Jacque and Tupac (complete)

    I think there is something wrong with me. I mean, I know there a lot of things wrong with me, I would make a perfect case study. They could write a book about me and then make a movie then some bigshot actor like Cruise or some shit could play me and win an Oscar. That’s how fucked up I am. But, wading through all the muck and mire that I am, that is not what I am talking about.

    I’ve been with Tupac for a long time now, possibly too long. In fact, I know I’ve been with him for way too long. I’m just not sure where else I could fit in or go. I just stay put with him because, well, I guess because I’m scared of what’s out there for me if I do decide to leave him. I know I can do better things, I want to do better things. Do I deserve them? No. I don’t think I deserve the things I have now. 

    After everything with Walter, I’ve been overthinking. After what happened with him I’ve been thinking about how I treat people and that has led me to think about how people treat me. All the way back to my parents, to school kids, and to now. I let people use me, whether it’s for appearances, sex, drugs, rebellion, I just let them use me. I don’t consider my own feelings, let alone theirs. I don’t know why I do this. I don’t know why I always allow myself to get hurt and hurt in return. 

    I’ve stayed with Tupac, using him and letting him use me in return. It’s been the first stable ground I’ve stood on in a while, but it is decaying fast and turning to muck and mire. Like everything else in my life, just like me. Perhaps it’s been that way for a while and I’ve just been lying to myself to enjoy the comfort of it all. He takes care of me and I don’t have to do much. I just have to do what he says and obey his law. I also let him fuck me from here to kingdom come. Granted, he’s good at it and I’m good at it, so it’s pretty good. It’s just not...enough. 

    I enjoy sex, probably more than most people do. I love feeling Tupac’s hands on me, grabbing me and stroking me as we both grow hard. I love his big cock and letting him do whatever he wants to me with it. But it’s not enough and I can’t quite pinpoint why that is.

    Ever since Walter and I parted ways, I’ve been having an issue with money. Tupac gives me some stuff, but the dude is so glued to his money it’s laughable. Anytime he gives me a few bucks (and I do mean a few) he acts like it’s such a big deal and expects some sort of work or repentance for it. So I asked instead for a job. A job would be less work than putting up with him when I owe him money.

    He got me hooked up with some of his friends, all in the same business like him. Tupac vouched for me because these guys took one look at me and saw what I saw instantly. They weren’t sure a short slip of a feminine guy like me could ever work as a runner. I looked more like a prostitute to them, which they teased Tupac about. 

    “Look,” Tupac slapped my back and kept his hand there. “He may not look like much, but Jacque here is smart. You won’t have to worry about him making any bad decisions or falling for some stupid ploys. He’s smart, just tell him what to do and he’ll do it, anything at all.”

    His big hand on my back is warm and feels so good. I hate it when he takes it away to talk with the others guys. I’m sort of left alone for a minute while they talk. I guess Tupac has to sell me or some shit to them in order to be taken seriously. 

    They take me on, hiring me as their runner. I’ll be transporting drugs for them and earning quite a bit of my own cash. It won’t be hard like Tupac said I’m smart. Not sure what smart has to do with any of this, seems like a well-trained dog could do this job. Maybe that’s what I am to Tupac, some well-trained dog. 

    The first couple of runs I do go smoothly. It all seems easy enough. I meet the contacts, pay them and they load my big ass truck up with everything. The solitude on the road is a little nice, although there come times I just crave another person there. Not to mention that when my mind is allowed to wander my libido spikes way, way up. It’s gets frustrating having to drive so much with a boner the size of my forearm. 

    During one such run I made a pit stop at a gas station. I had to fill up the truck and went inside to get some snacks and drinks. The place was brightly lit and colored pastel pink and blue. It was a strange sight, seeing a gas station that didn’t have some dodgy element to it. I was walking along the rows of glass doors, trying to find some sort of drink I wanted when I saw an employee mopping up in front of the cooler door. He’s growling and grumbling under his breath, looking beyond pissed.

    “You ok there?” I ask.

    He rolls his eyes. “They stack the damn things wrong then blame me when everything falls the fuck over.” He shakes his head. “Would like to see them try to work without me. Who the hell would the blame then?” He snorts.

    The guy was cute, tall and willowy kind of. He had a lithe frame that gave him a narrow waist and broad shoulders. He had curly red hair and freckles as far as the eye could see.

    “If you’re so frustrated, maybe I could help you clean up?” I smirk.

    He eyes me funny and curls his lip. “What are you talking about?”

    I point to the door. “You still got a mess in there that needs cleaning up?” I ask. “Must be frustrating to work with something that big and hard, you know?”

    A little realization clicks in his brown eyes and he stills a bit. “Kind of.” His eyes graze over me and he licks his lips. “What’s frustrating is never getting it right.”

    “I can do it right,” I grin. “If you let me.”

    The guy takes in a breath and his eyes dart around. He steps in close to me and palms my groin. His eyes widen and his lips part. 

    “Holy shit,” he whispers.

    I press myself into his palm more. “Is that good?”

    “I don’t know if you’ll fit!” He continues to grope me, stroking me through my pants.

    I’m a bit shocked. I always just assume people want to top me. Tupac never, ever allows me to top him. Any suggestion to that makes him angry. I only torment him with it sometimes to get a good rough fucking.

    “It’ll fit.” I inch in close so my lips brush against his cheek. “It always does.”

    He moans quietly and unzips my pants. He brings out my cock in the middle of the store and starts pumping his fist over me. “It’s been too long.”

    “I know,” I groan as my back pushes against one of the glass doors. I bite my lip as he strokes me, his eyes focused on my cock and watching it grow. He then leads me away, taking me through the door beside the cooler. It’s on office with a table, a coffee pot, and a couple of dingy lockers.

    Instantly her gets down on his knees and takes me into his mouth. I stumble backward, bracing myself against the table while he swallows me whole.

    “Oh fuck!” I growl and tangle one fist in his red curls. “You’re vicious!” I laugh, excited to have such a willing partner for once.

    His eyes flick up to me and my cock slips from his throat. “I’m starving,” he smirks. “Been a while since I got dicked down good.” He licks down my shaft and sucks on my balls. I grunt and moan, lifting up my shirt so I get a better view. I haven’t been treated like this in a long time. Both Tupac and Walter were always pretty selfish when it came to bedroom antics.

    He stands up and kisses me, pressing our bodies close together as he does. He then strips down, showing me his cock. His whole body is covered in freckles, but his cock is surprisingly pink and thick. I smirk and brush my fingers along the side. 

    “You don’t look too bad yourself,” I purr.

    He groans and rubs his cock to my stomach. “I’d prefer you inside me,” he growls. “I’d be an idiot to pass up this opportunity.”

    He bends over the table, wiggling his hips and ass in my direction. Even his ass has freckles on it. I chuckle and come up behind him. “You got any lube?”

    He grunts and points to the desk in the corner. “Top drawer.” He’s stroking his cock as he talks to me. “Boss likes to jerk off in here.”

    I find the bottle of banana flavored lube and roll my eyes. I go back to him, pouring the lube between his cheeks.

    “Fuck that’s cold,” he moans. 

    I rub in the lube, pressing my fingers inside him. He moans loudly and he smears his cheek to the table. It’s been a while since I did this. I mean, Walter and I did it once before splitting, but that was different. Walter was trying to manipulate me into staying, this freckled creature wanted it, hell he needed it.

    I smear lube onto my cock and I lower down his hips. I rub myself between his cheeks, listening to his deep breathing as his excitement grew. I start to push inside, easing myself slowly and enjoying watching his tight pucker stretch around me.

    “Oh fuck yes.” He reaches back with one hand to spread his cheeks. “Oh god you’re so fucking big.”

    He says this over and over as I fuck him. It takes a little effort for me, since he’s taller than I am the angling isn’t so good, but damn does it feel amazing. I’m so close to the edge but then the door opens.

    “Dammit Jason where the fuck are-oh for fuck’s sake not again!” A girl shouts. “There’s a fucking mess again Jason! Goddammit just hurry the fuck up! You’re such a fucking slut!”

    “Get out!” Apparently the human freckle is named Jason.

    The door slams shut and Jason lays back against the table. “Ok, fuck, just hurry up.”

    Usually I don’t give a shit if someone walks in on us. It’s happened before, hell it’ll probably happen again and again to me throughout my life. I enjoy public fucking, but something about this feels different. I’m not quite as into it as I was before. 

    “C’mon!” Jason whines.

    I sigh and go through the motions. My heart ain’t in it, but my dick for sure is. Jason bucks and snarls and he cums, it splashes on the floor and his feet and then he turns and takes my cum in his mouth. 

    He makes quick work of cleaning up our mess. He dresses and is out the door without so much as a word. I hear him yelling at the girl who walked in on us though. He certainly has enough to say to her.

    I pick up my clothes and dress then leave without a word. I didn’t pay for gas and I didn’t get my snacks and drink like I wanted. I didn’t quite feel like anything after that. I was bothered that I was bothered by what happened.

    That evening I make it to the meeting spot for the trade off. Everything was set and ready to go as smoothly as my other trips. The guys I was meeting looking shifty as fuck though. One guy was wearing a lame ass ‘make me a sandwich’ shirt that made me want to roll my eyes into oblivion. 

    “Hey,” he grunts at me. “Why are you looking so pissy?”

    “It’s the middle of the night, there are many reason,” I grumble. “Let’s get this over with so I can leave and get to sleep before dawn comes. If that’s quite alright with you?”

    “Hey, don’t get your panties in a bunch sweetie,” the guy laughs.

    I glare at him. “Excuse me?”

    “You need a fuck? Or are you on your period or something?” He laughs and then the others join in chortling moronically at him.

    I know it’s dark and I have feminine features, but surely they knew they were meeting a guy tonight. If so, they were trying to piss me off by insinuating I was a woman. If not and they really were that exceptionally stupid, they were insulting a woman on the most basic of traits all vagina owners have. 

    “Get your thong out of your ass, it’s restricting your brain,” I growl at the guy.

    He turns to me, unibrow knit and arched like a bird of prey. “What the fuck did you just say to me, you piece of shit?”

    “I’m sorry,” I quip quickly. “Now that I really think about it, I doubt you wear underwear. Which you should, because they’ll keep what’s left or your brain from falling out between your-” I’m shoved hard against my truck and I topple to the ground.

    “Say that again you piece of shit!” He roars.

    I scoff and pick myself up. “I sure hope to god your girlfriend doesn’t fuck you. The way you talk? Do you only get fucked by these two guys here?” He kicks me and my head bounces off the tire.

    “Keep your goddamn mouth shut!” He kicks me again in the stomach and I almost vomit. I try to scramble to get away, but soon the other two are on top of me. They wail on me, kicking and punching and calling me more horrible derogatory things.

    I hear a gunshot and for a moment I think: ‘oh thank god it’s over. I’m dead.’ But then I hear another gunshot and the guys try to run. I hear screaming and shouting and before I completely fade to black I see a massive figure hunch over me.

    The next thing I know I hear my truck puttering along the road. I blink few times, seeing the glowing hospital sign in the distance. I then glance beside me, still seeing nothing but a shadowy figure.

    “Don’t worry, almost there.” The voice is familiar, but my brain isn’t working at the moment. Everything in my body is working to keep me from dying, not thinking.

    I fade out again and wake up staring at the bleach white ceiling of the hospital. I hear the beeping of monitors and the low murmur of voices talking. Beyond the curtain, I see Tupac talking to a doctor. Why was he here? He wouldn’t have been called at all. He’s not an emergency contact. I don’t even have that sort of thing anywhere on me. Why is he here?

    Tupac strides into the room as the doctor leaves. “Hey there,” he sits down by the bed. “You awake?”

    “Am I?” I groan. I lift my arm and see it’s in a cast. “What the fuck?”

    “You got pretty knocked around out there.” Her pets the top of my head which somehow is the only place on me that doesn’t hurt. “Glad I got to you in time.”

    I look up at him and frown. “Wait, what? How did you even know where I was?”

    The doctor comes back in. “Oh good, I thought you’d be awake by now. If you’ll excuse us, I’m going to talk to the patient alone.”

    I barely pay attention to the doctor. Now that my brain is coming back online and working again things are starting to fall into place. Tupac had been the one firing that gun. He had been there at the drop off point. It wasn’t some lucky coincidence. He wasn’t trying to be some knight in shining armor and look after me. No. Tupac was there because he wanted to steal the run.

    “Considering the amount of drugs we found in your system, I’m afraid we can’t prescribe any of the painkillers we usually do. I’m afraid we’re going to have to go a different route.” The doctor says. “So that way abuse doesn’t occur.”

    “Pain pills aren’t my thing anyway,” I mutter. “In fact...I think I’m done with drugs altogether because of this.”

    “That’s what we like to hear, but it’s always what we hear.” The doctor sighs and shakes his head. “So forgive me if you’re being sincere, sir. But we’re protecting ourselves in the long run.”

    “No,” I murmur. “I know. I’m not mad at you.”

    When I’m released from the hospital I’m taken back to the trailer by Tupac. He sets me up in my room and since I’m not able to move or do anything like I used to, he keeps piles of books around my bed. I’ve always read out of sheer boredom, but now it’s something I feel like I have to do.

    Most of the books he’s given me are his old textbooks from college. It always shocks me, even though I knew it already, that Tupac had attended some university, dropping out when he discovered he was good at all this criminal shit. He had a lot of psychology books, which I guess is why he was always so good with people. He knew how to read them and understand them. Or maybe he just learned how to manipulate. 

    As I heal I go through all his books and I actually enjoy it. I always did like learning, as long as I wasn’t being forced to learn it. In school it had always been a struggle, as well as with my father. In school nothing was a challenge to me. Nothing excited me or blew my mind except for things I went out and learned on my own. My father forced to study the Bible, but I hated it. Not just because he was pushing me the entire way but because I didn’t understand the theology. I really only went to church to make Mom happy and hold her hand during service. It was her hand that I loved in church. The way she squeezed when we had to pray, or when the sermon was going on and she would smile at me, as if something that was said made her think of me.

    But right now, sitting here and doing nothing but reading old textbooks and college curriculum I found myself really enjoying my time. I smiled as I read, wishing I had more books to go through.

    “You got anymore hiding anywhere?” I asked Tupac one day as he brought me greasy takeout for dinner.

    Tupac furrows his brow and a little frown appears on his face. “No. At least I hope not!” He laughs and shakes his head. “I keep meaning to throw those old things away. They’re nothing but clutter. Why do you ask?” He turns and looks at me.

    I shrug as I open up the bag. “Well,” I start off slowly. “I’ve really been enjoying them.” I pick at the fries in the bag. They’re not even the fries I really like. “I was kind of hoping to keep reading them.”

    Tupac hums and nods his head. He sits down on the edge of the bed. “It figures this is what you’re good at.”

    It’s my turn to furrow my brow. “What do you mean?” I ask.

    “Well,” he shrugs. “Just mean you ain’t much good at anything else. You’re not very strong, you’re not even all that fast.”

    “Gee, you’re sweet talk is getting better.” I shove some food in my mouth, so I don’t say anything worse to him.

    “No,” he laughs. “What I mean is, that well...you know as smart as you are you probably could have gotten some full scholarship to school. You talk sometimes and I mean I block you out and all, I don’t understand what you’re saying half the time. But the things you say and all are way above even shit I heard in school.”

    I shrug. “Yeah well. Guess it just wasn’t the right time or whatever.” I look back down at my food then up at Tupac. “I’ll just finish what I’ve got. Hopefully, soon I won’t even need the books anymore.”

    “You feeling better?” Tupac rubs my leg. “It’s been a while. You feel up to it?”

    Not really, I think to myself. I then smile, thinking it would be nice to have my hand held or even just lay on his chest afterward. “After I eat. Then maybe after a shower.”

    Tupac grins. “Sounds like a plan.”

    I’m still quite sore all over from everything. I’ve healed up well, but there are still scars and bruises to show what I’ve gone through. I’ve not left the trailer much at all, so I feel a bit trapped where I am. If I had the choice, I’d like to go out somewhere rather than Tupac bringing me some greasy see-through paper bag every six hours. The trailer has started to feel like something of a cage and with me a trapped animal within it. 

    I know this is part of what Tupac likes, this control and knowing where I am at all times. I think he liked having me laid up like I was because then I really was more like an object for him. He could move me around as he wanted and have me where he liked. 

    “You know,” I murmur as Tupac wipes a bit of food from my face. “I’d like to try something different if you’re game for it.”

    “Maybe we should stick to what we know, since you’re still sore and all.” Tupac’s big hand goes up my leg and thigh. “Wouldn’t want to over exert yourself, now would you?”

    “You don’t even know what it is I want.” I like the way his hand feels on me. I love it when he touches me.

    Tupac eases in, kisses my neck and jaw. He’s not even responding to me. He’s straight up ignoring me. But I am enjoying the touch he’s giving, the kisses he’s planting. He feels so good as his hand wrap around my waist and pets up under my shirt.

    “Wait, you’re not listening to me,” I grumble.

    His hand goes further, brushing along my bruised ribs gently. His fingers caress against my nipple and then his thumb rubs at it while it gets hard. Tupac kisses me then, rolling his tongue around in my mouth before he bites my bottom lip. The kiss deepens and he pulls me into his lap. His cock is rock hard through his jeans. I unzip his pants and he growls in my ear.

    “That’s good,” he moans. “You know what to do.”

    I do know, and that’s what I hate. It’s always what he wants, how he wants to move, how he wants to fuck. I do it because I enjoy the closeness, the touches, the sometimes sweet words her mutters. But mainly, I like it when it’s all said and done and his big body lays on top of mine. I love the pressure of it, his weight on me, his warmth. I feel safe and secure in those moments. I feel loved only then.

    “You’re not doing anything,” Tupac growls.

    “Sorry. I was thinking.” I kiss his neck and chest while I coil my fingers around his cock.

    “I thought you went mindless during sex,” he laughs at me. He cups my lower back and eases me more into his lap. He lifts up my shirt and his fingers travel down my ass crack. 

    “No,” I grumble. “I’m just-” I moan as his fingers start prodding at my asshole. He’s not got any lube on them so he then licks his fingertips and probs again. He’s being impatient and not going about this right. 

    “I should get a shower first,” I say and try to stand up. “I can prep better if I do.”

    Tupac holds me down and keeps me in place. “I thought you liked it rough sometimes. Remember that night out by the quarry? Remember? We were scoping out those guys and we watch them fuck against the rocks?”

    “Yeah but-” I close my eyes as his finger slips inside me.

    “God you nearly gave us away with all your screaming then.” Tupac bites my neck and kisses my chest. “I had to fuck your face to make your quiet.”

    “Tupac,” I moan as his fingers stretch me. “Some lube, please!”

    Tupac snarls and pushes me down onto the bed. He stands up, ripping away his clothes in a huff. He fetches the lube, just right there on the side table. “Ok fine. Baby.” He pours the lube down my chest and on my cock. He then yanks my ankle up and pours lube down my crack so much it dribbles onto my back. He keeps my ankle held up and he grinds his cock against mine and then presses at my hole.

    “Hey, god, fucking-” I struggle a bit. My leg still hurts and he’s holding it where there is a bruise. “Tupac! That hurts!”

    “I thought you liked a little pain.” Tupac growls. He drops me and I move to the edge of the bed. 

    “Not like that!” I snap and stand up. “You really hurt me! You’re being an ass today!”

    Tupac rises up off the bed and glares down at me. All I wanted was for him to fall asleep on top of me like I was his pillow. I just wanted to feel safe and warm, this makes me feel the opposite. I feel afraid right now in his shadow.

    “You said it was ok,” Tupac’s lip curls.

    “Not like this!” I roar. “You were hurting me! Don’t you get that?”

    “Hey, keep your voice down. No sense in yelling because you’re backing out.

 Tupac picks his clothes up off the floor. “I should be the one who is angry.”

    “You are though!” I wave my hands in the air. “That’s why you were hurting me.”

    “If I hurt you you’ll know.” He shoves his fingers in my face. “It’s been a while since the two of us had any fun. I just wanted to have some fun.”

    “It’s not fun, it’s sex,” I scoff. “You think that’s what fun is?”

    “I can get my dick wet anywhere I want.” Tupac shoves this in my face. “I could get it from anyone I wanted, whenever I wanted. But I choose you.”

    I think about Walter and the living freckle from the gas station. I could get it the same way, but if I ever dared bring it up he would start talking about how I am his and how I shouldn’t be doing that shit because it hurts his feelings. Yet when he wants it he’s always saying we both can do whatever we want. Well the reality is is that he can do anything and everything he wants, but I am his property, and if I step one toe out of line it’s my fault.

    “Do you let any of them top you?” I snarl. “Or do you have to control everyone you come into contact with?”

    He turns and glares down at me. “What did you say?”

    “You talk to me like we’re some couple, like we care about each other. But when have you ever asked me what I wanted or even done anything I enjoy besides pounding me in the ass?” I slap my hand to my chest. “You have to have the last say in everything. You have to control everyone in your life to the point of driving them away. That’s why so many of your guys come and go. I’m sure you’ve fucked plenty of them too, right? You just keep me because I’m freaky enough to go along with me? And yeah, maybe I stayed because I’m just that lazy and delusional!”

    “You’re fucking psychotic you know that?” Tupac snorts. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you read those books?”

    I pick up one of the books and open it. I start shredding through the pages, ripping them out, tearing them to pieces and tossing them around. 

    “What the fuck are you doing?” Tupac roars.

    “If they're so useless then why not?” I scream. “If you hate me reading them then why the big deal?” I rip, tear, shred. And scatter. “You said you wanted to get rid of them! You said! You said! You said! YOU SAID!”

    I chuck the empty book over at Tupac and he slaps it aside. I then charge, going to punch him but he grabs my wrist and stops me from attacking. I know I could never do any real damage to Tupac, I’m a wet noodle compared to his stone wall of a person. He yanks my arm down, spins me and holds me in a lock with my arm behind my back. Like an idiot, I fight him. I kick and hiss and scream even though my body is screaming in agony.

    “You need to cool down!” Tupac throws me outside into the snow. He shuts and locks the door behind him while I scramble to get onto my feet. All I have on is the long nightshirt I’ve been wearing for days. No underwear. No socks. No shoes. No service I guess.

    I just wanted to feel safe. I just wanted to feel loved. Why couldn’t he give me that?

    I know why. Because he doesn’t love me.. He never did and hell, he is never going to. I sit down as this realization both lifts a weight off my shoulders and places a ton of bricks upon them. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want Tupac. I barely want myself. 

    The snow comes down heavy from the sky as I stare up into it. I watch my breath rise in white clouds and fade away into the cold, dark sky. I could try and walk somewhere, but it’s far too cold out for that. My keys are locked in the house so I can’t drive anywhere. I climb into the cab though. It’s not exactly warm but it’s not outside either. I lay back on the seat, staring up at the rotted ceiling where the fabric lining has begin to fall down.

    I take hold of my own hand and close my eyes. My palms are as soft and smooth as my Mom’s but I imagine with all my might that it is her hand holding my own. I can smell her perfume, the kind that was a little lemony and sweet at the same time. I can feel her rings warm against my skin. I always wanted a manicure like hers with the bright red nail polish, but my dad would never let such a thing happen. I loved how slick and pleasant they felt. My mom would paint my toes though. We would giggle and laugh as she did, and even with my shoes on I knew the paint was there and my Mom cared enough to find me the color I liked, let alone to paint them like she did in secret. 

    I am lost. I am so bitterly alone and lost. I am the black sheep who wandered away from the herd and is now surrounded by wolves. I thought I was safer away. I thought I was happier. But the misery I feel now is worse than I ever felt under my parent’s roof. At least there I had my mom. At least there I had her hand to hold. I may not have been able to tell her everything, or confess each secret on my heart, but she had two good arms to hold me. And I never questioned her love for me. Not like now. Even if my parents didn’t like the way I was, they wouldn’t have left me out in the freezing cold. Hell, I never thought I’d say this, but even my father wasn’t that cruel.

    I wipe up my face and find a dirty old sweater on the floorboard. Wrapping it around myself I see the lights are out in the trailer. Tupac has probably fallen asleep. Only people who don’t care can fall asleep that easily. Even if I had my doubts, this would seal it for me. I can’t stay here. I don’t belong here and I never did. Somewhere out there, there has to be a place I belong. There has to be someone out there willing to love me.

    Walter was close, but he only wanted me when he couldn’t have me. I wanted something unconditional, from someone who would willingly understand me. I wanted the love of my mother, mixed with someone who would take all my shit and love me despite it. It is a lot to want but at least I know it now. 

    In the morning I am roused by something being thrown into my truck. I look up, seeing Tupac tossing trash bags into the back. He then comes to the door and opens it. He tosses a small sack at me as well as my car keys and some clothes.

    “You need to go.”

    Inside the sack is a large sum of money. This isn’t like him at all. He doesn’t just give money away. He told me what I wanted to hear, what I wanted to say. 

    “Get out. You’re no good here.” Tupac grumbles as he shuts the truck door. “We’ll only get worse and it’s too late now.”

    I crank up the truck and am relieved that even while warming up, it feels so good. I roll down the window and lean out. “Are you sure?” My voice cracks with nerves. I shouldn’t be asking questions. I should be running. He’s given me money, a lot of it. I should be running until I can’t breathe.

    “This is it.” Tupac flaps his arms to his side. “You obviously don’t want to be here. You never did.”

    “Well.” I ease back into the truck and sit down. “I guess this is goodbye.”

    Tupac leans into the window and grabs my face. He kisses me and for a moment I want to stay. My truck backfires and snaps us to attention. Tupac walks away, going back into the trailer. I drive off and force myself to not look back.

    I drove for hours, getting out of town and getting somewhere that people wouldn’t know me or recognize me from working with Tupac. I stopped at a tiny hotel off the highway where I got myself bathed and fed. 

    After that, I kept traveling and moving around for a bit. I finally decided to settle, finding myself a place where the rent was cheap. Unfortunately, the place reminded me a great deal of where I used to live with Tupac. It sucked and for the first few weeks I hated it. I only went there to change clothes, wash, and go out looking for a job.

    I had a shit ton of odd jobs out there but nothing permanent. I took to selling some drugs again since the money Tupac gave me was thinning out. The work kept me busy and kept my mind from running wild. In the few quiet moments I got my mind often went to Tupac and I found myself missing him. I knew where I was at now was better than I had ever been with him. But that damned longing never entirely went away.

    It wasn’t until one night I went into a bar and met her that the ache began to stop. She tasted like cinnamon gum when she kissed me and I had never felt skin so soft before. She was young and willing, but I was putty in her strong hands. She moved me easily and for the first time in a while I allowed such a thing. She put me in my place but only because she knew I was better and worth more.

    And then I knocked her up.

    In all my years of wild and hedonistic behavior, in all the things I stuck my dick in, I had to go and knock up the one good thing to come around in a long time. I was scared, she was scared. But she impressed me with her strength and resolve. Even terrified beyond her years, she was wiser and more resolved than I had ever been.

    I realized then that through my doubts that I did indeed have a heart and it beat for Mirian and soon, our daughter.

    While Mirian was pregnant I went to school. I wanted to be able to get a job and provide for my new family as well as I could. I thought that I was being selfish, going away while she had to be pregnant and deal with all of that alone. To my shock Mirian supported me. Even when I was with Tupac, he never really gave me credit for anything. Like when I was a runner. He only supported that so he could rob and steal what I got. 

    Once Bridget was born, all red and wriggly and vaguely alien, I didn’t want to leave her side for a moment. I hated being away from her, so I took a semester off so I could stay close as well as help Mirian through these tough first few months.

    I got a job nearby, or as near as I could get. Most of my coworkers were these big, manly guys who had worked there in the lumber yard for forever. I mainly stayed at the front desk, taking orders and help organizing the ones that came in. It was temporary, so I wasn’t too worried.

    Everyday Mirian had friends coming over, passing on advice, helping out, and letting her nap. All that sweet stuff, which shouldn’t make me jealous, but it really made me jealous. Mirian has so many friends, and why shouldn’t she? She’s amazing! I am often awed at the ease in which she can make them. It made me question why she was with such an awkward freak of a loser like me. She could have had anybody, and yet she’s saddled to me. Poor Bridget, I do pray often that she is a carbon copy of her mother and nothing like me at all.

    But Mirian’s friends got me to thinking about how I should try to adapt. I should try and make friends with my coworkers, much like Mirian does. So, during lunch, I started joining the rest of the lumberyard. I joined in on their breaks and despite a rocky start where I almost gave away my sexual history, I was starting to knit myself into their ranks.

    “Hey Jacking boy,” one of them hollered at me one day as I was heading to the truck. “We’re going out drinking tonight? Wanna join us or what?”

    “Oh really?” I gasp. “Well, I’ll have to call Mirian, see if that’s ok.”

    The men laugh. “Cut the ball and chain for the night! One night ain’t going to kill her.”

    I’m a bit confused but I still give Mirian a call anyways. I always handled nights so she could catch up on things, so I know they were important to her.

    “Hello?” She answered the phone in a hushed quiet voice.

    “Oh, hey,” I start. “Listen, Mirian, I know you wanted me home tonight. But the guys here at work invited me out so-”

    “Oh really? That sounds like fun. You should go.”

    I’m shocked. I thought she’d be mad, even disappointed. “Really?” I blurt out.

    “Sure,” he voice is still hushed and low. “Mama is going to take Bridget tonight so it’ll be nice for me to have the whole place to myself. We both deserve some alone time every now and then.”

    “Is this a trap?” I ask.

    “I can’t laugh, it’ll wake her up!” She scolds. “Enjoy a night out. I love you.”

    “Love you too.” I’m still not sure what to think even as I hang up. I feel like a bear trap is going to snap up at any instant and rip my leg off. As I go to the bar with the rest of my coworkers I still have this looming dread around me. I should be home with my baby and my Mirian, and yet here I am. Is this right? Is this legal? Or will Mirian hold this over me? I would never hold it over her so...is this what a good relationship is?

    “I’ll tell you something,” one of the more gray coworkers says, “my wife has really been on me lately. Every time I walk into the house it’s something or another. She wants to me to  clean this, she wants me to fix the shed, she wants a new washer a dryer, she wants me to take the kids somewhere so she can get stuff done.” He scoffs and raises his beer up. “She’s at home all day, I don’t know how she manages to waste it so much!”

    “Don’t get me started!” Another coworker guffaws. “If my wife ain’t nagging I don’t think she’d be happy at all. She yells at me all day then expects me to sit there and take it for nothing? I think I earn a few minutes in the bedroom with her but even there she’s stingy. Sometimes you just gotta sit down your wife and make her behave.”

    Good fucking lord what am I listening to? I sip my drink gingerly as I take in the rhetoric floating about me. All they do is bitch about their wives and family. Are they ok? Are their kids ok? Why aren’t their wives stabbing them with butcher knives?

    “What about you Jackie boy?” A coworker asks. “You’re wife just squatted one out didn’t she?”

    Technically Mirian and I aren’t married but even given their attitude towards married life I don’t think they’d like an unmarried father like me. “Yeah. Bridget, she’s amazing.”

    “How long did she hound you for it?” The gray coworker asks. “My wife wouldn’t get off my long enough to breathe but as soon as that kid was out I was lucky enough she wanted another one.”

    “Oh uh...Bridget wasn’t exactly planned.”

    “Oh, you slipped it to her then did you?” Another coworker laughs.

    I guess I did but I wouldn’t call a broken condom ‘slipping it’ to her. “It just happened that’s all,” I say with a shrug.

    “I swear, after my wife had our kids it was like I couldn’t do enough for her in her eyes. She yelled at me for everything. I didn’t pick up my clothes. I didn’t keep my shoes in the right place. I never did anything around the house. I pay the bills dammit! I word all goddamn day while she stays in the house doing god knows what. What is she yelling at me for?”

    “That’s what I told my wife. I told her if she shut up long enough and stopped yelling at me she’d have enough time to get everything done!”

    They talk to their wives this way? I mean, Mirian and I have fought before but I never treated her like a servant in her own home. I know she works hard on her days at home. She works hard at her job too. She doesn’t need me to act like an extra chore. 

    “Your sandbag do that too?”

    I do not want to answer. I barely want to talk to these people anymore if it meant shit talking the only good thing in my life. “Well uhm…” I take a long drink of my beer so I don’t have to talk. I drink until it’s gone and then I have no choice.

    “She doesn’t pick up her tools some times,” I reply. “Like her um-” I mime a box to try and get across it’s her big red cabinet for tools. “She likes to wheel her toolbox in from the garage and I run into it a lot.”

    “Typical. They yell at us for it but when they do it there’s no crime.”

    I’m usually the one who picks up after her, but I don’t say this out loud. “Yeah, she can get a bit messy.” I stand up. “Excuse me, I’m going to go to the bathroom.” I had to get away for a breath of fresh air. I went outside and huffed, feeling the beer start to hit me. Next to me I see the pay phone and I make my way to it. I have just enough change and I call home.

    “Hello?” Mirian asks.

    “Ugh good. It’s you,” I sigh.

    “Hey you! How are you enjoying your evening?” Mirian sounds so happy. She also sounds pretty, like really pretty.

    “I hate it here,” I grumble. “They’re all so mean.”

    Mirian gets quite. “What’d they do to you?”

    “Not me,” I whine. “They’re just mean! They keep shit talking people and I don’t like it.”

    “Do you want me to come get you?” Mirian asks. “Where are you at?”

    “I don’t want to ruin your evening.”

    Mirian chuckles. “You’re not. I would be ruined if I couldn’t come save you from some asshats. Now tell me the bar you’re at.”

    I give her the info and go back inside. I sit at the bar and order myself another drink. I have a few more until Mirian shows up. Her hair is a wreck and there are remnants of a face make still on her. I jump up and stumble, nearly falling over stools as I try to get to her.

    “You’re here!” I wrap my arms around.

    “Oh good lord,” she huffs. “Babe. Babe!” She pushes me up. “You’re such a mess.” She kisses my cheek. “Come on now, let's go home.”

    “You’re like, so pretty and smart, mon amour.” I try and kiss her but she cups her hand over my mouth.

    “I love you babe, but your breath smells so horrible. You can kiss me after you brush your teeth.” She helps me out to her car, but I honestly don’t remember it. I don’t remember getting inside or even changed and into bed.

    I wake up, feeling a warm weight on top of me. Mirian is asleep and cuddled up to my chest, her leg is over my thigh and her head is on my chest. Her long hair splayed out over my arm and shoulder.

    The air is fresh and crisp and wind rustles the curtains. I take in a deep breath, feeling a sense of calm and rest that feels all too rare. I feel warm and safe as Mirian nuzzles closer. I feel so much love at this moment even if she isn’t awake to realize it. 

    I kiss the top of her head and she grumbles, irritated. “I’m trying to sleep,” she grouches.

    “Sorry,” I chuckle. I kiss the top of her head again. 

    “Don’t get frisky with me now,” Mirian kisses my neck and chest. “I might fight back.” She sits up and straddles my hips, resting her weight on my thighs. She moves her hair out of her face and her tank top slips off her shoulder, showing off the curve of her breasts.

    I grin up at her. “Fuck you’re amazing.” I run my hands up her thighs, letting myself enjoy the plump, warm sensation. 

    She smirks, “I know.” She dips down, kissing me and pawing her hand down her chest. “Ugh gross.” She grimaces.

    I cup my hand over my mouth. “I haven’t brushed my teeth, sorry.” 

    “It’s fine.” She sits up enough to kick off her sleep shorts. “You don’t need to brush your teeth for what I have in mind.” She then smirks at me. “Is that ok with you?”

    For a moment I feel as if I can’t breathe.

    Mirian’s brow knits together in concern. “Babe?” She leans down and touches my cheek. “You ok?”

    I hold her palm and kiss it, burying my face in her gentle touch. “Only that I’m going to eat you until I suffocate, mon amour.”

    Mirian giggles, moving herself so her magnificent vulva is over my face. “I’ll be sure to pay you back in full.”

    “I honestly don’t care if you do.” I pull her down to me, having her ride my face while I suck, lick, and nibble every inch I can reach with my mouth.

    Mirian grabs hold of the headboard, trying her best to stay put while also letting me breathe. But I don’t want to breathe. I don’t need to. She’s my air now and until she begs me to stop, I’m not going to stop.

    She’s so wet, dripping down my chin and neck. Her body quakes and quivers as I lash her with my tongue. She finally kicks away and lays on top of me. She’s breathing hard and her legs continue to twitch and kick.

    “Fuck-” Mirian pops my cheek. “You’re a god at that.”

    “A god of pussy,” I lick my lips. “I never thought I’d hear that before.” I prop myself up and she grabs me and forces me back down onto the bed.

    “Where are you going?” She asks.

    “To brush my teeth,” I smirk. “I may get a cavity from your sweetness.”

    “You’re such a dumbass.” She kisses me and snuggles to my chest. “What do you want?” She asks me.

    I touch her cheek and brush my thumb against her lips. “Just you.”

    “That’s cute and all but I’m asking you how you want to get your dick wet.” She smiles at me and giggles. “What are you staring at?”

    I cup her cheeks in both hands. “I love you so much,” I whisper. 

    Mirian kisses my palm. “I love you too.” She lays on my chest and hooks her leg around mine. “If you wanted to cuddle, you could have said so.”

    The warmth of her skin on mine makes tears roll down my cheeks. Her embrace, her hands, they are all I ever wanted. I may not be perfect, but for once I am happy.