Page 129 of Rev

Story I never told her—the best place I lived, a middle-aged couple name Jim and Helen. Good people. Suburban white folks. Had paintings of Jesus on their walls. Said grace every meal. Gave me my own room. Never hit me. I thought I’d hit the jackpot. Startedlikingthem. Talking to them.

Came home one day after two months, their shit was packed. All of it. Truck full of couches and shit. My shit in a bag. Helen wouldn’t look at me. Jim was gone. Social worker said they got transferred last minute, had to leave right away.

Last time I trusted. Last time Ihoped. Broke my fucking heart, getting into the social worker’s old Malibu, driving away from the only foster home I ever fucking liked.

Seeing Myka’s shit all packed up—shoes in a bag, ready to zip, clothes piled into another bag, makeup and brushes and bras and all of her shit all hastily crammed into bags—it hits me. Like a bullet straight to the fucking heart.

She’s leaving.

She’s fucking leaving.

17Mine; Yours

Myka

He looks past me without a word, and he changes. His eyes fill with rage, and then shut down. Cold. Hard. Flat. Back to like I met him—chunks of black stone.

“Rev?” I reach for him, but he backs away. “Rev, what?—I…what’s wrong, baby?”

“You too.”

I frown, totally lost. “Me too, what?” I follow him outside, touch his wrist, and he yanks it away, savagely.

“Don’t fuckin’touchme, bitch.” It’s snapped, snarled. A caged tiger.

Tears prick, throat closes, hot. “Rev, I don’t understand.”

He laughs, cruel. “Youdon’t understand?” He pulls back his fist and smashes it into the doorframe, so hard the wood splinters beside my face. “Fuckin’toldyou. I fuckin’said, fuckin’beggedyou—don’t take it away. Yet here youfuckin’are, takin’ it away.”

I can’t breathe. Tears stream. “Please try to explain, honey, what are you talking about? What am I taking away?”

“YOU!” He lashes out again, fist biting into the same spot on the doorframe with a deafeningcrunch, with such power the whole post splinters and buckles inward, the frame separating from the wall so light streams between the inch-wide gap. The white-painted wood is stained red.

I shrink away, afraid of him for the first time. “I don’t understand,” I whisper, backing into the room.

I trip over a suitcase on the floor, scramble on my butt over it as he follows me into the room—he’s not Rev, anymore, he’s…the beast in the cage.

“You don’t understand.” Repeated, flat.

“No, I don’t.” I cower against the bed.

I was so happy, so excited. He met my family. Liked them. They liked him. I have an apartment lined up just minutes from Sin—a nice one, a safe one. I wanted to surprise him, after work, have him take me there and break in the new bed.

And that’s when it dawns on me.

The suitcases.

I scrabble to my feet, forcing down my fear, hanging my very life on my trust that even like this, he won’t hurt me. I move like a baby bunny creeping past a sleeping fox’s nose, edging up to him, hands outstretched, shaking. He doesn’t move, fists at his sides. Stares down at me with those chunks of obsidian for eyes, his features carved from stone. Not even breathing, I don’t think.

“Rev, darling.” My voice cracks, breaks.

“Don’t,” he growls, so deep in his chest and throat, through teeth gritted so hard it’s barely a word.

I move another inch closer, fingers hovering over his chest. Force my voice to be firm, calm, soothing. “Rev, do you…do you think I’m going away?”

“Fuckin’packed, ain’tcha?” Each word is bitten out.

“Rev,” I breathe, relief and sorrow flooding through me at once. “I’m not leaving—I’mnotleaving you.”