This is the story of my life
(3 - Run,Chiquita, run!)
The idea of leaving was growing stronger every day; my brain applying itself to cut loose from that life.
Cutting loose from Chris Keller wasn’t that easy though; he had no idea of what was going on; I was still in love with the way he moved, those looks he gave me, his changing smile, some habits he had that I found madly endearing.
Things helped me take the next step.
I found out I wasn’t the only one he fucked; there was a girl named Kitty who lived two blocks from what he called “our apartment”; I saw him kiss her one day as they parted down the stairs; once or twice other girls called asking for Chris. Then a friend of his told me Chris had spent three years in a prison called Lardner. The man who lent him the apartment was still there.
The rot had already set in. The prison thing frightened me; sharing Chris with someone else was driving me crazy but I didn’t say anything because in those days Keller quickly became cranky and rough and when that rotten mood struck, he would say terrible hurtful things . True things.
Like “I don’t love you, never said I did, never promised you a fucking thing , what’s all this fuss about, we’re just partners and we fuck. Period.”
I didn’t want to hear any of it. I didn’t want to fight.
One day I woke up and my decision was made; I’d seize the first opportunity to run away. Run back home where I belonged.
There was a last day. A final morning waking up in Keller’s arms still sticky, sweaty and delighted; a final breakfast on the terrace, a final trip to the beach, a final fuck.
And a final evening spent working or whatever it was. At the very moment I set foot in the house where the party was held my heart clenched. I didn’t like the people I saw; the Nazi flags in the corridors, the shaven heads, the leather, the chains and I took a step back. Until then it had been about actors, producers, artists, businessmen; I didn’t like the change, it made me feel cheap.
“Come on,” Chris said, “Don’t be afraid, they look scary but they’ll love you.”
He gave me a push forward and a toothless skinhead greeted us in the hall; I saw Keller throw about 20 little bags full of dope on a table; the fierce doorkeeper whistled and gave us a hideous smile.
I looked at Keller, the cold expression on his face; he took my arm and dragged me upstairs.
I remember that night all too well; I still have nightmares about it. Keller left me alone, he had to meet someone, so I had to go through things I hated without his comforting presence; those Nazi fucks had some really vicious tastes, sex wasn’t so much something to enjoy than a sheer display of power… Shit, I wanted to leave but couldn’t. It was very late when I fell asleep on the stained rumpled sheets, every muscle in my body yelled yelling with pain, bruised, sore and humiliated.
Keller crashed beside me just after dawn but didn’t hug me or hold me; his skin was cold, he smelled of smoke and sweat and cheap perfume; his fingers smelled of come and woman’s flesh, he was livid.
No. Never again.
It took me a full hour to gather enough courage but eventually I rose, grabbed my clothes, my wallet, got dressed. I was about to walk out when something caught my eye; Chris had fallen asleep holding the handle of a small metallic suitcase. I pulled on the handle and he growled, threatening, like a dog baring his teeth, turned on his side, tightening his grip.
/ Hey, let me have it; just a little souvenir… /
I kissed his cold and sweaty temple, licked his lips, kissed him; he didn’t wake up but grabbed my head with his two hands and kissed back, then curled up on the bed and sank deeper into sleep, letting go of the suitcase.
I seized it and tiptoed along the dark corridors and down the stairs, walking past rooms where unconscious bodies were lying on unmade beds, obscene exhibition of spent flesh.
There was no one in front of the main gate at the end of the alley but it was locked. I had to walk around the house and climb a wall to get out.
As soon as my feet touched the ground I began to run. It was raining.
In a shop near the station I bought a huge travelling bag and hid the suitcase inside it; got on the bus, heading north, suddenly shaking, my forehead against the cold glass, my eyes closed. Every turn of the wheel was breaking my heart; every single minute I thought I was going to run back to Chris.
But the stubborn Beecher part was clutching at a single idea –leave him before he leaves you.
He didn’t love me; he loved the money. He had someone else. He was a slug He dealt drugs. He fucked other people. If I stopped hustling for him he’d ditch me ..
It was a long trip; I kept the bag on my knees and barely left the bus in spite of the driver’s advice; slept for twenty hours in a row; woke up crying, slept again, ate nothing, dreamed of Chris, thought of Chris, ached for Chris.
How would he react when he’d find out I was gone? Suddenly it occurred to me he could look for me, try to find me, run after me; but he knew nothing about me; I was safe.
I arrived home on a Saturday afternoon; the house was locked and deserted so I sat outside and figured out something to tell my family that didn’t include prostitution, drug habits and a gay relationship. As night fell on the garden I had everything planned. It was getting chilly so in the end I used my bag to break a window, and jumped inside.
The cat seemed to recognize me. I roved through the house, visited each room. Nothing had changed; my own bedroom looked exactly like it did 10 months ago. It felt like centuries and at the same time, it felt like I’d never left; like I was waking up from a mesmerizing nightmare.
I drank in the sight of the thick carpets, the huge library, the statues, the painting, the marble of the hall.
I was home.
Feeling tired I settled in front of the TV on the big couch and waited for my parents to come back from wherever they were spending the week-end, half-listening.
That’s when I heard the news.
The journalist was standing in front of the house where I’d spent my last night with Keller, explaining it looked like rival gangs fought about a drug deal gone bad of scores; a blond girl I vaguely remembered explained in a shady voice that when they found out the drug had been stolen there was a terrible fight and the shooting began and then…
No survivor except her, the journalist explained.
I don’t know how long I stood there, numb with pain and terror and shock. No survivor; there were bodies in black bags. Body bags. I had to get up and run to the bathroom where I threw up.
Then I walked up to my room, and opened the suitcase.
Fuck. Enough drugs to stay high for a whole month.
It took me a long time to tear every little bag open and threw the white powder into the toilets, watch it disappear in a white whirlpool. Again and again until there was not a single bit of it left, then tossed all the bags into the big garbage can in the garage; hid the suitcase under a tarp with other old useless things; hands shaking, tears running down my face. I didn’t want to think of how much money it meant. I remembered the way Keller had been clutching the handle in his sleep; I could only imagine how he felt when he’s woken up and this single thought forced me to get up and walk through the house, panting with pain, biting my hand until I drew blood, yelling Chris’ name.
My parents found me lying on the carpet in the hall, unconscious; I don’t remember much of anything after that.
Keller’s worried and anxious, I can see it by the way he’s sitting at the table in the living-room, his arms crossed, lost in thought s. But he turns to me when I walk in.
“I don’t know. I think the Feds might be up to something.”
Shit. I sit in front of him.
“Yeah; and a guy died; I think he was one of them. Looks like the time has come for me to go straight. As you said, prison isn’t the nicest place to end up.”
I take a deep breath.
“In case things turn really bad, do you have any safe place to go?”
“Far enough away?”
“Far enough from the Feds; much too far from you. Toby…”
“Don’t! Please don’t! I don’t want to hear it.”
I feel tears prickle my eyes already; I don’t want to break down now. I try to retrieve some anger from somewhere deep inside but there’s none left.
I notice the gun on the low table.
“Are you leaving tonight?”
“No. Probably at the end of the week; I’m just gonna keep an eye open, you know, in case something happens. You should go to bed.”
“It’s OK, I’m not sleepy. I’ll stay with you; I’ll have a lot of time to sleep when you’re gone.”
“Out of your life; at last.”
“Shit, no one to hassle anymore; how am I going to survive!” I say with a teary smile.
He knows what I’m telling him, I know he does; I think he’d love more but at least he knows. He doesn’t ask if I’d leave with him –I wouldn’t. It was hard enough to get back a semblance of a job, get the right to be with my kids and I would be deadweight anyway.
“Let’s not talk about it.”
“Yeah. Let’s fuck instead.”
He chooses a record to listen to and lights some candles.
“I’d marry you, Chiquita,” he says and I pounce with a growl, we roll on the floor but he’s laughing and I’m laughing and there are tears rolling down our cheeks so we lick them and kiss; warm salty kisses, lying on the floor in each other’s arms until he lifts me, pushes me to the couch and kneels at my feet.
“Now I’m gonna show you what a blowjob is,” he says with his best smug wicked smile and I recline against the back of the couch as he pulls my pants down. His stubbly cheeks grazes my cock as he bites the soft skin on the inner side of my thighs and the sensation’s so unexpected and wild that I nearly jump, grab his head to push him back.
“No, no, no…”
“Did I hurt you?”
“Jesus no; it’s just I’m gonna come much too fast if you keep this up.”
“Yeah? Let’s see.”
He does it again, rubs his cheeks against my cock and I begin to move, trying to thrust forward but he steps back and looks at me.
“Fuck you’re hot,” he says before taking my cock deep into his mouth, his tongue drawing strange patterns along the shaft, licking a soft blazing path around the head, pressing it between his palate and tongue.
“Jesus, Chris,” I say and he laughs, sweet vibrations that would open wide the gates of Eden if he wasn’t squeezing the base of my dick with his fingers and resuming licking, pressing, squeezing until I can’t wait anymore; I’m swallowed deep, released, swallowed again, his throat tightening around me… When I come it’s like being sent through the skies so high I think I might never come back.
When I do he’s sitting on the couch and I’m straddling him, his warm hard slick cock pushing against my anus.
“Let me in, baby; I need it,” he says in a raspy voice and I sit upon him slowly, taking him in, as slowly as I can until he can’t take it anymore and pulls me down roughly. We stay like this for a while.
“When I’m gone, find a nice girl and move on.”
“Go to hell, Keller, I don’t take orders very well,” I manage to say, resting my face against his shoulder while he grabs my hips and pulls me up, urging me to move.
It’s a long and sweet lovemaking, when he comes inside me I’m far gone, he’s moaning low, his fingers bruising my hips, and we push each other over the edge…
“You’re a pro, Keller,” I say afterwards and he gives me a lazy catlike smile.
“Had any doubt about that?”
“Not really… It’s gonna be hard to go on without this.”
He shrugs, gives me a punishing Keller look; “You did it once, remember? Same fucking story baby, all about how fucking bad I am.”
That’s the final straw; I collapse against his chest, trying to hold back my sobs while he throws his head back.
“When I woke up that morning Toby, when I saw that you were gone with the suitcase, I thought maybe you worked for someone in another gang and that really hurt. I managed to survive the slaughter and run away; I had no idea of how I could find you again. But I never forgot you. You did.”
I didn’t forget him, I say, I just buried everything about him deep inside me, deep enough to feel nothing, remember nothing.
“This time, please, don’t forget me.”
I nod and hear him sigh.
We lie on the couch and fall asleep in each other’s arms.
Seems like I’m about to go through some more “last moments” after all.
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