“Who the fuck is that guy?” asks Kroner.
“That’s Kayla’s dad,” I say. “I had to get the money somewhere.”
“We can do this real safe-like,” says Pastor Jerry. He holds out the money in a Walmart bag. “Everybody needs to keep real cool now. I don’t want any harm to come to anybody. Christ died for each and every one of you. Even if you don’t believe it.”
“The fuck is he talking about?” says Kroner.
“He’s a youth pastor,” I say.
“Oh,” says Kroner. “I fucking hated youth group.”
“Why?” asks Pastor Jerry.
“The singing. I hate singing.”
“Just give him the money,” I say.
“Yeah, give me the money,” says Kroner.
Pastor Jerry tosses him the bag. Kroner smiles.
The whole time Kayla’s got her arms crossed over her tits. Blood’s dried all down her face. I can tell she’s chewing on the inside of her cheek; she does it whenever she’s mad. I’ve seen her chew herself till she bled out of her mouth before. Ty has his hands on her shoulders, those stupid sunglasses on. Her head barely comes up to his chest.
“I told you not to fuck with me,” says Kroner. “I told you I was hard.” He grabs Kayla away from Ty and pulls her to him, twisting her arm behind her back, then yanks her head back by her hair. “See what I can do? See what I can do to your girl?” He licks Kayla’s neck. “I can do anything I want. I’m the hardest motherfucker in this whole city. Fuck Jackson. I’m the Lord of goddamned Madison County.”
Kayla elbows Kroner in the stomach. With her free hand she pulls his knife out of his belt sheath, whirls, and slides the blade across his face. It’s quick, but awkward, like she was aiming for Kroner’s throat but didn’t know how to do it, like she had never really tried to hurt anyone before. She only gets Kroner’s ear. It half-hangs off his cheek, mutilated, dangling from a flap of skin.
“You bitch! Jesus, my face!” Kroner reaches out to Ty, but the thug backs away like he doesn’t want any blood on him.
“You beat me,” says Kayla. “You were going to rape me.”
“Baby?” says Pastor Jerry.
“You’re fucking dead,” says Kroner. He points to Ty. “Kill her.”
“If you take one step closer I will cut your dick off.” She points the knife at Kroner. “I will cut it off and fuck him with it.”
Ty takes his sunglasses off. His eyes are blue and scared. He looks down at Kayla, then back to Kroner.
“You need to leave,” says Pastor Jerry. “I’m going to call an ambulance.”
Ty nods. He backs up a few steps with his hands in the air, like he’s being held up, then takes off running toward the woods.
“My fucking ear,” moans Kroner. Blood leaks between his fingers and down his face. “You cut it off.”
“Not all the way,” says Kayla.
Pastor Jerry pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket. It’s the same one he’s always wiping his face with when he preaches. He kneels down next to Kroner and presses the handkerchief to the guy’s ear, as if to heal him. Kroner cries and cries.
“I can’t fucking believe this,” says Kayla. “Get up, Dad.”
Pastor Jerry shakes his head.
“I said get up.”
“No,” says Pastor Jerry. “Remember, There is more joy in Heaven over one sinner who repents than ninety-nine who need no repentance.”
“You can have that party without me,” says Kayla. “If you call an ambulance, the cops will come, and no fucking way I’m going to be around for that.” She turns to me. “Keys?”
I look at her and there’s no love looking back. There’s something else in her eyes, a disappointment. Like I let her down. Like I couldn’t handle the situation and I had to go running to her daddy. Kayla finally sees me for what I really am: another goddamn phony Madison kid. Not like her. Kayla’s something different.
I toss her the keys. Kayla tucks Kroner’s knife in her belt. She picks up the bag of money, gets in my car, and drives off down the dirt road toward the highway. I watch my car disappear into the darkness without me.
Kroner whimpers on the ground. Pastor Jerry’s still holding him, rocking him back and forth, praying for him. They seem so close, like they’re related, like a father and son. The moonlight hits the shattered glass around them and the pieces glimmer. I feel like I belong there in the dirt with them, wounded and bleeding and maybe about to be healed. Pastor Jerry begins to sing a hymn, one I recognize from youth group. I would join in but I never bothered to learn the words.
Losing Her Religion
by RaShell R. Smith-Spears
it waznt a spirit took my stuff
waz a man whose ego walked round like Rodan’s shadow
waz a man faster n my innocence
waz a lover
i made too much room for
— from Ntozake Shange,
“Somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff”
Jackson
Jada Wallace wrapped her long bronze legs around her lover’s waist as he slammed her into the bedroom wall. Her tongue pushed desperately past his lips, seeking the flavor of his mouth. His hands were just as desperate; they ran up her back under her shirt, seeking the hooks of her bra. The release of her breasts was freeing and satisfying. He threw her down on the bed and straddled her waist. He jerked her shirt over her head after his lips found hers again and pressed painfully against them. With equal purpose and intensity, he unsnapped her jeans and yanked them down her legs along with the pink lace panties she had worn for him. She sat up and licked a trail down his stomach, following the path laid out by the soft, dark hair that started at his navel and disappeared into his shorts, while she opened his jeans. Apparently, she was moving too slowly because he pushed her back on the bed and yanked his own jeans off. Having discarded his shirt almost immediately after coming into the house, he now stood before her naked and beautiful. His creamy white skin looked so delicious she wanted to run her tongue all over it; she wanted to bite him everywhere. And she did. As he covered her body and entered her, she put her mouth over the skin of his shoulder and bit down. And as he rocked her hard and fast, flipping her on top of him, then throwing her back underneath him, she found different areas of his body to place her teeth: his neck, his broad chest, the inside of his arm, between his thumb and finger. Anywhere on his body she could get access to, she marked her territory. She laid her claim to him just as his body inside of hers laid claim to her. She was his, all of her.
“Whose is it!” he demanded.
“Yours,” she gasped.
“Who?” he growled. His face was red. A vein in his neck stood out.
“Yours, Derek. Only yours.”
With a thunderous growl, he took the ultimate claim of her. “God, I love you, Jada!”
With that, she came.
They lay beside one another, both spent and sweaty, holding hands. Jada could not believe how satisfied she was. Was it anyone’s right to feel that good?
A slight buzzing sounded from the nightstand by her bed. Derek reached over and looked at his cell phone. Placing it back down, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.