Reggie's Girl Ch. 05

Chapter 5

Jasmine's stuff did arrive in a little under two hours, surprising her; she had fully expected it to arrive in the evening or the next day. An even bigger surprise was the attractive croak yelling her name from the back of the black SUV, unmistakably Bailey's voice.

"You've got so much explaining to do," the redhead lectured as she clambered out of the vehicle, bright pink carry-on in tow. "First, Reggie means nothing to you. Then here you are, playing lady of the manor at his house, looking like you've just finished having the most amazing-"

Bailey stopped mid-sentence and gaped at Jasmine's face. "Jasmine what the fuck!" she screeched, loud enough to make Tiny look back as he lugged their baggage towards the front door.

"Who did this?" she wanted to know, rushing to study the injury. "I'm gonna need a name, an address and a goddamn baseball bat!"

"Just a mugger, Bailey," Jasmine soothed, then went on before Bailey could interrupt, "It's the reason I'm here, Reggie found out about it and wanted to cheer me up."

"And did he?" A conspiratorial light immediately entered her friend's eyes.

"Can't you tell?" she remarked, busying herself with Bailey's feather earring.

"And did he...?"

Jasmine met her eyes and gave her a succinct nod. "Yeah." Her smile could not be held back though she tried. "Anyhoo, I'm more refugee than 'lady of the manor'. What about you, what are you doing here?"

"Reggie invited me. And by the way, here." Bailey stopped and enfolded her in a warm hug. Touched, Jasmine hugged her back but couldn't help asking, "Um, what's going on?"

Bailey stepped back and the pair made their way to the house arm-in-arm. "I'm sorry about the mugging thing. Reggie told me, when he came over, that you needed somebody to be there for you, although he didn't say you'd been attacked. You know, he really seems to take that seriously, making sure you're not alone."

Jasmine rolled her eyes. "I know," she groaned. "He's almost paranoid about it." To the point of having her followed, but seeing how the Krow episode turned out, she supposed she couldn't protest too much about that.

"Paranoiacs are notoriously selfish," Bailey mused. "I don't think that's the word for him, to be honest."

"Overprotective, then, possessive."

"Isolating you from your friends is the hallmark of the abusive man. Reggie, he insists that you be around people who care about you."

Jasmine struggled to answer this but didn't know what to say. She figured Bailey must have noticed her discomfort, and tactfully changed the subject.

"God, this place is awesome," she breathed, looking around the house's interior as they came in. "It's almost like being at my parents' house, back when they wanted me to have the best of everything."

"I'm sure they still want that," Jasmine replied, amused. "You've just got to earn it on your own now."

"I wonder how Reggie earned all this," Bailey muttered as she went to study the Shona sculpture.

"Blood, sweat and tears," Jasmine said, and knew that she wasn't lying. "If he's telling the truth, he's been working since he was nine, so it didn't happen overnight."

Bailey stared at her, jaw sagging. "Nine?"

Jasmine just shrugged in response because Tiny was now descending the stairs, and she suspected discussions about his employer were taboo.

"Do you believe him?" Bailey asked, wandering round the room to admire the myriad paintings on the walls.

"I see no reason to doubt him," she said for Tiny's benefit. But when the enormous man reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned and headed straight in her direction.

Jasmine watched his approach in horror but then he stopped and placed a freezing object to the side of her face. He waited until she held the icepack herself then turned and walked away. "Uhh, thanks Tiny," she called belatedly.

Her answer was the sound of the front door swinging shut.

"I think I need a man like that in my life," she heard Bailey sigh, and turned to give her a horrified look. "Like Tiny?"

"No, silly," Bailey laughed. "Like Reggie! The 'rents always said I could use focus and discipline; he must have it in spades with that work history. You think he'd mind becoming my mentor?"

"Yes," Jasmine exclaimed, with such passion that she startled Bailey. "Him, a mentor- it's like a bad joke! He'd probably be offended if you asked."

"You know, he seemed pretty chill the day I met him," Bailey pointed out. "And he thought he'd caught us playing- I dunno, niggers and crackers or something equally racist, remember? And he just sort of let it slide..."

"That doesn't mean anything," Jasmine insisted. "Look, just take my word for it: Reggie is not mentor material. Period!"

"Okay," Bailey murmured peaceably. "But just so you know? I wouldn't hook my claws into your man, Jasmine."

Stumped, Jasmine ended the conversation by suggesting they have a snoop around the house.

It was a fairly large house, far too big for one man. They counted four bedrooms, each clearly unoccupied. Bailey's things had been deposited in the guest room Jasmine had been allocated her first night here. This time, Jasmine's place was in the bedroom closest to the master, for that was where she found her bags.

Their stomachs were just beginning to rumble when the doorbell rang. Close upon it was Xavier's bellowing voice. "Ayo D! You and your friend come on down, lunch is here!"

It was indeed. Bailey tore into it with gusto, as did Xavier. But Jasmine savored her meal for so long, that the others wondered aloud if there was anything wrong with it.

"No," Jasmine stated softly. "It's... it's perfect."

It was the meal he'd ordered for her the night they had met, from the same Italian restaurant, given the name on the boxes. The same meal she'd recreated for him earlier in the week. Coincidence?

If it was deliberate on Reggie's part, then his reasoning escaped her. Was it a reference to their first meal together, and the events that had followed later? Or was it an oblique reminder that he still expected her to cook for him? It could even mean he was at that restaurant now, wining and dining someone else as he had herself.

The answer came, as immediate as it was unexpected, when her phone began to buzz. Jasmine pulled it out of her pocket, frowned at the strange number then answered.

"I was just thinking of you," came a honey-smooth baritone, and with it, a sudden tide of goosebumps. "Enjoying your lunch?"

"As much as I can enjoy chewy steak with this cheek," she said, surprise making her defensive.

"Chewy!" Reggie echoed as though the word made no sense.

"How'd you get my number?"

"Did you bite yourself?" he persisted, ignoring her question. "Never mind. Tell X to get you something else, whatever's more comfortable for you in your condition."

"I don't want to do that!" Jasmine scoffed. "Why should he interrupt his lunch because of your mistake?"

There was a long-suffering sigh on the other end. "And I suppose I'm the one who deserves to have his lunch interrupted?"

"It seems only fair."

"Well, what do you want me to bring you, then?" Reggie enquired, using the tone of one prepared to be patient.

Jasmine did not know what answer to give. She was not even sure how the conversation had arrived at this point, with Reggie coming back home.

"I'm not... really hungry," she said at last. "Never mind. I'll be fine."

There was a moment's pause as she heard Reggie excuse himself to whomever he was with before he got back to her. "What's going on with you?" he asked. "You sound a little upset now."

"I'm not upset," Jasmine denied, as she stood and wandered to the corner of the living room. "In fact, I'm very grateful to you. For all you're doing for Ted and me. I... literally don't know what would happen to either of us if it weren't for you."

Because once, she'd thought she had Reggie all figured out. She had clung stubbornly to the stories she'd heard about him, taking them seriously enough to repeat them to her mother.

But for all that, Reggie was here for her. Though it rankled terribly, her sense of fairness forced her to admit that the people closest to her were not as available to her as he was.

Ted felt too guilty to be around her. Her mother refused to have her blissful ignorance disturbed. And the nightmarish figure of neighborhood legend was even now offering to bring her something softer to eat.

"God, it's like the world is ending," Jasmine muttered with a humorless laugh.

"Hey, keep that chin up," Reggie exhorted. "This shit with Krow? Don't even trip, it ain't nothin' but a little thing. We'll get through this, ya heard?"

She had to smile. She loved how he did that, speaking the Queen's English one second, then lapsing seamlessly into Ebonics the next.

"Yes, sir," she murmured.

Jasmine heard his husky laughter and almost sighed. "I love it when you call me 'sir'," Reggie purred. He wasn't lying, his pleasure practically dripped off the radio waves.

"I can do a lot of things you love," she quipped, shocking herself.

"Oh, word?" he chuckled. "So you just teasing me, or are you making me an offer?"

"What if I was?" Jasmine asked, her curiosity at fever pitch. "Would you drop what you're doing and come home immediately?"

"...I would."

She likewise paused before answering. "Then you should. 'Cause I am."

* * *

Two hours later, Jasmine was recovering against Reggie's long body, her head rested upon his sweat-misted chest. His heart thundered away underneath her ear in a way that made her smile with womanly pride at being able to do that to him.

"Don't you dare fall asleep," he growled as he stroked her tousled hair.

"I'm not tired," Jasmine assured him softly as she stretched a little against him. "But Bailey and Xavier have been gone two hours. They're almost back with my oatmeal."

"Your point being?"

"That we're naked, on the living room carpet."

"And whose fault is it we didn't make it to the bed?"

"How will that matter when they walk in on us both?"

"I thought you were looking forward to that."

"I was not," Jasmine denied, shocked. She started up on her elbow and looked down at him, one eyebrow raised. "Are you?"

His appreciative gaze locked on her bare breasts and his chest rose and fell in a deep breath. "You keep poking out those titties at me and it really won't matter. Hey, wait, hold up... don't run off just yet."

Reggie caught her wrist and pulled her down beside him again. "You're supposed to be doing what I love," he reminded her, cupping her breast.

"Reggie, please!"

Her breath caught in her throat as he gave her nipple a warning pinch. "Within reason! There is nothing reasonable about letting..."

Her words evaporated when he bent and took her nipple in his mouth and started suckling deeply. She cradled his head in shaky hands, her head falling back in sheer intoxication for a moment before she drew his mouth away.

"Alright, I'll let you go," Reggie promised, his voice a little thick. "But first tell me this: how come you live in the projects? Judging by her furniture alone, your mother earns a decent living. Why not let her help you out?"

"She can't," Jasmine replied in an unsteady voice. "All that Sheraton came from some plastic surgeon's wife, the carpet belonged to some celebrity attorney's wife, and maybe the chinaware as well. They're... friends of hers, they give her their old stuff a lot."

"Well, she can afford a place in Manhattan, why-"

"She sells cosmetics that she makes herself in the kitchen, she can barely afford anything," Jasmine interrupted with a touch of impatience. "And do you know how much the rent is there? Four grand a month for that shoebox, so even though the clientele for her cosmetics is mostly her upper-crust buds, she still has to sell off some of their gifts sometimes. And sometimes even that isn't enough, and she'll ask for my help."

"Why? Where's your father?"

"Who?"

"You're telling me you live in the 'jects so you'll be able to afford your mother's lifestyle?" Reggie asked softly, keeping a close eye on her reaction.

"I live within my means," Jasmine answered, her voice hard. "And my mother's lifestyle might've been plenty different if she hadn't decided to have me. It was pretty tough for single mothers back in the day, she missed a lot of opportunities because of me."

"Jasmine, you live in one of the most dangerous blocks in New York. At this point, it looks less like you're thanking your mother for choosing to have you, and more like you're trying to reverse that choice."

"I don't have some kind of death wish," she stated in growing anger.

"Maybe not a conscious one," Reggie returned. "But let's not pretend you're just the sweet, normal girl next door either. Those scars on your thighs? We both know you gave them to yourself."

Anger turned into cold dread in the pit of Jasmine's stomach. "What are you talking about?" she whispered, her eyes wide.

"Those aren't stretch marks," he replied coldly. "They're cut marks. Mama Wells know her little girl's carving herself up? I oughta go back there, right now, and tell her you're a cutter, bring her the hell back down to earth!"

And just like that, she was engulfed in a despair so black that she was certain she would never again know happiness. It felt like the end of her. Had she not known from the start that Reggie was dangerous? She'd been right - he had just annihilated her in the space of a sentence.

And because the conversation had been murdered right along with her, Jasmine snatched away her wrist, got up and stalked off, leaving him lying amid their discarded clothing.

"Jasmine-"

"Go to hell!" she yelled over her shoulder, hardly aware of what she was saying.

"Jasmine!"

She kept walking then did what she should have done at their first meeting. She ran. Up the stairs, into her room, slamming the door shut. With her back against the thick wood, she tried her best to take deep, calming breaths but she felt like her lungs were collapsing.

She wanted to rage, to scream at the top of her lungs, to cry, anything to relieve the asphyxiating emotions roiling inside her. But she could not. Shame, like an iron corset, bound them firmly to her breast. She opened her mouth, but the only sound that came out was her desperate hyperventilation.

In the darkness gathering around her, she discerned the floor rising up with startling rapidity but she was unconscious before it hit and she never felt the impact.

The next time Jasmine opened her eyes, it was night. There was a certain stillness in the bedroom that suggested the hour was very late. The silence was complete save for the occasional riffle of papers close by.

The bedside lamp was on and beside her sat Reggie, his lap covered in numerous documents. He was holding one in his hand, scrutinizing it with a slight frown through his reading glasses.

She shifted slightly and at once his attention was on her. "Jasmine," he breathed, a heavy note of relief in his voice. He reached out and stroked back her hair from her face. "How you feeling, love, talk to me."

"Groggy," she croaked. Her throat felt like she hadn't spoken in years.

"That'll be the sedatives the doctor gave you. You'll be fine."

"You called a doctor?"

The hand stroking her hair stilled and Reggie gave her an odd look. "Why wouldn't I?" he asked softly.

Jasmine did not know how to answer so she just shrugged. "Well, thank you."

"For what?" Reggie grunted in self-derision. "If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't have had to be called in the first place. And he had some choice words for me for upsetting you in your condition."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Did he?"

"Oh yeah," he sighed as he withdrew his hand and took off his glasses. "He gave me a lot of info on why you might, uh, cut and... I didn't realize that you carry around so much shame because of this. Apparently, it's your worst nightmare that people will find out, so when I threatened to tell your mother like I did, it damn near destroyed you."

"To put it lightly," Jasmine muttered.

"Jasmine, I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am," Reggie said seriously. "Instead of keeping my goddamn mouth shut about something I don't understand, I-"

"It's fine," she cut in. She honestly didn't expect him, or anyone else for that matter, to understand her craziness.

"Does anyone else know? Even Ted?" he asked.

Jasmine shook her head and felt a pang of deep regret. She had been especially careful to keep it from Ted, which, given how close the years had made them, had begun to create a certain awkwardness between them.

For instance, Ted loved to tickle her, but there always came that moment when her giggles ceased and his hands stilled and lingered on her waist. They'd stare at each other while a lovely warm feeling arose between them, but then she'd remember what she was - damaged, defective, mad - and inevitably draw back.

It was sad to remember all the times she'd done it. Like the time she'd passed out on his chest while watching a movie late one night on his couch. Jasmine had woken up to find him gently kissing the tip of her nose and had smiled up at him; then she'd pretended to go back to sleep when his arm tightened around her shoulder.

And sometimes, she'd just plain acted weird. Like when Ted's high school crush, Letitia, had given him an autographed Jean Grae CD and thus earned his uproarious gratitude. Out of the blue, Jasmine had let fly with a catty remark, almost bringing his humble birthday party to a standstill. She still cringed to remember the stunned look on Ted's face.

"Hey," Reggie whispered, rubbing away the frown between her eyes with his thumb. "Don't stress, I won't tell anybody anything. It's your choice to make, I'm not trying to take it from you."

Jasmine sighed and rolled onto her side to face him. "Thank you."

He picked up one white hand and carried it to his lips. "You know you're always welcome," he murmured, his breath warm over her knuckles.

Their eyes met for a second then he released her hand and started gathering his papers. He dumped them on the bedside table in an untidy sheaf, his glasses on top, then turned and reached for her.

Jasmine danced away from him, well aware that they were both naked beneath the sheets, and he laughed. "Jasmine, come on, don't play hard to get now," he coaxed. "It's late, and after staying up doing my taxes, all I wanna do right now is hold my baby. Tell her everything's gonna be alright and whatnot."

"I don't need your pity," she informed him with a haughty lift of her nose and he nodded.

"Of course not," Reggie concurred gravely, "but I'm not ashamed to say I need yours. You got any idea how much you scared me back there? I drank all the whiskey in the house just to get my hands to stop shaking! Baby, please, if you've got any mercy, come here, let me hold you, or I'm gonna have to open up the brandy too."

Jasmine rolled her eyes but snuggled closer all the same. "Don't drown your sorrows, I'm here."

Reggie drew her closer to him and placed her head on his shoulder. They might have lain in contented silence, but then he spoke.

"Why do you do it?" he asked quietly.

Jasmine frowned as she watched his fingers lace through hers. "It's..."

She searched for a pithy explanation to get it over with. "If you were buried alive, you'd try to claw your way out, right? Sometimes, I feel this numbness, it feels like being trapped in an emotional coffin, so... I guess I'm just trying to scratch my way out with a razorblade."

"Jesus," Reggie hissed. "And you actually-"

"Reggie, could we please not do this?" she pleaded. "I just can't have this conversation right now."

"Okay," he agreed with some difficulty, "but you've got to talk to someone at some point. We'll find you a therapist, alright? I want you to get better, the cost will be my burden."