BARE HANDS - A Bad Boy Romance Novel Page 7

  After a few moments, when the pleasure had trickled away to a few twitches, I opened my eyes and tried to make out the room, my body, in the pitch black. My soul, it would seem, was still intact. The room was still the room. I was still me. I guess technically, I hadn’t touched myself at all.

  I toyed with the idea of saying his name again, but put it away. If it was a magic spell, if it was a dark-sided word that had the power to conjure up such things, perhaps I should put it away for another time…

  I curled over on to my side and fell into a blank, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Eleven - Viktor

  “Yes, OK, you don’t have to tell us a whole story, all we want to know is, will it fuck you up?”

  I didn’t like these new guys. Didn’t trust them either. My usual buyer, an older and more subdued Nigerian gentleman by the name of “Fat Boy Fat”, had been scarce lately and he had sent these two boneheaded lackeys in his place. I didn’t like it. But whatever, it was just for one batch, and then I’d demand to work with Fat Boy again.

  The one kid couldn’t have been older than 19 or 20, and was leaning in the shade of the car door to get out of the heat, not bothering to pull down his shirt to cover his bulging gut. Women can be soft. In fact, they should be soft. But a man? Something in me hated to see a soft man. A weak one. A baby who’s never challenged his body, never worked, never sweated. I could kick this kid’s ass for free in 30 seconds and he’d only be better for it.

  “Will it fuck you up? Of course not. Drink kerosene if you want to be fucked up,” I said. I might have nothing to cover my nakedness but a threadbare sarong, and I might have walked here on my own two feet, and I might be here in Zambia right now, handing over a paper bag filled with narcotics to some boneheads, but I was a connoisseur.

  The soil in which these plants had grown had been tended and revered like a lover; the botanicals in this bag had been harvested, sifted and prepared like my first born children, raised with love and honor. In my time at the cabin, I had reared hundreds of delicate, nuanced strains of a whole range of plants so vast most people hadn’t heard of most of them. My garden looked like weedy wilderness to the uninitiated, but a forest of possibility for those who looked just a little closer.

  I had roots to make you dream, leaves to open the windows of your heart, and mushrooms to wash the pain from your body. I had stored plant essences that would clear the spirit, petals to make you sleep, and bark that awakened within the body all those carnal desires that lay dormant in the modern man. Or woman.

  Did it “fuck you up” he asked me. Nevermind. I’d deal directly with Fat Boy next time.

  “You speak Nyanja like a local. Fat Boy told us you were Russian,” the other one said.

  “My mother was Russian.”

  “And your father?”

  “Born in Mchinji. He was a doctor.”

  “Was? He’s not anymore?”

  I ignored the question. They both passed quizzical eyes over me, then looked at one another. I was just about done with this whole transaction, and this line of questioning. If I left within a few minutes, I’d make it back to the cabin before sunset.

  “Your mother, she’s there still? In Malawi?” the fat one said with a smirk.

  I knew what he was getting at. I had had this conversation too many times already. Maybe my mother had been a lost little girl, lured and seduced by a dirty African to come to this godforsaken country and have a baby against her wishes. Maybe she was a raging whore who had asked for trouble, found it, and then bailed the moment things got too real. Or maybe she decided to have another beautiful, all-white baby in beautiful, all-white Russia and forget that it – that I – had ever happened. What fucking difference did it make to me, though? None. I glowered at them.

  The fat one laughed at me and spat into the dust, then sneered a little as he looked over my outfit.

  “Don’t worry mati, I would have abandoned you too” he said, and they both laughed mockingly.

  My hands were instantly on his neck and I slammed him into the car.

  “Are you going to shut your fucking mouth or must I find another buyer?” I hissed, getting right in his face.

  The other one was giggling.

  “Hey, hey! Mister KGB, just chill! We’re cool. He’s just talking.”

  I pried my fingers off his neck and stepped back, but held him firm with my eyes. He held up both his hands and flashed a shit-eating grin at me. I could see the gun at his hip, plain as day, but I swore right then that if I heard another peep from him I’d punch that smile right off his face.

  “Easy …easy. He’s an idiot. He wishes some beautiful Russian lady would also come and give him one, hey Busi?”

  “Shut up” said Busi, regaining his composure.

  “Nah it’s true. Vik, let me tell you. This guy? He’s got problems. Your old lady just dropped a new album, ne?” he said, poking the fat one’s ribs.

  “She’s expecting next month” he said, a little sour.

  The other one just laughed. I didn’t have time for this shit.

  “Wait what? Another one? Man, he’s in more shit than I thought.”

  “Where’s the money?” I asked, but the two morons were mid-banter. Fucking kids.

  “You should have been a Malawi doctor, mati, then the chicks would love you. Maybe you have a chance with that white gelo that took Rambo’s knife” he said and laughed long and hard at his own joke.

  My ears pricked.

  “What white girl?” I said.

  “What? Nothing. Some …associates of ours.”

  “Yeah, but what girl? Who are you talking about?”

  They both looked at me.

  “Who wants to know?” the fat one said, back in thug mode. He leaned in, menacingly.

  “Ok, whatever, let’s just finish up here please, I have shit to do” I said and shrugged.

  They looked at each other again.

  “You know a white girl in Mchinji? Someone who took our friend’s knife?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  A slow smile curled over his lips. He turned to his friend.

  “Give this man the cash, let’s go” he said and turned to get in the car.

  The fat one gave me a folded brown envelope with cash and a dirty look, then hopped into the passenger seat, slammed the door and hung his arm out the window as they drove off.

  The dust cloud rose, shimmered a little in the late afternoon sunshine and then sank slowly back to the ground. Penny. I had heard people talking about her little stunt the other day, how her and Valerie had chased off some would-be hijackers. If anyone was to be believed, they had saved the day and Mama Tembi’s car with nothing but girl power and the protection of the almighty.

  I groaned and pinched the ridge between my eyes. Women complicate things.

  I turned on my heel and headed back the other direction, back to the cabin. Soon I had picked off the main road and was on my own path. I knew these roads and backways inside out. On a map, this territory was just nothing, a space, just the boring line between Malawi and Zambia. I liked to think of it as my own secret portal between the two countries. The walk would easily take more than 3 hours, but it was good walking, and I did my best thinking when I walked.

  And I needed to think.

  As my nimble feet stepped their way through the familiar brush, the thoughts began to loosen. The landscape morphed from brown and desiccated to juicier, more lush and green …and then back again. I knew all the plants I walked by, by name and by essence, and greeted them like old friends. The light dimmed and brought out even the most elusive threads of gold and copper in the crunchy grass. By the time I was halfway home, I had decided: Penny had to go home. I would convince her she had to.

  She had no idea what she was doing, she was young and stupid, and it just wasn’t safe here for her. Nobody cared about the fucking garden anyway. And her life and happiness was just worth so much more than some church vanity project…

  I froze. Yes
, I wasn’t mistaken. I drew a breath and looked down at my hands. Scanned internally. Yup, it was unmistakable.

  I was feeling something for her.

  My heart raced, but I carried on walking. I forced myself to stay calm: I knew this would happen. I had seen her face, days before she arrived, in smoke. I had made out her features in my mind’s eye. A warning? In any case, I was getting way, way too invested. Why bother with someone who was just going to leave? And did I really want to break her heart? Did she deserve that?

  I froze again. Now you’re thinking about what she deserves? No, there was no way around it. She was getting in the way. I had my life, and she had hers, and she had already crossed over into mine too much already. I had been an idiot, with the whole tying her up bullshit. I admit that it was fun. But someone had to be the responsible adult here. She had to go. Back to where she came from.

  The sun dipped low and then winked out, just as I was rounding the familiar bend that would lead me through a narrow, hidden thicket and to my cabin. The cicadas had whined all they could for the day and were petering out. The air went gray and woke up with flying night insects instead.

  As I approached the cabin I froze, yet again. A figure, standing at the entrance.

  Instantly my heart was in my throat. Without thinking my body responded, and I was rock hard in an instant. All at once, I didn’t care. I wanted her to stay. I wanted to …oh God I wanted to do so many things to her. I raced up to the cabin, a lump in my throat and then realized: Valerie. It was Valerie.

  She lifted slow, sleepy eyes up at me. Her hair was loose and tousled, and her flimsy shirt hung limp off one shoulder. She looked down at my crotch then back up at me.

  “I was hoping you’d be glad to see me…” she said.

  Chapter Twelve - Penelope

  The knife was tucked in my bra strap. Just under my armpit, warm and parallel to my body, it didn’t feel much like a weapon. It was more like …a part of me. I had made small talk with Valerie all day long, and we had lugged more fish than I ever care to in a lifetime, but now I was getting tired of retelling the same old highlights of our hijacking story and wanted some alone time.

  Luckily, she said she would be visiting her friend from London one more time before he left, and would be gone that evening. I smiled and said “sure”. My mind, like an elastic that had been stretched tight all day long, instantly snapped to what I was really concerned with: how I would see him again.

  It didn’t make much sense, I know, but something about having that stupid knife really meant something to me. I hadn’t heard from Dylan. I had stewed for ages this morning, wondering whether he had found the locks. And how. And what he would say to me. And what my father would say. But then I stopped worrying the instant I had another thought: I just didn’t care.

  I had been in this country for almost two weeks now, and I had already done far, far more than I could have even dreamed. I’ve washed every last item I brought by hand, in a steal drum, with cold water. I’ve eaten a single meal of bread and stew almost every day. I’ve eaten goat. I’ve found Satan himself in scorpion form on my bedroom floor more than once, I’ve been laughed at by countless children, I’ve gotten sunburnt, car sick, bitten, nearly hijacked and now my hands were starting to smell like fish all the time. Not only had I done exactly zero days’ work in the garden, I hadn’t actually eaten anything green myself since I landed.

  Has Dylan ever done anything remotely like that? I squeezed my arms down to feel the knife against my ribs. No, I don’t think he has.

  So, to hell with all of them.

  To Vik most of all. He didn’t understand me at all. Fine, I might look like some ditzy idiot to him, but at least I didn’t run away into the forest in some tantrum just because, I don’t know, civilization wasn’t what he thought it should be. Like, I might not understand much about the world, but at least I wasn’t so arrogant to just go and sulk in the woods somewhere because I thought I was better than everyone else.

  I had to tell him all this. That he had misunderstood me. That I wasn’t like Dylan, and that I did have my own will, and that I wasn’t just this two dimensional joke, this girl he could just toy with. I had opinions about things, important opinions, and I was going to let him hear them, and maybe if he didn’t like it I could tie him to a tree and see how he liked that.

  I winced at the thought. Don’t be stupid, Penny, he obviously doesn’t want anything to do with a little Christian kid like you.

  I made quite a few wrong turns to get to his cabin. It was a weird route there, and didn’t make much sense. I felt that I was walking a little towards it, then looping back, getting closer, then looping back again. After a while I couldn’t tell if I’d already passed the same clump of scraggly trees before or if it was just a new clump of scraggly trees.

  The wet ache was still there. Even more tender and agonizing than ever. I’d tell him that we had gathered enough fish guts now and ask whether he’d like to help us fold it into the soil, and whether he could take time from his nefarious secret life to help us haul the straw and things out to the field.

  But he’d know what I really wanted. And I wouldn’t care. I be brazen. I’d tell him what an idiot I thought he was. Did he really think he was such a brave soul, out in his stupid cabin, playing Robinson Crusoe while the rest of us out here had real work to do? He’d apologize. Or he’d be speechless. But I would forgive him. And then he’d kiss me.

  I stopped and stared at a clearing in the forest, and thought I had a vague feeling that the left path was the way to go. I briefly wondered whether I should find a soft patch, hide out of the sun, lay myself down and finally soothe the glorious throb between my legs. I had touched myself millions of times since the night with the knife. No sooner had I thrashed and clenched down and swallowed my moans, did the instant need to do it again bubble up in me. And so I would. And I had been. What can I say, I was going wild.

  But something told me to push on. I finally made out the edge of Vik’s tool shed and the ring of weeds around it, and then the old cabin came into view. The curtains were drawn. Odd. I picked my way up the overgrown footpath and heard soft voices coming from inside. I scampered and hid behind the shed just in time to see Valerie’s slinky frame totter down the rough cut steps and out to the back. Like a celebrity hurrying out from a club, eyes downcast and hair a mess.

  The knife at my side suddenly seemed cold again. I went blank. My chest hurt. I blinked hard and strained my eyes to make out Vik’s figure appearing behind hers, watching her go, but as he turned to go back inside, he saw me there, crouching in the weeds.

  We looked at each other for a long time. The weeds seem to sting at my bare legs. I didn’t have the heart to stand up immediately, but when I did, my knees were weak. He said nothing, but his face looked hard; a little twisted.

  “I’m, I’m sorry …I didn’t mean to disturb you, I thought…” I stammered, but he scowled and looked away. Of course. Of fucking course. Why wouldn’t he go for Valerie? She was pretty and competent and so much older than I was…

  He looked like he was trying to think of something to say. I know it doesn’t make much sense, but right then, I couldn’t decide if I hated him or wanted him. His face looked so broad, so confident and strong and at ease with everything. Hadn’t he thought of me at all? Didn’t our kiss mean anything to him? How many other girls were there?

  “Valerie is a friend. She just came over to talk about the plot. Are you upset?”

  I was mad at how crystal clear his voice was. Here I was, an angry, quivering wreck, and he simply stood before me, strong shoulders held back, his chin up, and his voice clear. I wanted to believe him. A “friend”. Was I just a friend as well? I felt some hot, embarrassing tears threatening to overwhelm me.

  He took a step towards me and before I knew it I was in his arms, collapsed against his chest and sobbing loudly. He held me with firm but painfully gentle arms, and didn’t seem the least bit surprised. My crying didn’t seem to s
hake him, and so I cried harder, and in no time I was bawling, emptying out a flood of emotions I hadn’t realized I had been holding in. He just held me, and I cried till his pecs went wet under my cheeks, until I couldn’t cry anymore. He planted kiss after kiss onto the top of my head, and I folded up small and safe, and snuffled out the last of my sobs.

  “If you come inside, I can give you something for your nerves. You’re tired” he said. Again I marveled at the tone of his voice. Was this the same man who had strung me up to a tree like an animal and humiliated me? Who had laughed at me and made fun of how turned on he had made me? He looked down at me, eyes brimming with meaning, and the ache in my body was at fever pitch.

  I nodded my head and went into his cabin.

  Chapter Thirteen - Penelope

  “Valerie is not …just so you know. We did, once or twice before, but that was long before you arrived. She came to visit me today, but she’s just …bored. Nothing happened.”

  There was nothing defensive in his voice. He spoke clearly and calmly again, only as though he was cautious for the effect his words would have on me. I instantly believed him. And I hated for how much I trusted him, in that moment.

  “I don’t care who else you fuck,” I spat.

  “Else?” he said, something teasing in his eyes.

  I shot him a look full of daggers. His smile was playful.

  “I’ve never heard you swear before,” he said, genuinely surprised. But I didn’t care about that either. Why was everyone so sure they knew everything about me? He went over to his ramshackle little sink in the corner and then reached for a blue ceramic jar. Out the jar came some grey green dried herbs, which he sprinkled into a tin cup, and with a few well practiced movements he flicked a gas stove to life and set a small pot of water to boil over it.

  We sat in silence for ages, me taking in every last corner of his cabin, him with his muscled back to me as he watched the steam rise out from the pot. There were some gnarly looking rabbits strung out on a line like disgusting laundry; some chipped and dented bowls and tins on a shelf, a pile of wood, a bucket, a coiled rope with a fatigued looking plastic packet bundled in the center…