souls of black | fever in, fever out

chapter 155: handful of rain

It had been a few days since Greg had helped Sam into the elevator and then he stayed with her in her apartment for a time before he left himself. There wasn't much that she could do outside of taking the elevator and short walks through the snow drifts so the scar tissue in her body could heal up better with time. Time and movement.
In the meantime, she was able to find herself a record player in a nearby music store and put Testament's demo on; she put on the headphones for a listen herself. Indeed, Eric and Greg both employed much heavier and grittier guitar and bass riffs. Chuck began using a more ferocious, animalistic growl for vocals. Louie's clean, machine gun-like drumming was gone, and in his place, muttering busting sludgy beats that felt like underground explosions. And of course, there was the absence of Alex. His melodies and power and intellect had gone away in lieu of straight shredding. It was a good album, and nothing like Anthrax or Metallica in that Chuck and Eric still had plenty of soul to go about, especially if Eric's willingness to be drawn was anything to go by. And yet, much like how Anthrax didn't feel the same without Joey, she missed that special feeling there with them.
The lack of something special. The lack of something powerful.
James Murphy and John Bush filling in some rather large shoes right within her mind.
She gave Aurora a call that following weekend, and she caught the answering machine. Even after the accident, she still had to find her way to Aurora, the one who started it all with her there in New York.
In the meantime, she turned inward, to the scar tissue that surrounded her body and the bones which shattered in her wake. She pictured the pain on her knee in the form of a lotus flower: some day, she would be able to twist her legs around into the lotus position and she would be able to do it without an ounce of pain.
Sam reclined back on her couch with her injured leg propped upon a pillow and her drawing pad. With the pencil in her good hand, she sketched out the edges of the petals. She pictured her knee underneath the flower, wounded and held together with something that didn't even belong inside of her body.
She knew that she would have to go under the knife again for another round to get those screws out. In the meantime, all she had was a bit of relaxing and walking about with the cane in hand.
In her late twenties and on house arrest. At least she could walk around and find her way to the market up the street in the meantime.
And yet, she still thought about Alex. She thought about Joey, too, but she mostly thought about Alex. He was still rather terse with her as well, and she wondered what she could do for him when the time came. If only she could prove to him that she meant what she said, especially when she kept things confidential and tried and true.
But she could help it when she got up again for a glass of water and a snack. She kept picturing him there on the couch with her, stripped down to his underwear for her and with a vase of oleanders nestled in between his legs. She pictured him on the floor with a bright red rose rested upon his chest. His lanky little body wrapped up in rich lush crushed velvet to accentuate everything. His jet-black curls fanned out from the back of his head and that sliver of gray spread up from his forehead.
Sam tilted her head back and closed her eyes. She lay her pencil down on the top of the paper, which she kept atop her thigh. She wished he was right there right next to her with tendrils of that black hair spread over the side of his face and the side of his neck. His collar popped open to show off his chest and his collar bones. Those fine bones, fine and hard and ready for her lips.
Alex lay there on the floor with his guitar right next to him, ready for her. His smooth cherry lips, smooth and sleek with the taste of sugar ready for her. His smooth porcelain skin ready for the kisses on her part.
She had to seduce him somehow, get him back to her.
"Come to mama, baby..." she whispered aloud. She had to get those words out of him. Get him out to mama. Get him back to her. She unbuttoned her jeans and she reached down inside of there; her skin there was warm.
Not the first time she had touched herself, but the first time she had touched herself in a long time nonetheless. Not the first time she had touched herself in between the legs dry.
Dry as a bone. Dry as those collar bones. Dry as another bone. Her hospital bills had left her dry, but not dry enough to not pay her rent for the next month. They also left her dry between the fingers as well.
Alex rolled over onto his side and his hips rose up a little bit from the surface of the floor. Even with his slender, elegant body, he had a beautiful curve around his hips and his rear end. The waist of his unbuttoned jeans rode down around his hips. Slim and stunning, and slightly full in the middle of his body; his thighs sinewy and sleek; his legs with such a beautiful, sensual shape. Sam nibbled on her bottom lip and she let her fingers creep near the rim.
The feeling of arousal was there but it ached inside of her pelvic region. She persisted and she ran her tongue along her bottom lip. Scar tissue there but she kept moving forth. She wanted him. She wanted him for herself.
He rolled over onto the backs of his thighs and he showed her some more skin on his waist. Smooth and delicate, and complete with that line of hair underneath his belly button. Showing more and more of that smooth skin without shedding that shirt or those jeans as well. He was perfect and gorgeous, in all of his beauty.
She thought about the time she made out with him in the back room of the studio back in San Francisco. Twirled in between the waves of the feeling of alcohol and the feeling of their presences with each other. She wished to feel him again, actually feel him next to her.
The fact he lay down on her hospital bed next to her and awaited her to wake up.
Sam nibbled on her bottom lip. Her fingers slithered over her lips and she pictured him right there before her. His body intertwined with hers.
Scar tissue still there but she kept on moving forward. It was all at her fingertips. It was all within her lips. All within her hand. All within the palm of her hand.
She was getting too old for this and she was sure of it. But she wanted to feel it more and more until she couldn't anymore.
He lifted himself up onto his elbow, right there down on the floor, and he gazed up at her. His hair stayed tousled on the back of his head and along the edge of his shoulder. His deep-set eyes burned back at her like a pair of cherries on the ends of cigarettes. His lips pouted a bit enough as if to beckon more than a kiss from her. He showed her the tip of his tongue and he bowed his head a bit as if to seduce her for the hottest sex she had ever experienced in her life.
He slithered his legs forth and gestured for her to come closer to him.
Come closer. Come.
She gasped at the feeling of her fingers between her lips. She opened her eyes and she gazed up at the ceiling overhead. The last thing she saw before the fantasy fizzled out was Alex showing her his pouted lips once more, complete with his eyes closed.
A knock on the door caught her off guard. Sam took her hand out of her pants and she extended her other leg out towards the top of the couch arm.
"It's open," she called out; she had lived in New York long enough to wonder if she was beginning to develop an accent. It was hard to tell, especially since she had no way of knowing for sure. Belinda poked her blonde head in and showed her a grin.
"Hey," she greeted her in a light whisper.
"Hey, Bel!" Sam replied. She couldn't sit upright all the way and with a bit of effort as well. Belinda bowed into the room with her hands outstretched for her. Sam's back ached and the scar tissue on her ribs and in her pelvic bone throbbed in agony, and her head spun around. But she sat up anyway.
"My whole entire body hurts like hell," she confessed to Belinda. "It especially hurts in my hipbones."
"Well, look at it like this—we've got our very own Frida Kahlo with us," Belinda assured her. "Horribly injured in a traffic accident and survived and then you came back with the artistry."
"I hope so, anyway," Sam told her with a rub of her uninjured knee and then the top of her thigh. Belinda showed her a bottle of brandy and Sam wondered if that was the same bottle that Marla had before when Alex last visited her. Sam peered off to the side and she hesitated for a second.
"What's the matter?" Belinda asked her.
"What's the date today?"
"The eighteenth." Belinda poured her a glass full of brandy as well as one for herself. Sam took the glass and brought it closer to her chest.
"I'm twenty-nine in a couple of days," she announced with a raise of her glass.
"Twenty-nine and proud to be alive, I would assume?" Belinda said.
"Yes, actually."
They clinked glasses together and drank down the brandy in unison.
"Before the accident," Belinda started, "I'm sure you know that Mar offered to take you and me both to Coney Island."
"Oh, yeah. That was—one of the first things I remembered when I woke up, actually."
"Well, Lars called us a couple of days ago and he offered to take us all with him there as well."
"When?"
"He told us that it's a ways off—like the middle of May or something. Before the Memorial Day crowds come in and take everything from us."
"I'll take it," Sam replied. They took another sip of brandy in unison and then Belinda nodded her head.
"Hard to believe you guys moved," Sam confessed.
"It was what we had to do," Belinda told her.
"You know I would've been more than happy to help you both, too."
"Oh, absolutely! We actually had Zelda come help us move and she was like, 'god, I wish Sam was here right now.' Because we picked out a nice apartment in a neighborhood of Scarsdale filled with other artists, believe it or not. It's a lot like here, except it's a bit more 'down home', I want to call it. It's nothing like here in the city."
"So you really think I'm your very own Frida Kahlo?" Sam asked her.
"You should totally go all Frida, Sam," Belinda encouraged her. "With the state that you're in and the fact that we're all getting older, you might as well."
A loud ringing noise caught the attention of the both of them, and Belinda turned to her handbag.
"What was that?" Sam asked her, and Belinda took out a big black brick shaped phone. She took out the antenna with the tips of her fingers and pressed a button.
"Hello?" she answered. "Oh, hey, Mar! Yeah, I just got here." Her face then turned serious. "What? No! You're kidding!"
Sam gaped at her.
"Yeah, okay," Belinda replied. "Okay, I'll be right there." She pressed another button on the keypad and put the antenna back.
"What happened?" Sam demanded.
"Marla just had to take Genie to the vet. She doesn't know what's wrong with her."
"Oh, no." Sam shook her head at that.
"She had her for such a long time," Belinda said in a soft voice; she then picked up the brandy glass and downed the rest of it in one fell swoop.
"Yeah, I remember when we found her," Sam recalled. "She and Charlie were still living together." Belinda put the cap back on the bottle's mouth and tucked it under her arm.
"Want me to come with you?" Sam offered her, and she shuddered at the thought of Belinda driving up to Scarsdale alone after she had a full glass of fermented wine.
"Nah, but I know who to call, though." She took out the brick again and dialed a number, and then she brought it up to her ear once more. "Frankie! Hi, yeah, it's Belinda. What're you doing right now?" Silence, except for Sam sipping on her brandy some more. The smoothness of the alcohol warmed her from the inside, all around the achy feeling of the scar tissue. "Okay, well—listen. Marla just had to take Genie to the vet and I had a glass of brandy so I need a ride." More silence. "Okay! Yeah, I'm at Sam's apartment complex." Another pause. "Okay, I'll see you then. And I'll give her a hug for you, too."
"Hi, Frankie!" Sam called out.
"She says 'hi', too," Belinda chuckled. "Okay, I'll see you soon. Buh-bye." She put the antenna back and then she leaned forward with her arms open for her. "Oh, yeah, you're tender." She held back and gazed down at Sam's face. "Go and be Miss Kahlo for a while. At least until you're able to walk comfortably." Without another word, she left the room and headed back out to the hallway, and Sam was once again alone with her thoughts.
But she took it to heart. She kept her legs outstretched on the couch to keep the blood flowing and she spent her twenty-ninth birthday alone with her drawing pad as well as a pot of hot soup against the incoming blizzard.
She soon found out that Genie had a bit of a stroke and went blind in her right eye, but that meant Marla had to take extra care of her after their days at the glass shop.
The days became longer as Sam made more art to relish in her pain and her less than active body, although the nurses told her to stay active and move around as much as she could to keep the blood flowing. Scars were forever but she could move about and through the pain. But even with the amount of movement and the inability to stay in one spot for very long, she soon found that her old jeans didn't quite button up all the way on her waist. Indeed, she could feel herself having grown a bit softer and fuller there and she had no idea if it was the lack of good exercise or more scar tissue coming in around her hips.
She still flashed back on when she had gained a little weight and she wished for Cliff's hand on her. That time around, however, the last thing she wanted was someone to touch her, not with the stubborn, persistent soreness in her back, her ribs, her hips, and her left leg. Nothing time wouldn't heal, especially when she finally went back to the hospital for surgery in the middle of March: no more screws in her knee so it could better heal on its own. That, however, meant she had to keep on walking around with a cane.
Belinda was kind enough to carve her a cane handle out of a nice thick strip of teakwood and paint it red and black for her, and then she tied a yellow tulip and a hot pink five petaled flower that reminded her of an oleander at the base of the handle. Paired with her hat and her black jacket, she looked as though she could cast a spell on the next person who dared say anything bad about her nude drawing of Cliff. At least that was according to Scarlett.
And over the span of a whole month, Sam's face had grown a bit rounder and smoother, like that of the full moon at night and her body a bit more on the shapely side. Scars were forever and they added to her hips and thighs, especially when she took a good long look at them in the mirror. She hadn't seen any of the boys since Greg left her apartment after they checked her out of the hospital: she hoped they would at least recognize her when she was able to see them again. That is, if she saw any of them again.
Indeed, come the middle of May and everything in New York had returned to full bloom, Lars showed up at her apartment complex with a full scraggly beard and his hair streamed behind his head, he almost gasped when he saw Sam in that black hat and one of her old black blouses, now extra snug on her body. The pain still lingered in her body but at least at that point, she was able to move about like a regular passerby.
"Oh, my," he declared.
"Get your grievance out, Lars," she told him with a shake of her head; she took a glimpse down at her full hips and her waist, now officially round as it poked out over the band of her jeans. "I know, I gained almost fifty pounds in the last six months. I need new bras and my underwear's cutting off my circulation—I just a whole new wardrobe. I'm a fat pig of a woman now. I've got this big potbelly and everything is overly soft now. I don't even know how to explain it to my parents when I can see them again."
"No, no, Sam," Lars assured her with a wave of his hand, "—you—you look amazing."
"You think so?"
"You are, what they call 'voluptuous', my dear. Really. I think everybody on Coney Island is going to have their eye on you. All full-figured and healthy. You look like you've recovered. You've made a full recovery and now you're beautifully plump and healthy. How are you, by the way?"
"I'm still in pain, but it's not nearly as bad as it was." She locked the door and then tucked the key into her handbag: she could feel the double under her chin, a first for her.
"By the way, I should tell you," he began as they strode down the hallway together to the elevator, "that Joey is putting out a solo album soon."
"Aw, right on, Joey!" she remarked. "Something to show the world that you can in fact get it on your own."
"Hopefully, it can be something fresh and new in the wake of the alternative movement," Lars added. "It is good music, it's just—different."
"Hence the name," Sam pointed out.
"Exactly, right!"
They took the elevator downstairs and then he held the door for her. The late morning sun shone over the New York skyline, and she was greeted by an excited Zelda, a somber Marla and Belinda, and John Bush with that fedora on his head. The four of them awaited her before a big white van with big windows at the back and Sam flashed back on when she and Testament travelled over to Germany together. Another memory that felt like a lifetime ago.
"There she is," he declared once they came within earshot.
"Holy shit, Sam, you look fantastic!" Zelda declared.
"So do you, Zelda," she retorted back as she put on her sunglasses.
"I always thought you would look better with some weight, to be honest," John confessed. "I remember when I first met you, you were so thin."
"Bring out the corsets and the black lace," Marla joked, and he burst out laughing.
"So—it's gonna be just the five of us?" Sam asked them with a straight face.
"Actually, Sam," Belinda started. "Alex is going to meet us there. Alex, and... I think Charlie's gonna be there and Chuck and Tiffany and their little boy, too."
"Alex is gonna be there, though," Sam said, and she wondered how she would it go from there with him.
"The band that he's in—I guess they dedicated their lead single to you. Forget what it's called, though. Something—rain."
"'Handful of Rain'?" Marla filled in.
"I think that's it, yeah. But that's what I've heard, though." Belinda flashed her a wink and Sam could feel the warmth cross her face. She took to the front passenger seat next to John, while Marla, Belinda, and Zelda took to the back and Lars in the way back section. John peered into the mirror and then he put on his sunglasses as well. Within moments, he fired up the van and they proceeded the long ride over to Coney Island.
Sam thought back to when they all had first met and they drove down to L'Amour together. She hoped that Stormtroopers of Death would start something again. Something about being in the managerial position, and especially when she looked down at her new body.
The pieces were there before her: she just had to reassemble them again.
"So, with Cobain gone now—what's this mean now?" John wondered aloud at one point as they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge.
"Don't really know," Zelda confessed. "We were supposed to tour with them and L7 this summer, too. Our latest single didn't too well, either, which was a real downer for us..." Her voice trailed off, and if only Sam could tell her that the Cherry Suicides were acquainted with struggle. But then again, she didn't have to remind her of that.
They zipped down the spine of Long Island towards the expressway which in turn took them down to Brighton Beach and then Coney Island. At that point, the sun hung over their heads and Sam could feel the ravenous sensation of her new body within her.
John pulled into the parking lot and near the entrance, complete with the smell of French fries and spun sugar, she spotted that plume of gray over a crown of black hair paired with those mirrored sunglasses. Even with her cane, Sam climbed out first and she ambled over to him. She tugged down her shirt with her free hand and then adjusted the brim of her hat. He then peered over his sunglasses at her, stunned by the sight before him.
"Hi," she greeted him.
"Hi..." Alex breathed out, and he glanced down at her body. "You look—you look—" He could hardly speak.
"It's what I get for sitting on my ass for months on end," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Forty, fifty pounds, maybe more. I don't know..."
"No, no, it's—it's what you had to do." He showed her a little smirk. Lars said something behind her and then Zelda burst out laughing. Sam turned around and the two of them were dancing under one of those big beach umbrellas with leis around their necks, while John and Marla were already buying themselves drinks.
Sam then returned to Alex, who took off his mirrored sunglasses and locked eyes with her for a moment.
"Yeah, you look—you look really good," he told her. For a second, she swore that he winked at her.
"So do you," she told him in a low voice.
"We're both gonna be here a while," he assured her.