I put my headphones in, brandished my mouse, and hovered over the file.
“Damn the man,” I whispered and clicked on the file.
iTunes came up and the song started playing.
I listened.
I did not call the police.
I listened again.
On the third go, I went to Google and looked up “Beautiful War” lyrics.
It was by Kings of Leon.
I read them.
Then I listened again.
After the fifth time, I popped the buds out of my ears and straightened woodenly from my chair. I walked the same way up the stairs.
I went straight to my bedroom.
Deacon was standing, holding the sheers back, looking out the window.
I vaguely wondered if Milagros had returned and was standing vigil.
I didn’t get a chance to ask. Deacon moved and I braced.
He went to the bed where the plastic bag he was carrying was resting. He grabbed the handles and walked to me.
I didn’t move a muscle.
He stopped two feet in front of me and lifted the bag between us.
“Anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”
My heart seized.
“Don’t,” I whispered.
“You listen?” he asked.
I said nothing.
“You listened,” he stated and jerked the bag at me. “Anything you want. Try me, Cassidy.”
My hand lifted and I didn’t tell it to. Before I could snatch it away, Deacon hooked the handles on my fingers and they curled, catching the bag. Then he stepped backward toward the bed.
“Look in the bag and try me, Cassidy.”
My head bent and I looked in the bag. I stifled my reaction in the varied ways it came to me (and the ways were varied) as I saw the velvet ropes in the bag.
I looked to him to see he had his coat off, it was on the floor, and he was unbuttoning his shirt.
“They’re stronger than yours, hold a man like me,” he stated.
“You can’t heal anything with sex, Deacon,” I shared.