M A T U R E A U D I E N C E S O N L Y!
18+
"So you have no idea where he is?" Chris rubbed his eyes, leaning against the porch. He was on his fourth cigarette, puffing them down like he needed them to fucking breathe or something. At least he had finally just stopped pacing. "Just a general area, Briel, anything."
"He only ever comes to Honeys." I sat on the ground by the porch, picking out blades of grass, enjoying the sound of it tearing from the ground. "Just showing up whenever."
"Fuck," he kicked the railing and sat down heavily on the steps, beginning to plot out his plan of attack. "I'll just have to fucking watch for him." As much as I've tried to deescalate him, we had been going at this for at least forty five minutes, just going in circles.
What does he look like? What does he drive? How often do you see him? Does he travel alone?
"Can you please come here?" I asked quietly, massaging my twitching leg muscles. All of these questions were tiring, each one adding to the knot growing in my gut. I needed to move his mind away from this conversation, one that I now regret starting. Well, it was hard to say I regretted it fully. Chris cared for me in his own weird way, and his confidence in himself to do so was reassuring.
I couldn't help but wonder where his mind was at right now. How heavy were his thoughts after the series of events over the past few days?
Jail.
Zach.
Me. Fucking the shit out of me.
His gaze flicked over to me and with a huff, he stood up. "Alright." With relaxed footing, he walked over to me and stretched out beside where I sat. "Are you okay?"
"I'm just sore." I shrugged, sliding my leg in the grass to press against his.
Nonchalantly of course.
"This wouldn't have happened if you'd just talked with me." He ran his fingers through his dark curls aggressively, grunting as he did so.
Was he referring to Marcello, or the rough sex?
"How was I supposed to know how you'd react?" I eyed his flexing arms as he picked at the bandages on his hands, considering my words. "Chris, I'm terrified of you getting involved and doing something that will get you killed."
He scoffed, blinking up at me with a soft smile that hit a hole in my stomach. "You think I'm afraid to die?"
"Would you really want to die for me?" My lower lip quivered, feeling my heartache with a tightening pain. He wasn't thinking right, I was not worth him risking his life so dangerously. I had just ruined his relationship with Zach, and we both know damn well I have a habit of lying. So, why would he say such a thing, so bold and headstrong? Was he starting to feel the same blossoming sensation of love that I felt?
He shook his head thoughtfully, looking off at a tree in the distance. Searching for the right words, maybe he was unsure. I watched his shoulders sink, giving up on what he really wanted to say. "You don't get it."
I outstretched my pinky finger and touched it to his, lacing our fingers together. "Help me understand it then, Chris." Just the simple act alone sent warmth over my body, a giddy sensation.
I miss him.
He sat still and blinked, surprised as he looked down at our fingers tied together in his lap. "Well god damn, woman."
"What? Is this okay?" I began to let go but he held my finger in place, squeezing gently. Maybe it was too soon for intimate touches like this.
"It's like you read my mind." He raised his face to mine and stared in wonder at my confused stare. "I was about to say, you have me wrapped around your finger and— well, shit. Your lil' finger is squeezin' on mine like that. I've fuckin' never-"
"Never what?" I watched him as he hesitated, meeting my eyes with gentle affection.
"I don't know, you're like a drink of ice water on a hot day or something. You're different and it just sticks with me." He grinned with a naughty expression in his eyes. "You're the best I've ever had, Bri. I might as well just die now."
I nudged his arm, rolling my eyes. "You know, I can't tell if you're serious or not. 'Cause that look your giving me is just-"
"I'm giving you this look cause you look cute as fuck, and I can't stop thinking about you taking my dick down your throat like a-"
"Christian!" My cheeks flushed pink, as I considered the idea. With a chuckle, I swatted at his knee.
"I'm serious though." He leaned himself forward, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. "I won't let this Marcello bitch near you again."
"Will you at least promise me to just hang back and let me handle it?"
"Fuck no." He scoffed. "What makes you think I'm gonna let you handle this level of shit on your own?"
"Because I have for damn near fifteen years, and this ride is almost over for me. Look," I grabbed his arm and ran my hand down it until I caught hold of his hand. "You have to trust me. All I need to do is finish out this— I don't know, this arrangement and pay my debts, then I'm free."
Did I sound convincing enough?
"So, you just pay all this money to Marcello and he decides whether it's enough or not?" He scoffed in disbelief.
"Marcello doesn't determine that. He just monitors me from time to time." I swallowed nervously.
"Who does?"
"I'm not sure yet." I lied, looking him fearlessly in his eyes to prove my trustworthiness.
He sighed heavily and threw his head back. "This is all kinds of fucked up, Briel."
"You're telling me. Chris, can we just please take a break on it tonight? Just for the rest of today?"
"I wanna find this mother fucker, Briel. I wanna put a bullet in his head."
My heart sunk with the image that played in my mind. Knowing Marcello and the strength of his men, some part of me believed this would end with someone dying. Some part of me believed it would be Chris, and I couldn't have that happening. "I know you do."
"So that's what I'm going to do." He shrugged, starting to lift himself from the ground before I yanked his rear belt loop and sent him tumbling back to the ground with a grunt. "What the fuck?" He cursed.
I covered my giggle with my hand, watching his brows furrow into an angry glare. "I'm not done talking."
"So what the fuck you need to say, woman? I gotta take care of some shit."
"I know you do, Chris." I stared down at his black boots, eyeing the scuffs in the steel toe. "I just want you to stay with me."
With a confused blink, his lips twitched curiously. The desperate tone of my request had caught his attention and made him look at me with pity. "Well, I wasn't going to leave yet."
"Just- I don't know," I began to hesitate, unable to decide what I wanted to say, and how I should execute it. I wanted him, just for today. I wanted to let go of our worries and try to make up to each other for real. Not just a hardcore pounding. Something tangible to the heart. We needed to make up with words. "If we can try not to talk about Marcello for just a day, I'll even help you look for him."
He laughed out loud, making my guts shrivel with embarrassment. "You aren't gonna do a god damn thing, Peach, I'll take care of Marcello on my own."
My shoulders sank in defeat and I whined his name. "That's not the point I'm trying to make."
"What good would one day even be?"
"I could have your full attention, maybe?" I blurted, biting my lip nervously as his jaw twitched.
"You want me to fuck you again? 'Cause I still really just want to slam you against the kitchen counter and-"
"Can I just kiss you?"
A boyish grin spread his cheeks and he leaned in close to me, eyes flicking over my features. "That'd be real nice baby, but you've got cum all over your face."
I touched the side of my lips, feeling the remnants that had spilled from my mouth. With a glare, I stood up from the grass, crossing my arms over my chest. "Well you smell like booze and a dirty ashtray, so maybe we should both have a shower."
He stood up with me and playfully kicked at my butt. "Lead the way then, brat."
Flipping my hair as I turned towards the house, I swayed my hips daintily. Of course, I knew he'd be watching as he follows me through the house, and just that alone made me smile.
—
I never thought that I would find a man's ass attractive in the slightest. Now, standing in the shower with him and watching the water run down over a set of dimples on his lower back-well I'd say I quite enjoy the view. Fighting the uncontrollable urge to slide my palm down the length of his spine, I giggled to myself and lazily scrubbed soap over my body.
"What's so funny?" He asked, ducking his head under the shower stream.
"Nothin', I'm just checkin' you out." I stared at a piece of my hair stuck to his ribcage. I reached my hand out and picked it off of him, making him jump around to face me.
"Fuck are you doing? Tryin' to tickle me or somethin'?" The look in his surprised face was golden, blinking water out of his long eyelashes.
I shook my head, covering a laugh. "What are you ticklish?"
"Fuck off, Briel." He took a step away from me, holding out a pointer finger. "Don't."
Oh, so he is ticklish.
He gave me a warning look as I slowly brought up my hands, threatening him with a two handed tickle. "So where's the spot, Mr. Man?"
"I swear to god, we'll both end up on the ground."
"Admit it." I lightly traced my fingernails down his sides, watching as he desperately tried to stay composed.
"Yeah, I guess I am, when I wanna be- god damn it, stop." He laughed out, grabbing onto my wrists to restrain me.
I stood on my tiptoes and puckered my lips out at him, surprising myself with this newfound boldness. "You have to kiss me if you want me to stop."
"No." His glorious smile made me flush with desire. The grip on his wrists, pressing into the light bruises he left while pinning me down. "What are you gonna do?"
"I know you wanna kiss me. Come on, Chris, please?" I felt a small pout dip my lips down, and I blinked slowly up at him.
"Do you deserve a kiss?" Heavy eyes drug down my wet, naked body, and he smiled at my puckered nipple.
"What can I do to earn one?" I bit my lower lip slowly and let out a soft breath. I think at this point, I would almost do anything for just a kiss. To be able to massage my lips against his, just holding each other. Our bodies pressed together like clay, feeling every single inch in just one passionate kiss. I just wanted to feel him need me, and give me that affection. Was I good enough for him? Was I worthy of this affection?
Our eyes met, challenging each other with sensual gazes. Droplets of water fell from his wet face, rolling down to the hair on his chest. He released my hands and shook his head slowly. "Good girls get kisses, Princess."
My fast beating heart began to drum in my chest, rapidly thudding against my breastbone. "But, I have been good, haven't I?"
He shook his head again, smile getting wider. "I ain't done punishin' you."
"So you won't kiss me 'cause you want to punish me?" I rolled my eyes, standing on the balls of my feet and threw my arms around the back of his neck.
"Damn right." Though he said one thing, his hands began to slide up my waist, gripping at my hips. He did want me, and his self control was faltering with my subtle teasing.
"Come on, cowboy, don't you want me, baby?" I squished my breasts up against him, leaning in until my head was all the way back to look up into his warm eyes.
"Ah, fuck it." He groaned, swiftly raising me onto his hips. His cock now pressing firm into my wetness between legs. "Why you gotta act like that?"
"If you wanna punish me, how 'bout you make it worth your time." My lips latched onto his neck, sucking in hard on his skin until he moaned out, slamming me back onto the shower wall.
"Can you handle another round, lil' honey?"
"Yes, sir." I pleaded before he pounded into me, sheathing himself entirely inside of me.
"That's a good girl."
—
It took a massive amount of convincing and assuring him that I would only be gone for an hour tops before he allowed me to leave the house for an important errand. I had something up my sleeve for him, something he might take as a gift of forgiveness. With all of this tension and stress added to our relationship, I only felt it necessary to replace his favorite possession.
Sitting leaned up against my passenger seat, laid a black six string guitar, with a mahogany neck, and glossy finish. He loved his music, it was truly his only escape other than the ounces upon ounces of liquor he consumes. I guess you could say I felt guilty for pushing him to ultimately destroy his old one. Yes, he was the one who wrecked it, but it was me who drove him to that anger.
Pulling into the driveway, I saw him standing shirtless in the side of the yard, rotating hot dogs on our little charcoal grill. He turned to look at me, welcoming me with a broad smile.
"Chris!" I called over to him, stepping out of the car and shutting the door. "You should come here."
"I got food on the grill, girl, what you want?"
"Just come here, I promise it won't take long." I coaxed, twisting my keys nervously.
What if he hates it or something?
With a sigh that I could hear across the entire yard, he shut the grill and trudged over to me. "Okay, make it quick."
I led him around the car and grinned up at his annoyed face. "So, if you hate it, we can return it but—"
"What are you—" he stopped as I pulled open the passenger side door, revealing the brand new guitar. With wide eyes he stared down at it, looking over every detail. "What the hell?"
"Do you hate it?" I stepped back, biting my lip anxiously.
"Bri," he reached out and lifted it from the seat, holding it carefully in his grasp. "You got this for me?"
I nodded cautiously, studying his expression eagerly. "I didn't know what to look for but it was the nicest one I saw and I feel like it just screamed "Chris". What do you think?"
"This is a limited edition, Bri. This is a Gibson Les Paul— it's well over a fucking grand." His fingers smoothed over the strings. "You got this for me?"
"I hope you like it. I know how much your music means to you, and I just didn't want you to go without it."
He pulled me into a tight embrace, laughing heartily. "I fucking love it."
I wrapped my arms around him and returned the embrace, closing my eyes as my smile widened. Seeing him smile that handsome genuine smile was all that I could've wanted. My heart swelled with joy, kissing his scruffy chest with care. "I'm so glad. I just want you to be happy, Chris."
"Bri—" he pulled me back, eyes sparkling with joy. "I want to—I gotta introduce you to someone."
I looked up at him confused, brushing back locks of hair that whipped in my face with the strong winds of a storm approaching overhead. "Who?"
"Let's just eat real quick and we'll go, okay?" He looked back down at the guitar, slowly turning it to take in its beauty. "Fuck."
—
We ate our hotdogs and Chris threw on a fresh t-shirt and a leather jacket, preparing for the downpour of heavy Florida rain waiting for us outside. He had mentioned us having to stand out in the rain the entire time, so he encouraged me to dress accordingly as well.
The drive wasn't horrible, only about thirty minutes from home, a calming drive in the rain seemed to be just what we needed.
But why was he pulling into a cemetery?
"Who are we visiting in a graveyard, Chris?" I laughed out, reaching for the cigarette dangling from his lips.
He turned down the loud thrashing metal song that blasted through his stereo speaker and turned his gaze to me. "You're gonna meet Ty."
Oh, fuck me.
I watched out the window as we crept slowly down the winding road, through the rows of headstones and brightly colored flowers until he came to a careful stop.
"Are you ready?" He swallowed, seemingly very nervous.
"Yeah, are you?" I pulled my hood up over my head and zipped my coat up my chest.
He stared out at the field and sighed. "It's been a while." The haunting pain in his voice was enough to send shivers down my spine. I wonder how long it's been since the last time he visited.
"Do you wanna take a second?" My small hand gently rubbed his knee, doing my best to comfort him without any humiliation.
"No." He tore off his seatbelt and pushed open the door. "Let's just go."
I followed after him, speed walking to catch up as he strode through the rows, stopping at a polished and clean, gray headstone.
Tyler R. Blake.
We will never forget.
June 28th, 1993 to August 3rd, 2012
Chris stood, staring down at the spot before him, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. "This is Ty." He said with a raspy voice, filled with sorrow.
"He's your brother?" I joined his side, wiping rainwater from my face.
He cleared his throat and brushed the light debris from the stone. "I figured it was time for you to meet him."
"This was four years ago?"
He nodded, holding his gaze off of me. "Feels like it was just yesterday."
"What happened?" I blurted out the question without any consideration for the sensitivity of the conversation.
Why can't I just think first?
He squatted down, letting out a shaky breath. "She's a nosy one, Ty."
I lowered myself down and sat down on the muddy earth, crossing my legs. Sure, it was messy, but I didn't seem to mind. Neither did he, dropping his butt down beside me. "You don't have to say—"
"So," he cut me off, finally turning his head over to me, revealing a haunted expression in his eyes. "My dad, Tyler, and I never had a normal family after my mom killed herself when we were kids. Dad would drink, and he really didn't give a shit what we did. So we drank with him. Every night."
A lump formed in my throat, feeling his pain in the depths of my soul. Zach's cruel words, explaining the situation echoed in my head. "Russel?" I asked quietly.
He nodded solemnly. "As we got older, we took up some hobbies—if you wanna call it that. We were always known for being rowdy and rough, taking after dad, and we found it fun to just—" he dropped his head in his hand and rubbed his eyes hard. "We'd just beat the shit out of each other. For fun."
"Your dad didn't care?"
He let out a sad chuckle. "He started most of the fights. Ty and I just wanted to prove our strength to him and it—I don't know we just fuckin' loved to fight."
"So what happened on August 3rd?" I rubbed his leg, studying his flexing jaw as he bit back the emotion from his voice.
"Ty was a loudmouth lil' shit, and it pissed my Dad off to no end. Constantly pushing him, even when Ty knew he'd get knocked out after one more punch, he'd just keep talking."
I waited for him to take a moment, letting him breathe slowly and keep calm. "Take your time." I soothed, staying strong for him despite the sick feeling rising in my gut.
"He had just broken up with his girl and his attitude got bad that night—trash talking about mom until dad finally snapped and he grabbed his gun. He just wanted to freak Ty out and—" his fists tightened over his eyes as he spoke, rage dripping from his voice. "He was so fuckin' drunk, but he just shot him. Right in the back of the head in our front yard. After all that booze and countless headshots, he had perfect aim—the fucking bastard."
"Oh my god," I covered my mouth as my eyes welled with tears. "Is that when he shot you?"
"I was passed out in the kitchen. The only reason I woke up was 'cause I heard the shot. Bri, I fucking jumped up so fast and ran outside. His fuckin' brains were—"
"Chris—"
"Dad saw me and he was just gone, dead eyes. He held up the gun like a fuckin' coward and he shot at me, unloading his gun before running down the street." He dropped his hands and looked at me, eyes glossed over. "I chased him down until he was flat on the ground. I fuckin' just slammed his head down screaming why."
"My god—" I choked out a sob, pulling him into my arms. "Christian,"
"Don't cry, baby, please." He squeezed me tightly, almost begging me to stop. "He'd hate me for bringin' a cryin' broad to his grave."
I pulled away, nodding quickly to shake away the heavy feeling in my heart. "Tell me about him. Let's just talk about the good stuff."
He wiped my tears and looked over to Tyler's headstone. "Well, he was always full of some kinda energy. That's why he made such a good drummer. Fuckin' ADHD mother fucker."
"Did you guys play in a band together?"
He forced a sad smile. "Yeah, him, Zach and I would always play at the Brick. The best drummer we ever had."
"What were you guys like as boys?"
He laughed out, smiling up at the sky. "God, he was so fuckin' annoying. Always wanting to mimic my every move."
"He looked up to you, huh?" I read over Tyler's headstone, my heart breaking for the Blake boys.
"He sure did, and he knew how much it pissed me off. Always tryin' to one up me in some way. God, I swear when we would fight he'd get this second energy—trying with all his might to get me down. He was a strong fucker."
"Did you guys actually have fun fighting? Or was it only to prove yourselves?"
"Oh, hell yeah we had fun." He laughed, swatting away a mosquito from his face. "It was our own fight club, you know? Plus we got to drink free booze all the time."
"Sounds horrible honestly." I winced, pulling my knees up to my chest. "Didn't you guys have any other kind of fun? Like, tell me what was your best memory with him?"
He tilted his head to the side, staring out at the field before us and smiled. "Yeah, we were good brothers for the most part. He and Rick were best friends growing up so we'd all spend most of our time just getting into trouble. Until we figured out how to use our dicks and get girls."
"Oh my goodness." I rolled my eyes playfully. "So that's why Rick was so mad with you, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess so." He looked down at his now muddy pants and breathed out a heavy sigh. " I guess my best memory with him would have to be the day we stole our middle school science teachers trampoline."
"What!" I exclaimed, covering my mouth with my hand. "Did you get in trouble?"
He shot me a playful look, winking at me. "Never. We took that bitch nearly a mile back to our house and we had our first real wrestling match."
"So who won?"
"We don't talk about that."
"Aw did Chris Blake lose to his younger brother?" I teased, bumping into him.
"Well I pushed him off afterwards and he broke his wrist, so in a way, I did win."
"You're ridiculous." I rolled my eyes. "Did you even feel bad?"
"Fuck no." He held his stomach as he laughed, shaking his head. "He had been trying to shove me off the moment we got on it."
"My goodness. I guess I'm glad I grew up alone, then."
"What about you? You told me once that I'm such a mystery and stuff, but I feel like I'm just getting to know you."
"Well, if you wanna know about my childhood you can ask me anything. I never had any siblings, but I don't know—it's actually really uninteresting I'm sorry."
"No, baby, don't shut down. Talk to me, tell me something nice about your childhood." His bulky arm wrapped over my shoulders, pulling me close to him.
"I don't know where to start." I shrugged, snuggling into him. "My momma and papa were always struggling financially so I didn't really do much. My papa was my best friend though."
"So, why'd he sell you then?"
"Drugs." I scoffed. "I thought you wanted the good memories?"
"Sorry, you're very right, please continue."
Why was it so hard to pull a good memory from my childhood.
"Well, most of the fun I had was playing with him. He would dance with me a lot, and have tickle wars. Shoot, sometimes he would even play babydolls with me."
"What's the latest memory you have of him?" His hand smoothed over my wet hair, giving me the comfort I needed to carry on the conversation. "Like a good one." He clarified.
I giggled to myself, remembering the first time my mother ever yelled at me. Her long blonde hair flying behind her and she chased me around the house to retrieve the bottle of wine I stole from her. "When I was six I took my mom's wine, right? I ran around the living room and jumped on the countertop, literally gulping down as much as I could."
"Jesus christ, did you literally jump on the counter?" He laughed out loud, pinching my earlobe.
"I was a really hyper kid." Mosquito's were flocking around us, but the rain had miraculously stopped. I sat up to take in his handsome features, those of which I was beginning to love more and more. "Mom chased after me and took the bottle, calling for my father who was in the bathroom."
"You were wild, girl. That must be why you like wine so much!" His eyes were wide with surprise, dimples showing through his shadow of a beard.
"That's not even the funniest part!" I pulled my attention off of him, focusing down at my lap as tied my hair back. "When my dad ran in all my mom could say was "Briella just grabbed it, Vince, and just started chug-a-luggin' on it!" After that day, I would walk around saying 'chug-a-luggin' outta nowhere!"
"I bet that drove her nuts, huh?" When he spoke, his voice was full of pure adoration, his gaze lingering on me with wonder.
"Yeah, it really did."
His head snapped back to Tyler, grinning broadly at the stone. "She's pretty cool, ain't she?"
I think at that moment, I'd like to say that I imagined Ty, sitting with us. Maybe laughing with us as we shared shitty stories of our weird, and broken lives. Maybe he would have a smile matching Chris', and a loud and prominent laugh that warmed your heart upon hearing it.
Would he approve of me? Knowing what I've already put his brother through, and what trouble he could be getting into? I'd like to imagine that he looks after Chris in a way, keeping an eye out for him. Would Ty believe me if I told him I would do anything to make sure Chris would be safe? Even if it meant lying to him? Would he know the weight of love I felt weighing on my chest the moment I catch a glimpse?
Tyler, if you're here, and if you believe in us—whatever we are—please keep him safe.
If not me, then him.
Please.
—
*Mwah*
🍑