Always on My Mind Read online

  Always on My Mind

  by Artemis Dubois

  Published by Artemis Dubois, 2013.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  ALWAYS ON MY MIND

  First edition. February 8, 2013.

  Copyright © 2013 Artemis Dubois.

  Written by Artemis Dubois.

  -one-

  I flicked the light off and on checking the clock every five minutes. It was just after midnight and I'd been sitting at the table waiting for my Chris to walk through the door and layer kiss after kiss over my body. The man I'd spent almost an entire decade with. I could feel my eyelids close. I wanted to be up in case he tried to sneak in. My hand wrapped around the wine bottle to top off my glass—it was empty.

  Who was I kidding?

  He wasn't going to show.

  He probably forgot.

  I looked over at the festive balloons my assistant and friend Janet had brought over earlier. I wondered what Chris' excuse would be this time. I placed the dishes in the sink and put away the meal I'd prepared for the two of us.

  I checked my phone again—no messages.

  I flipped off the lights and padded into my bedroom. I gave myself a once over in my bathroom mirror as I undressed for bed. My head was spinning from the bottle of wine I shouldn't have drunk. My body took comfort between the cool sheets of my bed. I rolled over onto my side, tucking myself into a comforting fetal position. Tears fell as I closed my eyes.

  Happy birthday to me.

  -two-

  I'm pretty good at keeping secrets. Can you keep a secret? I, Skyller Hooper. Folks call me Sky. I've been doing it for so long that I started believing the secret; the secret being that my life is perfect. No biggie, you say? It's a pretty big fucking deal to me. Okay, I'm being a little dramatic. I'm an Infopreneur. I make use of readily available information and package and deliver it to folks who need it the most. It's all about targeting. Finding that audience.

  "Sky, you have a two thirty with Mr. Killman from Ringer," Janet said as she made her way into the kitchen. My office was my home, my home was my office. I didn't see the need to set up shop in a big fancy building, for what? All I needed was an Internet connection, a power outlet, and a continuous supply of hot tea—I was set. I enjoyed living in New York. So much to do, to see, experience no matter the time. Janet, my trusty assistant, who I found literally on the streets of New York one rainy fall. She had just completed her audition for the lead in "The Color Purple", but lost out due to her good looks. They wanted someone... homely. Janet was a good looking woman who stood about five-six in heels and had the most flawless graham cracker complexion I'd ever seen along with a beautiful smile and hair that curled down her back. I could hear her weeping as I walked by. The southern belle in me couldn't just pass her by. Maybe she was hurt.

  This was New York, so I had to be careful. She could have easily been one of those scammers looking for a mark to cut and rob. Adjusting my messenger bag on my shoulder I walked over, "Excuse me. Are you alright?" She looked over her shoulder. Her eyes were puffy and mascara ran freely down her cheeks. "I don't know if you know it or not, but you've been crying," I said, jokingly trying to ease the tension. A smile broke free across her face. She dropped her shoulders and fell into my arms, sobbing uncontrollably. I didn't know this woman from Eve, but I did my best to comfort her, "Okay. It's alright. Let it out... good." Two years later here we are. She's the best assistant and best friend anyone could ask for.

  "Janet, can you call Mr. Killman and ask if he could push back an hour, I—"

  "Sorry, can't. You have a three thirty doctor's appointment," she said, buttering a slice of toast. She knew my schedule better than I did. One thing I loved about Janet was her straight forwardness. She didn't sugar coat things or just tell me what I wanted to hear.

  "Fine," I said, closing my laptop. I pushed back from the table and made my way over to the kitchen island were Janet sat reading the morning paper. She had prepared my favorite... cheese omelet, grits and toast. She'd brought over homemade jam she'd picked up when she visited home. She was a southerner like me, which made us click instantly. Janet sipped her coffee as she gave me her trademark side eye. I dug in, cutting my omelet and scooping a helping of cheese over my grits. "What's with the daggers?" I asked, biting into my toast.

  "What's going on with you and Chris?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Don't do that. You know what I mean. He's been calling non-stop for the past month. I'm just going to tell the poor boy to stop calling."

  I took a sip of orange juice to wash down the toast. " Yeah, do that."

  Chris, my ex, was another story. We'd been on and off like a wore-out light switch. Especially since he'd missed my birthday last month and showed up two days later with flowers thinking I'd forgive him. Once I can let slide, but twice? He could have called, texted, or something. Chris had a thing for disappearing and reappearing as if he were a magician, thinking everything was hunky dory.

  "Fix this thing with Chris. I can't have him tying up the line with foolishness," Janet grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

  "Where are you going?" I asked. My mouth stuffed with savory omelet.

  "I have a pre-lunch meeting with one of the app programmers—he's sweet on me."

  "Well, don't do anything I wouldn't do."

  "Hmm, doesn't leave room for much. Smooches!"

  The morning paper lay in front of me, but I wasn't in a reading mood. The news was depressing and I was already halfway there myself. Some days I was tired of what I did. Maybe it was time to retire. I could afford to do it. Retiring in your twenties wasn't unheard of these days. My dad retired when he was in his sixties and went back to work because he missed having a set routine. I put on a kettle of water for a cup of tea to get me going. Checking the cupboards... out of honey, no milk. Shit. I'd have to settle for scoop sugar instead. I walked over to the kitchen table and sat in front of my huge window overlooking the park and watched folks hurrying to their jobs, or wherever they were going.

  Some days I hated what I did, but still put on a face that I loved it. My problem... I got bored easily. I constantly liked a challenge. The honey and malt notes of my morning tea tickled my nose as I peered out the window. A fond memory pushed forward. My senior year in high school one of my two favorite teachers, Mrs. Ivy, had been a school mother to me. She often pulled me aside and told me I had great potential, but my downfall would be my lack of following through. "You—You just check out when things get going," she'd say. In a way she was right. I've tried to change but here I am, wanting to move on to something else. Something more exciting. Maybe I just needed a solid man in my life. Isn't that the answer for everything, besides cutting your hair? If things aren't going the way you want... you need a man, or you need a new hairstyle. I've already changed my brown locks for something shorter and easier to manage.

  My phone's ringer blared from the kitchen counter. I walked over and checked the caller id; it was Chris. I let it ring instead of sending him to voice mail. Folks know when you send them to voice mail so it's best to let it ring and have it go automatically. If not, you can bet your last dollar you'll get an instant redial. I checked my watch, hmm, still morning. I sauntered back to my bedroom and closed the window blinds Janet had opened. I'd sleep in until my meeting and then plan the rest of my personal day. Maybe I could find a nice man at the Rox club to bring home and make me feel good.

  What is it about Mondays that suck so hard?

  -three-

  I'd just popped the final bag of popcorn. Janet was on her way and everything was ready; the popcorn, cheesecake, three different flavors of hot wings, baby carrots, strawbe
rries, string cheese and a few spirited beverages. I couldn't help but feel that I was forgetting something. "Hey baby," Janet called from the foyer. She'd brought over the DVD's for tonight's grub fest. We usually got together every other weekend to feed our faces and watch movies until we passed out in a sugar comma or sheer exhaustion. She pulled me in for a tight hug as I drew in a big whiff of her sweet smelling perfume. "How you living, chicka?"

  "Like a hooker on parole, Sky," she said with a playful pat on the back. I loved our little get-togethers. When the work week was done it was time to play. Janet could make any event a party. We plopped down on the couch and looked over the night's feast. "Nice spread," Janet said, piling her plate full of juicy strawberries. "Where's the whipped—" I jumped from the couch. "I got it, I... got it," I shouted, opening the fridge and pulling out the whipped cream. "I knew I'd forgotten something. Put in the DVD." Before I could make it back to the couch, there was a knock at the door. Janet looked over with confusion as she stuffed her face with strawberries. I sat the cream down on the end table and padded over to the door. I wondered who it could be since the doorman didn't announce anyone.

  I peeked through the peep hole. "It's Chris," I turned and whispered to Janet. I tipped toed to the side of the door, hoping he didn't hear me. Maybe he'd go away, I hoped. "Open the door, Sky," Chris called out as his knuckles rapped against the door. The beginning credits began to roll and music blared from the television. I waved my hand at Janet to cut the sound, but it was too late.

  "Sky, open the door... we need to talk." I let out a long sigh and banged the back of my head against the wall. Janet motioned her hand for me to open the door. The chain was still attached as I cracked the door open to see Chris' eyes peering through the doorway. "What do you want? I'm busy." I shifted my eyes to the floor. Chris' eyes were mesmerizing. Just one look and he could glamour you into submission with his stare.

  "Don't tell me you're on a date?" his voice ragged.

  "Yeah, I am."

  "Hey Chris!" Janet shouted from the back.

  I rolled my eyes and unlocked the chain. Chris smirked and pressed through the door. He nodded to Janet as he walked through to the kitchen.

  "Give me a minute, Janet." I said, walked to the island where Chris stood, his hands planted deep in his pockets. Chris was your present day hipster, without the ego. His thin lips pressed tightly together as his tall six foot one frame paced the floor. He placed his bolo hat down and turned, fixing his cabbage green pomegranate-like eyes at me. His curly dark hair laid steady atop his head. A curl fell haphazardly down his forehead and he carelessly pushed it back.

  "What do you want, Mr. Lenier?" I took a seat by the window. Chris rubbed his tiny beard and continued to pace. "I need another chance," he said, quickly walking into my bedroom. I followed. "Chris we've been over this. It's for the best." I ran my hands down my thighs nervously. I couldn't let him talk me out of what I'd decided.

  "You can't just throw away all these years, Sky. You can't just up and say "Well, I'm tired now. I want something else."

  "It's not like—"

  Chris interrupted, "It is like that, Sky. And you know it. Okay, I might not have been the best boyfriend. At least I'm trying." He pleaded with his hands stretched out.

  "It's not going to happen, Chris. Eight years?" The tears began to roll down his cheeks. I couldn't bear to look him in his eyes.

  "When?" he asked, pacing the floor.

  "About two months ago. Things just changed between us."

  "Things changed with you. They didn't change with me, baby. You changed for the worse. It's Sky, not Chris," he said, trying to hold back his tears.

  Chris and I met when he moved to Sweet Water, Alabama my hometown. He was the new guy and Cillian, my best bud, and I welcomed him into our little circle. After I left town, Chris made his way to New York and we ran into each other, in all the places. I welcomed him with open arms, showed him the ropes and eventually contracted him to do some work. At the time I knew it was a bad idea and I was right. After a few weeks on the job I asked a contact to take him off my hands. He set Chris up with a nice cushy job on the east side of town working as a liaison for a production company where he basically just used his Cajun charm to make clients happy by being eye candy.

  Still, something hadn't been right between us. The sex was amazing but we wanted two different things. I wanted someone that would make me feel like the only person in the world. Chris found it hard to show affection.

  "Sky!" Chris slammed his fist down on the dresser.

  "What? You thinking about him?" Chris asked, raising his voice. I could see the veins pop underneath his skin. His eyes were on fire. I refused to answer. We both knew the answer to that question.

  "If you can't talk to me in a calm voice you can walk your loud ass out of my apartment."

  "Mwen damou ou (I love you)," Chris said, bending down pressing his hands in mine.

  "Chris, don't," I said pushing him away. "Don't say things you don't mean. I can't do this right now." I opened the bedroom door and saw Janet high tailed it back to the couch. Without a word he walked out, slamming the front door. His hat lay on the dresser, probably left it on purpose. I pulled it close and inhaled his scent closing my eyes and falling to the bed. Maybe deep down, I still felt something for him. He, like Janet and Mrs. Ivy was probably right.

  Janet shouted from the living room, "You alright, girl?"

  "I guess," I murmured.

  "I don't see how you could let that fine piece of man walk out this darn apartment. You crazy."

  Maybe I am.

  -four-

  When I saw the '205' area code displayed on my phone I had a feeling it was bad news. I rarely if ever received calls from back home. It was just after three in the morning and I'd just walked in the door from a night of heavy partying with the girls. I was a little messed up and thought my mind was playing tricks on me.

  I pulled the phone close to make sure it was who I thought it was. I tapped the phone icon and music blared from the speakers. After a few hellos the line went dead. I shrugged my shoulders and stumbled to the bathroom. The phone rang again, the same number. It was cousin Lonnie calling for me to head home. Aunt Mae, my father's sister, had taken a turn for the worse. I hadn't seen her or anyone in my family in over ten years. After I graduated from Auburn I bee-lined it to New York to start a new life. It's your classic story of a small town country girl leaving the nest for bigger and better things; shedding the country exterior for a more polished Yankee look.

  I hopped on the next flight to Alabama with a heavy heart. There wasn't any one specific reason why I left 'bama. There were many. Most of the folks back home didn't take too kindly to my kind; well not openly. You know the headstrong girl with aspirations for a career instead of barefoot and pregnant helping out at the country. It's all well and good for folks who like that sort of thing, no judgment. I didn't want to depend on a man for anything.

  Heading back home also gave me a chance to look up my old friend, Cillian Green. We'd been inseparable. We grew up together. He had my back anytime trouble found me, and I had his when he needed a little extra help with the books. Around our junior year of high school we added a new guy to our little circle my ex, Chris. When Cillian and I first met Chris, he stood in the breezeway looking like a lost puppy. We adopted him and took him under our wing. Our awesome twosome became a threesome.

  Cillian was your typical southern bred male. Strong muscular arms, broad chest, and charming with disarming bedroom eyes. His deep velvet, southern drawl was instantly recognizable in a crowded room. After years of lusting over him, we both gave in to temptation—a night I'd never forget. We were both set to head off to Auburn together. It all changed when I decided to up and leave Sweat Water without saying good bye. I knew if I did he'd convince me to stay.

  I had hoped to catch a few hours of sleep, but during the two and a half hour flight from New York all I could do was fidget in my seat. So many things tossed
around in my head. Chris, my aunt's health, and the possibility of running into Cillian. Sweat Water was so small you couldn't help but notice anyone and everyone. A loud siren blared from behind. Blue lights lit up my rear-view mirror. I looked down at the speedometer I was going sixty-five in a forty-five and hadn't realized it.

  Shit.

  I was on a country road miles away from town. It was dark and I didn't feel safe pulling off along a country road. I'd made up my mind that he'd just have to follow me until I reached town or he got tired of following me. There were far too many crazies out there who got off on pretending to be a cop. Before I'd boarded my flight, I'd read about some woman in Georgia getting pulled over and raped by a fake policeman who'd been pulling folks over. Luckily, she'd got away, but the others ended up six feet under.

  The car sped around and he motioned for me to pull over. I rolled down my window. "Not until I reach town!" I shouted. Maybe I was paranoid, but I wasn't going to be some easy target especially out in the sticks. I pulled into an opened gas station. I could see the attendant through the window. The cop car pulled up along the backside and I could hear the hurried shuffle of feet moving in my direction.

  "Don't you know to pull over when you see blue lights?"

  "Can I see some identification please?"

  "What?"

  "How do I know you're a real cop?"

  "This badge says I'm a cop." He pointed at his chest.

  "What seems to be the problem officer," I asked, just as the attendant walked out the store.

  "Do you know who fast you were going?"

  "Was I speeding?"

  "The speed limit here is forty-five."

  I couldn't take my eyes off his thick, gray eyebrows. He was a heavy set guy and reminded me of Boss Hog from the Dukes of Hazard just a tad. "How fast was I going?" I asked. He shook his head and leaned in against the window frame of the door.