ALL ACCESS

Chapter 8

The tour started in Los Angeles, moved to San Francisco then onward to Washington, Detroit, and now Kalamazoo. Even after he promised me he'd stop, Chris was drinking and drugging still. He had apologized after the radio show for hurting me, swore he wouldn't lay a finger on me ever again. I believed and loved him. He wanted me to come on tour with him. He needed me. Derrick and Nick asked Jules and Lisa along. I agreed at the time, not because my friends were going, but because I believed him and in us.

He swore it would be like old times and he reminded me how it had been. I never forgot. The secret dinner dates, making love by the ocean, the little gifts, and flowers. He always had to buy the largest, most grandiose bouquet and it had to have lilies in it. Chris loved them - I hated them, they reminded me of funerals and death. The smell of them so pungent it made me want to upchuck. He had brought me some this morning, and said what he always said, 'pretty flowers for the most beautiful of them all'.

The memory made me smile. Chris was a charmer. Smooth as silk. He took the little girl in me and made me a woman. When he was happy his smile went to his eyes. He had a dimple on his right cheek. The way he held my hand – tight but loose – so that he could pull me to him and kiss me, just like they did in the old-time movies. I missed the old Chris. We had something special on the last tour, but this one...If Chris would get off the drugs it would be like old times.

I believed that. I had enough hope for the two of us.

Moving forward we just had to push the beatings into the past. What Chris did to me I kept secret, though I believe Jules suspected. She kept staring at my wrists and the bruises on them from where he had tied me up. Ignoring her pointed looks I covered them over with bangle bracelets and a large wristlet. I couldn't talk about it. If I did I would break. Jules would tell me to leave him, and I couldn't. Chris and I needed each other. He said I'm his muse, that he needed my stability. The drinking and drugging is all to numb the abuse of his childhood; I do it to blot out my pain and sadness.

God, I miss my family.

Daddy wouldn't like Chris, he'd have probably beat him within an inch of his life for being with his baby girl. I think Mom might've been my ally. She'd have understood the pain and fickle emotions of a young girl's heart. She'd been with me that first time and all the other nights after. When Chris rolled me over and used his whip on me I became numb both emotionally and physically. The scent of rose water saturated my senses, its fragrance, potent, amidst the stench of alcohol, sweat, and day old greasy take-out food. That's when my tears started. Chris didn't like tears. I tried to stop 'em from flowing but that scent, it tore me up more inside than Chris' beating. When I started nursing the bottle of Southern Comfort and waiting for Lord-knows-what-kind-of-pill-I-took to kick in, I swear I could hear a soft cry mingling in with my own.

I just needed the pain in my heart to stop.

I need to belong somewhere.

Chris was sprawled over the bed snoring, while I sat in the red chair tending to the large bruise that covered my stomach and ribs. The ice-filled towel smarted when I put it on, but it helped with the swelling. It wouldn't be long before the pill and booze kicked in then the pain would be gone. It had been the tears this time, he really hated the crying. I'd have to learn to squelch them.

When a loud rapping sounded on the door I almost jumped right on out of my skin. I ignored it, whoever it was would go away. The rapping became more insistent as well as harder against the door.

"Open up. This is the police."

Holy shit! My gaze fell to the prone body on the bed. I went over and shook Chris. He grabbed my hands but let them go when he heard the insistent banging.