Chapter 11: Smart Girls Lie To The Boys They Once Loved

The song is River by Leon Bridges. One of my favorite songs and so perfect of for the end of this chapter...

Marley

Bodie and TJ glare at each other as I glare at them over the hood of the car.

"Nothing. Just catching up," Bodie says. He picks up a leather duffel bag he had dropped at his feet, jerks open the passenger door and tosses it in the back as he collapses inside.

I give TJ an imploring look over the hood of the car.  TJ explains, "He knows about Darius. He knows Daemon is his father. It's all good." TJ's expression is unreadable because he's still angry at me. I just nod mutely and TJ turns away, going back inside.

I slide into the car and grip the steering wheel, almost afraid to look at Bodie.

"What's his name?" he asks calmly, wrapping the bloody cloth around his hand again.

"Darius," I say.

"His birthday?"

I swallow, in order to force the answer out. "November 7th." I put the car in drive and I pull to the edge of the parking lot, but I don't enter the street. I know this conversation isn't finished.

He's silent a very long time. I'm sure he's counting backwards, trying to piece it together. I  wonder if he remembers the date of the one time we were together. I will never forget it. Valentine's Day. I looked at it so many times on a calendar, when I was pregnant.

February 14th. The day I'm sure my son was conceived. The only time in my life I have ever been with two men on the same day.

My best day. My worst day. A day of shame and a day that gave me the greatest gift of my life.

"You're sure?" he asks.

"There was a paternity test," I say, my voice low. "Daemon is Darius' father."

He looks over at me, and his glance is cutting. "I'm not talking about a piece of paper. I'm asking you—when you look at your son, you see his father in him? You can look Daemon in the eye and know that you are telling him the truth, when you tell him Darius is his son?"

Fear creeps all over my skin.

Something undefinable.

Something foreboding.

"What are you saying, Bodie?" I whisper. "Why were you and TJ arguing?"

"Does the boy look like his father?" Bodie's words are low but emphatic.

My heart is pounding. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Just answer my goddamn question." Bodie voice is almost a snarl now, and he looks more angry than I would have thought possible.

We stare at each other. I know what he's asking me.

Suddenly, I gasp for air, because I hadn't realized I was holding my breath. "Darius is...darker than me. Darker than you. Not as dark as Daemon, but that doesn't mean much, does it? Considering my skin color? His features are strong, but not like...either of you. I try not to dwell on his looks, but the truth is...I figure he looks like his grandfather. The man he nor I will never know. The man that raped my biological mother."

Bodie's angry expression melts away. "Fuck," he mutters. He reaches for my hand and kisses it. I try not to think about the thrill that travels up my arm and across my chest, straight to my heart.

"I'm sorry, Marley," he says softly. "I don't mean to make you relive shit you put to rest a long time ago. I just have to know. That you are sure, in your heart, who Darius' father is."

"The paternity test came straight to me, in prison. I mean, the guards opened it of course—they inspect all the mail— but it came to me. And Pat...she's the one that wanted it. For exactly the reason you are suggesting, Bodie. She took one look at Darius and told me he didn't look like his father. She demanded the test. She paid for it, because the prison system wouldn't, obviously. She wasn't going to keep him while I was in prison, if he wasn't Daemon's. She wanted the truth. She wouldn't have tampered with it."

He looks away from me, through the windshield. "Yeah, you're right. Look, can you just take me to my hotel? It's been a helluva day." That's when I realize he's still holding my hand, and his is shaking.

I squeeze his hand, and then release it in order to turn the steering wheel.

"Bodie, do you want to talk about what happened today?"

"No," he says grimly.

"Daemon said that Arabella's stepfather shot at you. That you were nearly killed."

"It's not the first time I've been shot at, Marley. It's not the first time I've seen somebody bleed out in front of me, either. I don't need counseling, I need a bed and several fucking sleeping pills, because I'm exhausted from digging a grave but my hand hurts too fucking much to sleep."

"Okay," I say softly, slightly hurt. It wasn't my intention to "go to work" on Bodie. I'm much too close to this situation for that. But the way his hand is shaking on his knee—I feel every tremor like a tiny stab inside my chest.

I reach toward his hand, intending just to pat it, but he folds his fingers into mine.

The only other words on our journey are logistical. He asks me in what part of town I live and when I tell him it's close to the Lunar Lounge, he directs me to the same hotel where he stayed several months ago. I insist I'm taking him to an ER to have his hand looked at. He tells me he has an appointment with a specialist in the morning. I ignore his protests and pull into an all night pharmacy. He complains and I scold until he lets me disinfect his wound in the car.

As I pull into the front entrance of a downtown hotel and put the car in park, Bodie looks over at me. "Where is your son right now?"

"He's with Shay. TJ's fiancee. At their house."

"Stay. Please," he says hoarsely.

"I...I can't, Bodie. You have a girlfriend, and I...I can't."

He nods, "Yeah, I figured." He rummages his duffel bag and pulls out a hat and sunglasses. After a moment's hesitation, he digs deeper in the bag. He pulls out a brown bottle of what looks like cough syrup and chugs until the bottle is empty.

He leans against the seat, his eyes closing in relief.I watch the tension drain from him—in anticipation of the high he's expecting. I realize with alarm, that the bottle was codeine and the fact that he just drank the entire contents in front of me means he was really desperate. He couldn't wait another minute, for a fix.

He realizes I'm staring at him. "I don't have any sleeping pills, and my hand really does hurt," he mumbles.

"Yes, I imagine so," I say evenly. "But that was a lot of pain relief you just dosed yourself with."

"I have a high tolerance."

"Because you have a habit."

"Yeah, a mild one, I guess," he admits. "Does that surprise you? That a rock star would have a recreational drug habit? Cause we pretty much all do, baby."

"No, that doesn't surprise me." I don't add that I take issue with the rest of his statement. The way he was just so desperate for a fix, I suspect Bodie is an addict, and there's rarely such a thing as a recreational drug habit when it comes to opiates. More typically there's drug abuse and denial, or sobriety.

"Bodie—"

"Marley—" he cuts me off. "I don't want to talk about your son, or the dead man I buried. I'm in pain and I...I maybe took too much codeine, just now. Give the keys to the valet. Come in with me. Either we'll just have a very boring night with me sleeping it off, or a very eventful night with you calling 911. Either way, I'm begging you to stay."

"You did that on purpose. To manipulate me," I whisper.

"No. I did it because I have a fucking drug problem, and I've had one of the shittiest days of my life and the craving not to feel was too much," he admits.

A million things race through my mind too quickly for me to even discern the individual thoughts. The one thought that sticks is...he's right. He should not be alone.

"Okay," I tell him. He gives the nod to the attendant at the stand to come take the car. I glance behind me, almost instinctively.

"Don't worry," Bodie says at once. "I've been watching, the entire time. Daemon didn't have anyone follow you. He doesn't have to, Marley. He doesn't care what you do right now to show him you aren't his. You're bound to him through your son. He knows it and you know it. You're eventually coming back around to him."

"That's not fair, or true," I protest as he hoists his bag and ushers me to the desk.

He pulls out a black Amex and lays it on the counter.

The clerk stares at his name on the card then at him, for the briefest second. Her fingers already typing rapidly on the computer. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Jamison. We don't have any suites available."

"Any room you have with a king-sized bed." He turns to me, "Is that okay?"

I nod. I need to stay close, to make sure he doesn't stop breathing.

He's already feeling the effects of the codeine in the elevator. He sways as it drags to a stop on our floor. He tosses an arm around me, and I lead him down the hall, precariously. He leans his head against the door, struggling with the key card.

"Sorry, baby. I can't seem to put it in. You'll have to take charge," He laughs and tosses the card at me. It falls to the floor before I can react.

"What a good time you must show your fangirls," I mutter, bending down to pick it up.

"Hmmmm. You're not a fangirl. Fangirls get me on Adderall not Codeine. Not that I really need speed to go all night," he murmurs in my ear. He's leaning on me, pressing me against the door. He pulls his hat off, and the elastic holding his dreads up comes with it. I feel them swing against my neck as his lips brush my ear.

Anger flashes all over me again, just like it did earlier in the garage. The idea of Bodie wasted all the time like this, having a meaningless existence, and meaningless sex...

"God, you're such a fucking asshole," I growl at him, smacking the lever as the light turns green on the lock mechanism. The door swings open and he falls forward, nearly taking me with him, but he grasps me around the waist with his bad hand and catches us both before we tumble to the floor.

"Shit," he chuckles. "You almost had me falling for you, girl. But I know better than that, now. To mess with Daemon's Dimepiece."

I shove him off, drag his bag inside, then pull him back towards me, as I draw him into the bathroom. "I.Am.Not.Daemon's.Fucking.Dimepiece." I curse as I struggle to keep him pinned against the counter and undo all the buttons on his button-fly jeans.

"Naw, you're much more than that," he laughs, patting me on the back. "You're his Baby Mama."

"Shut-up, Bodie." I jerk his pants down.

"Damn, whatchyou doin', girl?" Bodie has just now realized I'm trying to remove his pants. "We ain't fucking. I can't be fucking Daemon's Shawty...remember what happens when I do that? He tries to kill me..."

"Shut your stupid damn mouth, Bodie!" I yell at him, shoving him down on the toilet and pulling off his mud covered thousand dollar tennis shoes. I hold one up. "You wore brand new Gucci's to the woods? What the hell is wrong is with you? That's a complete waste of money! Do you know how many pairs of shoes you could give away to kids who need them, for the price of these stupid shoes you just ruined!?!?"

He laughs at me, and pats my hair with a clumsy hand. "You sound like my mama. That's cause you are a mama, I guess. But you are the sexiest little mama I've ever seen, when you get hot like this...still...I think I'm too fucked up for this, girl. We might have to hit it in the morning instead...is that cool?"

I snort. He is so trashed. Two seconds ago he was declaring me Daemon's and thus unfuckable. Now he's wanting morning sex. I would literally punch him, if he weren't completely leanin'.

"Okay, in the morning," I play along. "But right now, you need a shower. I can't sleep in a bed with you, like this. You're filthy and you stink like a pig."

"Not like a pig," he says automatically. "Like a dead man."

The shaking returns with a violence that scares me. For a second, I think he's having a seizure. Bodie slides off the toilet. I'm trying to get hold of his head before he bangs it on tile or swallows his own tongue, but suddenly he's pushing me away with a firm grip as he lifts the lid of the toilet and retches.

Repeatedly. When he's done, I think that he's just gasping for breath.

He's not. He's crying.

"Jesus fucking Christ. I killed someone today," he sobs as he closes the lid and rests his head on the toilet.

I climb to my knees and rub his back. "You didn't. Malik shot a man that was shooting at you. It was self-defense, and not even by your hand."

"My fault. I should never have gone there like that. The dude was crazy. Delusional. I don't even know if he actually did anything to Bells. Maybe he just told her she was a witch or a possessed by the devil and scared the shit out of her as a little girl. Maybe her nightmares are the stuff of his nightmares. Maybe he didn't even know what's real, what's not. Maybe he didn't mean to shoot at me. He was just...fucking crazy, and I don't know...if he was truly evil or just mentally ill...and now he's dead...and it's my fault...how do I go back...look Bells in the face? When they realize he's missing...I can't ever tell her...he's dead...and it's my fault..." he moans.

I still, processing his words. "Oh, Bodie," I whisper. My heart aches for this man, who only wanted to protect someone he cared about, and who now must live with the knowledge of an unintentional death on his hands.

I want to tell him that the only way to make this right is to go to the police and tell what really happened. It's the only way to accept responsibility and to clear it from his conscious. But that's only the counselor part of me.

The girl that was in love with him is scared for him. Scared that he might lose his freedom and the new life he has built for himself, or maybe even his life, at Daemon's hands, if he tries to make this right.

"Jasmine," he gasps, his head in his hands. "Jasmine, what am I gonna do?"

It's like he summons the wrong answer in me, by calling to the girl who loved him.

I rise. I wet a cloth. I clean his face. I pull the elastic from my own ponytail and I gather his dreads up on the top of his head. I pull his gaze to mine, with both hands on his face. "You're gonna get up. You're gonna get in the shower. You're gonna wash this away. Okay? We can wash it away," I nod at him. "We can wash it away."

It's a lie, and Marley knows it. But Jasmine can't tell him anything else. Because she loves him.

"Okay," he's mumbling, struggling to rise and take off his shirt. "Okay."

Not trusting his balance, I strip off my jeans and get in the shower with him. He leans against the wall, bracing himself, lifting his face to the water as I move around him, scrubbing his shoulders and arms with soap, watching as swirls of mud wash down the drain.

After a long time, I turn the water off and stand in front of him.

"You're clean," I tell him.

He envelops me in his arms, pressing his forehead to mine.

"Thank you," he says, but the tone he uses...it sounded much more like he said, I'm not, instead.

I dry him off, for the first time really looking at his body as a whole, instead of the parts I was bathing.

He's so beautiful, but his body is not at ease. The drugs he took are trying to relax him, but his spirit won't allow it.

He's a man at war with himself.

For a long moment, I consider seducing him. Despite what he said, I'm sure if I started something, he could perform. Maybe sex would ease him enough to sleep.

I can't do it. It's not right. Not like this, with him so altered.

"Come on," I say gently. "It's time for bed."

"You're...shivering."

It's not from being wet...it's from being this close to him, feeling his pain, not being enough to ease it.

But I let him pull a dry towel from the rack, and clumsily rub my hair, because with something to focus on, he seems less desperate. He stumbles past me, grabbing his bag and weaving to the bed as he tosses stuff out. With a considerable effort he pulls on a pair of athletic shorts and then shakes out a Sublime t-shirt with the saddest-looking sunface I have ever seen.

He sways slightly as he moves behind me. He tugs my dripping shirt over my head. It drops on the concrete floor with a wet plop. Apparently, being completely wasted does not impair his dexterous fingers, because he has my bra unhooked and sliding off before I can even think to protest. There's no need to protest, really. The Sublime t-shirt is dropping over my head in nearly the same instant. As I put my arms through the holes, Bodie is hooking his fingers at my hips, sliding my dripping panties off as the t-shirt falls into place. He loses his balance, and I twist to catch him.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "So sorry."

"Shhhhhh." I soothe, drawing him to the bed. "It's okay."

We climb in, and he pulls me to him face to face, like it's a natural thing. He stares at me with hazy but gorgeous eyes. "I was in love with you, you know. Too young to understand it, but I was. I loved you and you ripped my heart out. For a long time, I didn't mind, but now...with Bells...I been trying to love her right, because she needs love. I can't. I don't feel a goddamn thing. Not for any woman. Not since you."

I feel the tears slide sideways across my face. "I'm sorry. So sorry," I can't control the sobs.

"Shhhhh," he echoes. "It's okay."

I cry silently for a while, while we stare at each other. Every now and then he wipes my tears away. Eventually I stop crying and he closes his eyes and swallows hard. "I'm okay...I mean...the codeine...I've been farther gone than I feel right now. Don't worry about that. You can...sleep...don't...worry...about...me..." he drifts off.

I don't. For hours, I watch him sleep and listen to him breathe, just like I used to watch Darius when he was very little and sick and needed breathing treatments.

Eventually, I drift off.

I wake to a knocking sound. It takes me a second to realize where I am...and that Bodie is gone.

The polite knocking sound continues. I open the door a crack. There's a manager type with a garment bag, and a waiter with a breakfast cart behind him.

"I apologize for waking you, Ms. Watkins, but Mr. Jamison was insistent. He said you might have work?" He smiles hesitantly and offers me the garment bag.

I look at my watch as I automatically reach to accept it. "Yes, I do. Thank you."

"Very good. Well, then. Enjoy your breakfast. And your flowers. They were...somewhat difficult to find, but Mr. Jamison said they were your...spirit flower, I believe was the term he used. So we did our best." He gives me a nod, and steps back.

I smile at the bouquet of delicate jasmine on the breakfast cart as the waiter pushes it inside.

There's an envelope leaning against the vase.

I open it. The envelope contains a receipt for a twenty five thousand dollar donation to an organization called Soles4Souls—a non-profit that provides shoes to children around the world. The donation was made in my honor.

On the back side of the computer printed receipt, Bodie wrote:

I don't remember much past you yelling at me about my shoes, but I'm sure I was a fucking mess and you were kind. I figured you'd rather me put my money to good use in your honor, rather than buy you bling or some shit as a token of my thanks.

BUT...if you need anything for Darius, you call me. Don't take Daemon's blood money. You call me.

See you around, Jasmine.

Awww. Thoughts? I have so many feels right now, for Marley and Bodie. It seems like the bond they share just keeps getting deeper and deeper, no matter how they try to keep each other at arms length, huh?

What do you think Bodie and TJ were fighting about at the beginning of the chapter? What do you think Daemon and Bodie said to one another while Marley watched from the outside?

We'll find out, in the next chapter....