The Violin

Kendra stood stock still for a moment, bewildered, before understanding. "Thank you, thank you!" she shouted as she scurried away without looking back. Seeing her race off tossed him about inside; he was drowning in emotions he couldn't even name. The gun felt heavy and cold in his hand, a dead thing. A weight was crushing down on him.

"Kendra!"

Kendra spun around, a few yards away. "How do you know my name?"

The tall white man gave a sad laugh. "Lucky guess. Just...you forgot your bag." He held out the satchel toward her.

Kendra really looked at him for the first time. Stockier, facial hair and harder face, but - "Keith! Oh my God, Keith!"

She ran back toward him, stopping several feet short. Her hand kept reaching out then hesitating, as if he were a hot stove that would burn.

"Keith?" Emotions battled across her face until she cracked and began to cry. Kendra felt like she was going crazy. First she'd nearly gotten gang raped. Then she was rescued by her best friend, but he wasn't her best friend anymore. He was a Nazi.

What does she have to cry about? I just saved her fucking life. Typical princess bullshit! Keith felt relief at the familiar rush of anger. He was the one who lost everyone, who had done time. Life looked like it had dealt her all spades. He pulled off his trench coat and wrapped it around her.

"Go home, Kendra."

"Is it really you? I-I don't know what's going on," she stumbled over her words. "Should we talk?"

"About what? The good old days? I think it's pretty obvious life's been kicking my ass."

"And you just brandished a glock at me. But... let's have coffee, or something. I live nearby," Kendra said.

"I know."

They began to walk.

"You've been riding my train for weeks."

"Months."

"And the whole time you were sitting next to me, you knew it was me and didn't speak? Why?" She searched his face as he steadfastly averted his eyes.

"I didn't mean to," he said quietly. They turned onto her block. "I wasn't prepared. Look, I knew you had forgotten me," he said in a rush, as if getting the words out quickly would make them hurt less. "But I didn't know you'd forgotten me so completely. I couldn't get past it."

They stopped in front of a small, old brownstone. Kendra unlocked the main door, then opened her personal entrance. She had her dad's taste in art, but not her mom's taste in decorating, Keith thought. He couldn't remember the last time he'd noticed anyone's décor.

"This is very you," he said, walking around the bohemian furnishings. Everything about it, from its warm Mediterranean colors to the original ethnic art work, smacked to him of pretension. "Very classy," he sneered.

"Guess so, compared to the company you keep," she fired back. "So, you're raping now?"

"Don't dodge the issue."

"That is the fucking issue! What's happened to you?"

"What happened to me? What happened to you? You were supposed to be my best friend! And you dropped me and never looked back!"

"Don't you DARE put this shit on me! Don't you dare!" Kendra snatched Keith's trench off and hurled it at him with all her might. "Your friends almost fucking raped me! Just now! Your boy was ready to carve his name in my chest. Is this a normal Saturday night for you? A normal Nazi Saturday night?"

Hot tears shot from Kendra's eyes as the sheer overload of the evening came crashing down. She sank shaking on the couch in her bra and skirt and bawled as though her heart would break. Her sobs were painful, long and raw. Keith had no right, he knew he didn't, to comfort her. But he couldn't stand to see her cry. He put a tentative hand on her shoulder, and she yanked back like it was a hot poker. He put his arm around her anyway, despite her struggling, and rocked back and forth with her until he could wrap her up in an embrace.

In the process, he began to weep. He cried for the years lost, the love lost and the dreams lost. He cried for the fear and the beatings and crawfish etouffee, for his mother and college and his father's bloody pillow, and the Aryan uncle who promised he'd do right by blood. Until it was Kendra rocking him in her arms, crying with him. Until they were both red-eyed, heads aching, sniffling and embarrassed.

Keith gradually caught his breath. He could hardly believe Kendra hadn't tossed him out or called the police. Instead, she had comforted him, and now was sitting and talking in her pretty print bra. He wondered if her panties matched. Sweet K. Why did she trust him? Her hair was rumpled where he'd crushed it in his fist; the corner of her mouth betrayed where Bam had hit her. God, he wanted to taste her, and it made him feel like shit.

Keith kneeled down on the rug in front of Kendra, grasping her hand.

"You gotta know, I would've died before I let those assholes touch you tonight. I'm sorry things went so far. I work with those guys, and I have to be careful. But I would have pulled the trigger for you. Even though I wanted to hate you. I could never let anyone hurt you."

Kendra pulled her hands back, silent for a long time. "I figured you must have hated me. I knew it wasn't my fault, but I carried a lot of guilt over what happened. I replayed our fight over and over in my mind. What if I'd told my dad to go fuck himself?"

Keith smirked. "Confrontation was never your style, K. I'm surprised he didn't ship you to a nunnery."

They fell silent. Kendra thought of that night in The Meadow, when Keith touched her the way no one else had. She'd fantasized about it for years. He'd made her cum harder as a virgin than she'd ever done during sex. She'd tried teaching other guys his moves, but they lacked either the patience or the passion of her first. Undeniably, that's what she considered Keith, even though he'd left her intact. She wondered if he was still as sensual as she remembered.

Suddenly Kendra shivered; she'd forgotten that she wasn't wearing a top. Keith rubbed her arms to warm her, then kept up a gentle massage. His skin wanted contact with hers. It felt good, safe, and she yawned like a child.

"I'm tired. It's been a long night," she said.

Keith nodded, speaking hesitantly. "Do you mind if I crash here? I know you can take care of yourself, but I don't want to leave you alone tonight."

Kendra debated silently whether she should leave Keith unsupervised in her home—he was clearly some sort of criminal now—but she was too drained. Besides, it was Keith.

"You can take the couch. It lets out. I'll get you some linens," she said. She rose from the couch and Keith caught another glance at the twin tattoos on her back. The urge to follow her burned in his body, but he remained seated while she brought him a pillow, sheet and blanket.

"There's leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry," she said as she padded through the short hallway to the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower."

She pinned her hair up in the mirror as the water ran, wondering about her own motives. Why had she announced her shower? Did she hope, on some level, that he would push his way in and join her? She'd spent the past six months making battery-operated love. But the prospect tonight seemed hollow compared to who was sitting on her couch.

Kendra stepped in the steaming shower, welcoming the warmth pelting her skin. She used the rough side of her bath sponge to lather her neck, arms, breasts and legs, washing those animals' fingerprints off. Her stomach clenched at the memory of the fat one backhanding her. Fresh tears sprang, mixing in with the streams of warm water, and she battled fear until she remembered Keith was just a few feet away. Her Keith. A man now, like she was no longer a girl. Was his dick really as big as she remembered, or had she built it up in her head, having nothing to compare him with at the time? She flipped the sponge to its soft side for her mound, and spent more time than necessary massaging her kitty. She needed some good feelings after the night's events.

The water started losing heat, so she reluctantly shut it off and climbed out of the tub. Steam was so thick, she could barely see a hand in front of her face. She smoothed coconut body butter into her skin and Vaseline on her feet, taking the time to freshen her toes with a bit of polish. She pushed away the idea that she was preparing for lovemaking. I'm just getting ready for bed, she told herself.

Kendra slipped on a silky robe and emerged from the bathroom. Gray light was already spilling through her windows. Keith reclined on the sofa, shoes off and eyes closed. Shaking her head, she spread the blanket over him. With his eyes shut, his face relaxed into the visage of the boy she used to know. She lightly stroked his hair, then on impulse leaned down and quickly brushed his soft lips with her own.

"Good night, Keith."

"Good night, Kendra," he whispered, pulling her into a long, deep kiss. His lips were firm but tentative, giving her a chance to pull back. Kendra's heart swelled. She had forgotten what it was like to be with someone who loved her, adored her. She knew that's how Keith felt for her. She had always known. He stroked her back and bottom, the silky robe easing the friction of his rough hands. They moaned and sighed into each other, breaths reuniting, feeding on something they'd each been starved for. Until her body began to undulate, until his hands found purchase under the silk. He was hard as a brick as he traced the ridges where his mark was engraved in her skin.

"When did you get this?"

He cradled her to his chest, and she fingered the tattoo on his left bicep. Buried in a tangle of burning Celtic crosses was a stylized "K." When she spoke, her voice was small.

"Right after you went away. I told you about it in a letter. Keith, why didn't you ever write me back?"

He stiffened. "Don't lie," he replied, a chill in his tone. "You never sent a single letter. That was the worst part—the hope. Eventually I stopped looking."

Kendra's face was pure confusion. "I wrote you every week! At first, anyway. Then every month—my dad sent them with the commissary check."

Now it was Keith's turn to be confused. "Your dad paid my commissary? Why? He hated me."

"My folks felt guilty, Keith. For not caring to ask why you were injured all the time. Why do you think you got a reduced sentence? That was Maria's influence. Dad felt paying was the least he could do; he said having money could keep certain elements off your back."

"Well, my skinhead uncle Charlie took the credit. He said the brothers were looking out for me because I was young. Your dad? Never sent a single letter." Keith's laugh, at first dry, grew bitter, then uncontrollable. It felt like it would never stop.

"It's okay, Kendra, you can laugh about it," he gasped. "The joke's on us."

"Fuck," she muttered. Then she began laughing too. It was too ridiculous. "Who'd have thought we'd end up like this?"

"Oh, just about everyone in Millville," he replied, wiping his eyes. "Who knew? The idiots were right."

"Were they?" Kendra pushed her way off of him and rose, pausing to look down. It was morning now, and she looked magnificent even without sleep. Keith watched her walk to the bedroom, letting the robe flow from her body as she reached the door. She left it open. Comprehension took a few seconds, but as soon as it dawned, he was behind her in a flash.

"I've waited seven years for this," Keith said, nibbling at her throat. "Do you remember?"

"Oh yeah," Kendra said. "I've learned a lot since then. I'm not a Hampshire virgin anymore."

"I shouldn't have left you one in the first place. Second biggest regret of my life."