Valentine's Day

Stone

I snatch my hand out of Love’s for the umpteenth time, as she walks through this godforsaken mall.

It’s red and pink everywhere, like thousands of people have been disemboweled, and their entrails were left for all to see.

But no. It’s just a commercial holiday meant to exploit people who are starved for attention and validation.

And we’re right in the thick of it, because somehow, some way, Love has manipulated a nigga to fall in love with her.

“Why don’t you wanna hold my hand?” she pouts.

I stare down at my older sister as we walk toward the custom shoes store in the middle of the ground floor. Something is different about her, besides her version of love. I can’t put my finger on it.

“Your hands get sweaty.”

“So!” She stops right before we get to the store and folds her arms.

My eyes go to her neck. Usually, she’ll wear a multitude of chains to cover her scars. But now, it’s only the dainty Chanel one her nigga got her. You can still see her scars, plain as day. It garners stares, but they don’t bother her nearly as much as they bother me.

I guess it’s a side effect of being unconditionally loved in a romantic way. Not caring what others think.

“Hey. What’s up?” she asks, covering her neck with her hand to get my attention.

“Nothing,” I grumble. “All this shit makes my ass itch.”

Love narrows her eyes before turning back around. “I can see why you feel that way, but aren’t you getting someone a gift this year?”

We head into the custom shoe store and go straight to the back. Love and her new expanding family are taking pictures ahead of her spring wedding, and part of his Valentine’s Day gift are matching shoes.

The nigga at the counter lights up when he sees Love. Typical. My sister has always had that effect on men; she’s as terrifying as she is attractive.

Only when I stop next to her does he notice me, and I smirk when his eyes balloon.

Pussy nigga. I’d kill him with one punch.

“I have your order right here, YT.” He tries to hand her two bags of shoeboxes, but I snatch them from him.

“Nigga you see me standing here, why the fuck would you hand her the bags.” Niggas don’t have no fuckin’ manners.

Got all the feelings in the world, and no manners.

He’s shaking like a stripper now, and I flinch at him for good measure before we leave.

As soon as we’re back in the mall, Love slaps the back of her hand on my stomach. “If you’re going to be on the mainland, you can’t be doing all that, Stone. It’s not like you’re just never gonna see these people again.”

“It’s a million people in this fuckin’ city, and I’ve been just fine picking niggas off,” I say as we make our way back to the car. Crowds make her antsy, too.

“Besides, that nigga was handing you shit like it’s not a man standing next to you. Pops would have shot him right there.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, wrapping her clammy ass hands around my arm again. “I know.”

I let her make it. I shouldn’t have brought him up, but my point still stands.

This new soft Love is weird. I don’t understand it, and I’m tired of saying or not saying shit to not set her off. She never used to be so… emotional. We’d jab each other, verbally and physically, all day, every day.

But now I find myself biting my tongue, and it’s pissing me off. But I do it, like I do it for my little cousin Sabrina. She’s emotional like this, too.

Love digs her fingernails into my skin, and I know she’s out of her funk about Pops.

“You never answered. Are you getting Blanche a Valentine’s Day gift?”

I clench my teeth and focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

I also count to a thousand, visualizing the numbers in my head to maintain a steady heartbeat.

When I get to two hundred fifty-nine, we’re at my truck. I open Love’s door and place the bags in the backseat.

She’s looking at me expectantly when I get inside and turn on the ignition.

“If I ask you nicely, will you drop it?”

A sinister smile spreads on Love’s face as she shakes her head.

Briefly, I think about ramming the truck into one of the concrete columns in the parking garage, but I change my mind at the last second, correcting the steering wheel.

She doesn’t even flinch.

“No, Love. I wasn’t getting Blanche a Valentine’s Day gift.”

She gasps, clutching her imaginary pearls.

“Stone! You’ve been stalking her for months. You should get her something.”

I should, but I won’t.

But since I know Love won’t drop this, since she’s championing for all of us to find love, or our version of it, since she has, I once again oblige her and continue the conversation.

“What should I get her?”

Love grins as she toes off her heels and folds her legs into the seat. “You could stay simple, with flowers and chocolates. Or something grand and expensive, like jewelry. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, Stone.” She winks at me and flutters her fingers at her choker, showing off the engagement ring her nigga gave her for his birthday.

I’d kill myself if Blanche had me open like that.

“Flowers die. Chocolate is nasty. And I’ve never even seen Blanche wear jewelry, besides a ring on a gold chain around her neck.”

“Well,” she huffs, folding her arms, “you know her better than me. Get her something thoughtful and personal that she’ll like.”

Love’s irritated with me, so she turns up the music to an insane level, before turning it back down, letting me know she’s done with the conversation.

So I swerve over to the sidewalk and narrowly miss the bus stop bench in retaliation.

“I HATE YOU!” she screams, trying to claw me with her sharp nails.

My lips quirk as I easily dodge her hands by elbowing her.

---

It’s a little after two in the morning when I enter Blanche’s apartment. After I broke her last door, I replaced it, making my own code so I wouldn’t have to break it again.

See? I’m trying.

For what, I don’t know.

It’s quiet. Dark. From the moonlight, I can see clutter all around her living room. She’s not feeling good, if her space is this dirty.

Still, I make my way to her bedroom.

Her tv’s on. She’s sitting on top of rumpled sheets, the lights of the television making her ethereal.

When I enter, her head turns toward me. Light blonde coils are haphazardly pulled out of her face, though some still frame it. Blanche sleeps naked, so her top half is bare, with black silk sheets pooling at her waist.

I take off my shirt and throw it to her. While she puts it on, I take off my boots, and amble over to her bed.

“Pants, too.”

I growl, but I do what she says. Once they’re off, I fold my pants, taking my phone out of them and throwing that to her as well.

“Go to the last photo.”

She unlocks my phone as I climb into the bed. I sit up straight, my head going past her headboard, and watch her.

Blanche goes straight to the photos. Once upon a time, she would have perused my phone, but not now.

She opens my photo album and clicks on the last photo. It’s a vat of sulfuric acid, set in the middle of the hidden room in her business’s building, with a red bow on the side.

“What’s this?” she asks, her eyes darting to me.

I clear my throat. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Her eyes lower. That’s the only change in her expression. Her lips are still pursed, pouty and full.

Long fingers still curved over my phone as we hold each other’s gaze.

My heart is beating too fast. I should have stuck with my first mind. We aren’t like them. We don’t celebrate bullshit holidays like Valentine’s Day. We don’t need to.

Blanche doesn’t need me to spend copious amounts of money to prove how I’m coming behind her. But it did strike a chord with me, what Love said about getting something thoughtful.

With what Blanche does, she’ll always be in need of sulfuric acid. And I know her original supplier is acting up.

On account of coming onto her. He’s currently stinking up the shallow grave I dug for him by my cabin.

“I found another supplier for you, too. Their information is on your desk.”

The phone screen has gone dark from inactivity.

The power saver on the tv has turned on, as well.

Still, Blanche just stares.

Until she stands up. My shirt goes all the way to the middle of her thighs, and now’s the only time I wish I wasn’t so large.

Blanche grabs a black box from up under some clothes on the floor, and climbs back onto the bed.

I take the box from her, but she doesn’t sit back down next to me. She straddles me, and my dick bricks at feeling her heat right on top of my boxers.

Still, I open the box.

It’s gloves.

Leather gloves.

Blanche grabs my phone and turns on the flashlight.

Her other hand flips the wrist of one of the gloves.

S.Y. embossed right there.

“They won’t leave an impression,” her sultry voice mutters, fingering the gloves. “You can wear them, and do anything, and they’ll never leave an impression, or residue. No fingerprints, or odors. And the leather has been especially treated to wash out blood with warm water.”

I slide them on, and they’re a perfect fit.

My eyes dart to hers, and I feel her slit moisten and clench.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispers. Her fingers slip under my boxers and she pulls out my erection.

She gasps as she lines herself up and impales herself on me.

It’s the first time we’ve ever done anything like this.

I curl my toes as I feel her pulsate. I’ve never fucked unprotected before, because I don’t want kids.

But I see why people do it.

She sits all the way down onto me until her ass is flush with my pelvis. Her hands rest on my chest.

She whimpers as she starts to move.

I rest my hands on her hips, before dipping them underneath my shirt to palm her breasts. Her nipples cut into my gloved palms, and her body shudders when I squeeze her tits before fingering her peaks.

“Stone,” she breathes, upping her pace.

“Chase it. I got you.”

Her fingers dig into my pecs as she leans over.

I stick my tongue into her open mouth, and she latches onto it with her lips.

She’s leaking all over me. I feel it coating my balls, pooling onto her sheets. By how her pussy is pulsing, I know her orgasm is big.

She hasn’t had sex since I met her. Months before then.

Neither have I.

I wanna savor it. My body is rigid from holding myself back.

I’ve never wanted to ruin another human being as much as I want to ruin her.

But once I do, that’s it, and surprisingly, that keeps me in check.

Most days.

I take off the gloves so that I can feel her skin on mine. My hands wrap around her throat, and I squeeze, just a little.

Her hands cuff my wrists, as she begins chasing one last nut.

It’s too much, too soon.

My restraint breaks.

I begin to fuck up into her.

She moans my name, which only makes me go harder.

I lean in, crashing my lips to hers as we fuck like animals. Teeth clashing. Gnawing. Her eyes roll to the back of her head as I cut off her airway.

My own orgasm builds, until I can’t hold back any longer.

My hands come down to her hips as I thrust as hard as I can.

She gasps for air on a broken sob.

My fingers dig into her curves as I keep her still, my dick shooting hot ropes of cum into its new favorite place.

My orgasm sets off one final one for her, and her spine shudders before she leans into my chest, her head resting on my shoulder.

We’re breathing each other’s air. My dick softens inside of her, and I drag my fingertips up her back, making random drawings, reveling in the goosebumps appearing under them.

I outline the birch tree tattooed on her spine. I understand her loyalty to her gang. I feel the same way about my family. But I still don’t like it.

I want Blanche to only to be loyal to me.

I want to be her gang. Her religion. Her reason. But I don’t tell her that. I don’t give her a reason to reject me. Because then the game will be over, and I’d have to do what I wanted to do since I first saw her.

It’s subtle, her stiffening. But I still feel it.

She leans back, her pale eyes regarding me. Her nystagmus keeps her eyes shifting, never staying stagnant.

Just like their owner.

She rolls off of me, hissing under her breath when I slip out of her.

Pulling my shirt off her, she wipes herself before wiping me.

When she pulls away, I grab her wrist.

I don’t ask it aloud, and she doesn’t answer the questions in my eyes. She just gently twists out of my hold, and saunters off to the restroom.

Blanche takes long showers. At least an hour.

When I hear the spray turn on, I dress, including my shirt, now stained with the evidence of us, and my new gloves. I make sure to be quiet when I lock up behind me.

---

“You came in late. Where were you?”

“Love, leave him be.”

Love’s nigga, Reem, has a pep in his step the morning after Valentine’s Day. There’s scratches all over his neck and shoulders, and Love is sporting a bite mark on her hand.

My youngest brother Genesis has been eyeing them all morning.

After their wedding next month, they’re moving into the house Reem is remodeling. Genesis is trying to convince her to let him live with either me or my brothers, but she’s not having it.

Love cuts her eyes to her nigga. “I need to know where my brothers are at all times, Reemie. Stone likes to turn off his location.”

I swallow the eggs and bacon and wash it down with orange juice. I may still wanna body Love’s nigga, but at least she got with someone who can cook.

“I was with Blanche.”

Love gasps before clapping. “What you get her? I knew you’d get her something! Flowers? A bracelet?” She flutters her lashes, as the whole table–Genesis, Reem, his daughter Angel, and my older brother Prince stop and wait for my reply.

I cut a piece of French toast. “I got her a new connect on sulfuric acid, and an advance order,” I say, before placing the piece in my mouth.

Love scowls, baring her teeth. Prince and Reem snort.

“What’s sulfuric acid?” Gen asks, but Prince mumbles something, probably promising to tell him later.

“Stone,” Love scolds in a tight voice, “that’s not an appropriate gift.”

I just shrug.

Like she said, I know Blanche best.

I think I did pretty good.