my shoulder, allowing it to travel up and down lightly across my back. "I know, baby. I know." He paused for a second. "Now, come on. Get dressed. We got the Grand Canyon Skywalk to walk across."
My eyes widened, and I immediately perked up. My excitement and anticipation for what was ahead was building up rapidly. "Oh, shit! I forgot! Don't you worry, Whiskey. I'll be dressed in just a hot minute."
Once I guzzled down the remaining coffee I had in my cup, I flew to the bed in the suite so I could change quickly. Since the forecast was going to be in the mid-fifties with slight breezes off and on throughout the day, I figured that I'd be safe by going with a dark color palette—you know, an outfit with blacks and grays. Maybe silvers. I don't know.
I guess it's just a spur-of-the-moment decision.
I had slipped into my clothes rather quickly, and I was surprised that when I was putting on my bootcut jeans, I didn't fall flat on my ass. Granted, the bed was right there for me just in case I did fall, but I was still surprised. My balance is just getting better, I suppose.
"All done!" I exclaimed proudly, my hands firmly on my hips as I beamed with pride.
Whiskey, not surprisingly, took notice of this, looking up and down at me with a secretive sense of impending thought. An impending thought of something that I don't know about. "I like the color scheme for today," he finally mentioned. "The black, gray, and silver on your boots there...also that tiny splash of gold."
I was confused for a moment, until I glanced down at my black-and-gold watch on my left wrist. "Oh! Yeah. I almost forgot that it was there."
"You don't feel it there?" Whiskey inquired.
I shook my head back and forth. "You'd think that after wearing something for a very long time, you'd always feel that it was there. For me, I know it's there, but I don't feel it. I guess I'm so used to wearing this."
"Didn't you have that thing for a long time, though?" he asked.
I nodded. "Yep. Since I was about thirteen or so. My great-grandfather Bradley left it to me in his will after he died as an early birthday present for me. He said that it was a birthday gift from his grandma after returning home from the war."
"The Second World War, right?" he asked.
"Yep," I answered. "Came home from Europe after fighting on the front lines against the Nazis. He was one of the ones from America who volunteered to fight against the Axis Powers. Well...my great-grandfather wanted badly to fight against the Nazis. Don't know why to this day, but I intend to find out one day."
Whiskey smirked. "It's fascinating to hear some of the war stories from your great-grandfather. I'd love to hear more about them someday."
"I promise to tell you more about him and his adventures once we get back to Tennessee," I vowed. "How's that sound?"
A warm smile spread across Whiskey's face. "That sounds great, sugar."
And like all the promises I made to Whiskey, I was definitely committed to fulfill this one. My great-grandfather Bradley had plenty of war stories that he told me, all of which are extremely interesting to hear. So interesting that I would hear some of these stories repeat constantly. Just the way that my great-grandfather told them—and also the strong bond that we had—was particularly warming to me.
To be able to have the future opportunity to tell these stories to Whiskey—and hopefully, my future children—just makes me feel as though I'm succeeding at keeping his memory and legacy alive. God, my great-grandfather would be so proud!
* * * * * *
Whiskey and I had eventually arrived at the Grand Canyon Skywalk, and almost immediately, I was paralyzed with awe at the most amazing of views. It was like I had been inside a dream. Seeing such an amazing view right in front of my own eyes was absolutely so rewarding to me. Although, it did feel different to see the Grand Canyon in person rather than through a picture or other piece of media.
And it's especially more rewarding considering the fact that Whiskey was with me.
I've said it many times before, but you know—I'm always grateful for Whiskey. Always. He saved me when I was at my lowest, and when I first started at the Statesman, I was definitely struggling to battle the demons of my past. At the time I first met him, I was struggling to let go of Devin's death and struggling to deal with the guilt that surrounded his death...
...Now, I'm able to manage that pain a bit more than in the past. All thanks to Whiskey.
"Amazing, ain't it?" Whiskey asked me, giving me a loving glance away from the Canyon's views.
I sighed. "It sure is."
"Have you ever seen somethin' so beautiful?" he questioned.
I shrugged. "Well, I've had the pleasure of looking at you almost every single day, so—I think that counts for something."
Whiskey's cheeks started turning a rosy-red color. A bright, rosy-red color. "Aw, shucks, sugar. Thanks for that, but—I was kinda talkin' 'bout the canyon."
"I know," I said. "I just wanted to put that out there. I personally don't think you hear it enough."
"Well, I'm cutting the both of us some slack because we have bigger things to deal with," Whiskey commented, shifting his voice down to a hushed and stern tone. "We're being hunted by a very dangerous terrorist, mind you."
"Oh, I know," I answered in a low tone. "I know, and it frightens me."
I could now feel Whiskey's stare move away from the Canyon over to me. His eyes softened, his concern for me was definitely felt by the both of us.
"We've been runnin' from Balor and fighting for our lives for a long time now, and I'm just—I'm just afraid they'll catch up to us," I added. "We busted our asses to get this far—to have Balor on his toes for once. And, well—I'm afraid all our hard work is gonna go to waste."
Whiskey briefly glanced down at his feet before returning his softened eyes onto me. He reached out and placed his gentle hands on my shoulder. "If it means anything," he started, "you're doing spectacular, sugar. Most people hunting down a terrorist would give up a long time ago, but you—you keep being persistent to take this son-of-a-bitch down. You have a spark. A spark that I haven't had in a long, long time."
"What kind of spark?" I questioned.
"The kind of spark that everyone needs in times of war," Whiskey answered. "The kind of spark that everyone needs when they're down in the dumps and ready to give up. You have that—that feeling of hope and determination to win. Not many people after being in this war for two years have that anymore, and—I'm proud of you."
My face scrunched up, not believing the fact that Whiskey was proud of me. In fact, I hadn't heard such a compliment in a long, long time. "Proud of me? For what?"
"For being such a badass," he answered. "For persevering through all the shit the war has thrown at you and looking to the future."
I shrugged. "I try my best."
"Well, keep tryin' your best, sugar," he started, "because you're doin' a damn good job at it."
The corners of my mouth hooked upward, as my dimples slowly started to show. I consider myself pretty humble since I don't typically brag about my achievements. And I'm pretty damn sure my momma and daddy, if they were right here with me, would agree with my claim. Hell, even my siblings would probably agree that I tend not to brag about my achievements.
It's just a one-and-done moment, I guess.
While I'm with Whiskey, I always try to keep my values in check. The values that I was raised on. God, if I listed every single value my momma and daddy raised me and my siblings on, we'd be here a while. But Whiskey—goddamnit, that charming cowboy Whiskey—changed my life for the better. In fact, he changed me to become a better person in multiple ways.
Not only has he helped me deal with the grief that followed my twin brother's death, but in a way—he practically saved my life. Had we not crossed paths, then I probably wouldn't be here anymore. The grief from my twin brother's death would've been too much, and I would've given into the demons I've been battling. But thanks to Whiskey, he gave me a reason to keep fighting no matter what. He gave me something to live for, and I'm forever grateful for him doing such a thing. He showed me the light when I was struggling to climb out of total darkness. I don't care what he thinks, but I'll forever consider him my guardian angel.
"I'm glad you think I am," I said mournfully.
As per usual, one of Whiskey's eyebrows hooked upward. "You don't give yourself enough credit?" he asked.
I nodded somberly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."
"Sugar, you should be giving yourself a whole lot more credit," he remarked. "I mean, look at you. You're a fucking badass! You're doin' what most people would not even think about doing. You're out here, kickin' ass and takin' names on a frequent basis, and that's—that's fuckin' awesome! Have some pride in takin' risks and diving head-first into the danger zone. And yes, I am so fucking proud of you for all that you're doing...and I'll keep being proud of you as long as the both of us are breathin' and kickin'."
My cheeks started to turn a rosy-red color. Once again, I had become a pleasant little victim in Whiskey's sweet talk. Against my better judgment, I decided to speak up to at least thank Whiskey for complimenting me. "Well, thank you, Whiskey, for that—"
"Ah, ah. I'm not finished," he interrupted, pressing his finger up to my lips to shut me up. "I think you're being too hard on yourself. You're hesitant in taking pride in what you're doing. And to be honest, I think it all started about two years ago when that shitty bombshell about Balor was dropped on us. I knew I took responsibility for that and felt guilty over it, and I could tell by your face that you felt guilty over that."
"How could you tell?" I asked.
He stared deep into my soul once again. "Because I've seen that face more times than I'd like."
"The face of getting your hopes dashed and heart broken over one devastating bombshell?" I questioned mournfully.
He nodded to confirm the fact. "Exactly."
Unfortunately, I know all too well what getting your hopes dashed and your heart broken over some bad news feels like. I've had moments in the past where I was completely upset and heartbroken, but nothing compared to that dreadful night.
September 30, 2016.
It was the night when I found my twin brother's bloodied and bruised body in a dumpster. It was a night that I have the absolute displeasure of remembering for the rest of my life. That moment—that dark, morbid moment in my life—had been burnt into my brain ever since it happened, and quite frankly...I didn't want it to be. Nobody ever wants such a dark moment in their lives to be forever burnt into their brain.
Unfortunately, there's no way to stop bad news from coming.
There's going to be devastating news that people are forced to at least accept. They can deny it all they want, but in the end...that devastation is still going to exist. There were several times in my life when I wanted the pain—the pain of stomaching such awful news—to end almost instantly. Most notably, the news that I took the hardest was finding my twin brother's lifeless, bloodied corpse inside a dumpster.
In fact, out of all the members in my family, I was the one who took Devin's death the hardest.
And like a dumbass, I let that news and the grief that followed affect my life negatively. It had negatively impacted my life for the longest time, and it truly didn't start to disintegrate until I took a job in the Statesman Agency and met Whiskey. He was the one who showed me that this news—this debilitating news—doesn't have to break you down for the rest of your life. In fact, he inexplicably taught me that just because you'll receive bad news doesn't mean it has to break you down to the ground.
It's just the way life works.
That was just one of many lessons I've personally learned from being with Whiskey. At first, I would've thought that Whiskey was just a kind gentleman raised on traditional Southern etiquette rules. But he taught me so much more than just that...and I'm forever grateful for him—my guardian angel—because he not only saved my life in a way, but he taught me how to love again. Had it not been for him, I probably wouldn't be here anymore. Or, at the very least, my life would just be a dark shadow that I can't escape from.
Wanting to keep this experience forever embedded into my brain, I decided to take a picture of these views so I could look back on them and remember the fond memories again. And maybe—maybe—tell these stories to my future children someday. Then again...that thought of having children of my own was simply passing through my brain.
"What are you doin'?" Whiskey asked.
I took several pictures of the Grand Canyon on my phone before acknowledging Whiskey's question. "Taking pictures of these fucking beautiful views," I answered.
"But you're not takin' pictures of yourself," he remarked cheekily.
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying so damn hard not to squeal like a little girl. Whiskey seemed too damn proud of his compliment, and it definitely showed in my expression.
"Charming," I said. "What time is it, by the way? Don't you have that fancy attire to pick up for the casino date tonight?"
Whiskey glanced down at his watch, his eyes widening with complete shock. "Oh shit! You're right. We have to go pick those up."
After he took a page out of my book and took lasting pictures of the Grand Canyon, Whiskey ventured off the Skywalk and off to our next adventure of the day. All I did was tag along because I was just grateful to be by Whiskey's side. I was grateful to be practically attached at his hip.
* * * * * *
Whiskey managed to make it to the shop in just the nick of time. In fact, he arrived there—and found a damn good parking spot—within five minutes before his designated pickup time. I was there just to help him carry the bags that our attire came in. Only Whiskey knew what this attire looked like. I had no part in choosing it.
"Can I at least see what my dress looks like?" I asked.
Whiskey shook his head. "Not yet, sugar. Just wait 'til we get back to our suite."
I gritted my teeth with a sense of anger. The anger that I couldn't find out what my outfit looked like right away. "Fine," I snarkily said. "I can wait, I guess."
"Right answer, baby girl," he said back to me. "You're well on your way to havin' a good time tonight after the casino adventure."
I had to stop dead in my tracks at the first hearing of such a phrase. At this point, I'm already used to Whiskey spewing out such phrases like that, but goddamnit! They make me stop what I'm doing every single time.
"Goddamnit, Whiskey!" I exclaimed. "Why must you be so charming?"
A wicked smile appeared across his face. "Oh, you won't think I'm so charming later tonight when you scream my name for all of Vegas to hear."
By that point, I almost choked on my own saliva. I was almost expecting Whiskey to say something so off-handed like that, but I didn't expect him to drop it that quickly. I'm usually not one to react wildly to something like that, but in the case of Whiskey's remarks—it's different. He's my boyfriend, and I feel more comfortable and safe with him than with anyone else.
I mean, isn't that what you're supposed to feel with your significant other?
Sure, you're supposed to love them above all else. But you're supposed to have a sense of security with them. You're supposed to feel safe with them. That's what I feel with Whiskey, on more levels than one. Sure, he's protecting me from the genocidal monster known as Balor Devlin, but he's also protecting me from all of the outside world. The cruel, dark outside world that did nothing to help me make the pain of grieving my twin brother better.
Not even God could help me!
But at least, He made up for it in a big way by putting Whiskey on my path. I didn't quite expect it, but in the end, Whiskey came to me, and I couldn't be more grateful for that. In fact, I owe practically my entire life to Whiskey. He saved me in more ways than one, and—I couldn't have asked for a more perfect man than him.
"So you plan to ruin me," I said, prodding Whiskey further as we walked through the doors to our suite.
"Oh, honey," he said. "My goal is to make sure you don't walk the next day and that those vocal cords of yours are damaged."
One of my eyebrows hooked upward. "My vocal cords?"
He nodded. "Yeah. It's from all the screamin' you'll be doin'."
I responded by chuckling lightly. Enough to show my pearly white teeth. "You are hellbent in makin' me scream for you tonight, aren't ya?"
"Oh! Yes I am," he exclaimed, soon returning his voice to a low growl, "and I fully intend on fuckin' you until I get what I want."
My eyes widened out of shock. A good kind of shock. It's the kind of shock that consumed me when I found out—again—that Whiskey is actually a very smooth talker. Smoother than I thought he was.
"Oh, I know you will," I responded.
"Really? I thought you thought of me as unpredictable," he answered.
I shrugged. "Yeah. I still do. But, Whiskey, I've known you—and been attached at your hip—for two goddamn years. In all that time, I've learned to pick up your habits and shit."
He ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth as I paused for a brief moment. "And no, I haven't picked up any of your habits," I said. "I'm still me!"
"Foul-mouthed, stubborn, unhinged—just to name a few," he mumbled under his breath.
After hanging up my casino attire in the closet, I whipped my head around. "I'm sorry. What did you say?" I asked in disbelief.
"Nothing, sugar. Nothing," Whiskey said, his skin turning as white as a ghost out of fear. The fear that I'd practically strangle him for saying such a thing.
I came closer and closer to him. "No, tell me. What did you say?"
"I swear, Rocky. I was only tellin' the truth," he said.
"Well, tell me the truth. Then, we'll determine whether or not it was the truth that spilled off that goddamn tongue of yours," I sneered.
Whiskey bit his lip, bracing for any possible form of violence that may come his way. "I said that you were foul-mouthed, stubborn, and unhinged. Just to name a few of your personality traits," he said in fear. "Please don't hurt me."
As I got closer to him, Whiskey tensed up a lot as if he was afraid of me possibly beating him. But I wasn't going to beat him. Not by a long shot! Instead, I moved in to give him a tight hug and a light kiss on the cheek. Poor Whiskey was so confused that he didn't know what to do next.
"You're right," I said. "All you said was the truth."
Whiskey started to slowly relax, but his confusion was still evident because of his facial expression. "I thought you were gonna strangle me or somethin'."
"Why in the hell would I strangle you?" I asked confusedly.
"Because you'd get mad at me and unleash your anger," he said.
I shook my head back and forth. "No! No, no, no! Of course not!" I paused briefly to let the tension release Whiskey's arms and shoulders. "I would never do that to you. If I do, then that's not me. That's totally not me!"
That's when I started to run my hand on the outside of Whiskey's arm, reassuring him that everything was okay. I finally gripped his upper arm, letting him know that I was dead serious with what I had to say next.
"I'll promise you this, Whiskey. And when I make promises, I keep them religiously close to my heart," I said in a low tone. "I'll promise you this...I'll never ever lay my hands on you aggressively. That's not how I roll. You treat me with respect, I'll treat you with respect. I would never lay my hands on you in a violent way. I promise."
"But what if you do?" Whiskey asked genuinely and worriedly.
I stared deep into his soul sincerely. "Then, that's not the real me."
I know damn well that I would never ever lay my hands on Whiskey under any circumstances. At least, not in a violent way. This man—this perfect man—has treated me with the utmost respect for two years, and I can't break my own promise to him to show him how I feel.
And it was my promise to: treat him with respect if he treats me with respect.
See? I can keep promises for a long time, too! As a young man who was raised on traditional Southern rules for etiquette, Whiskey takes those rules very seriously. Too seriously. He still follows those long-standing rules to this day.
Meanwhile, I was raised on different rules. Now that I think about it, those rules would make traditional Southern parents pass out. I was raised to stand up for what's right, to be a good student and person, and much more. In fact, there were multiple phrases that my parents—and the rest of my siblings and I—would use that still play a role in my life today. This includes phrases like:
Momma didn't raise no bitch.
Stupid is as stupid does.
Y'all need Jesus!
Hell hath no fury like Veronica's scorn. Yeah. That was used very often.
There were plenty more phrases, but those were just some that I still use to this day. Oh, and I almost forgot! I also follow my daddy's pieces of advice religiously. I follow them much more closely than the rest of my siblings. Well...Devin came in at a narrowly close second. But since he isn't here anymore, I now have no threat to the crown.
The crown of following Daddy's pieces of advice the most closely.
And sure, Whiskey and I may have been raised differently, but our rules somewhat coincide with one another. He was raised to treat women with the utmost respect, and I was raised to treat anyone with the same respect they show me. Since Whiskey treats me with the most ungodly amount of genuine respect, I obligated myself to treat him with the same amount of respect he gives me.
And that's a promise I intend on keeping for the rest of my life.