Dirty Secrets

Part 29

Keenan tapped his tattooed fingers on the steering wheel while bobbing his clean-shaven dome to the music roaring from the speakers. 

In the passenger seat, Lyla slowly rotated the silver ring around her finger while sun-dappled patterns streamed through the windshield and played across her lap. The snake swallowing its tail felt heavy and oversized, but it was artsy and kind of pretty. 

A screeching blast of distorted guitar vibrated the windows. She winced. "Could you turn it down?"  

Keenan lowered the radio's volume. "Right here." He drew a line across his forearm with his finger. "Lyla." He smiled at her. 

She returned the smile.

"You know. Something pretty. Like you." 

She averted her eyes, embarrassed by his compliment. He traced it with his finger. "Ly-la. All those loops with the L's and the Y. I could just see it. Look sharp, right?"

"I guess."

"You should get one, too."

"My dad would kill me if I got a tat."

"Not if it was someplace he couldn't see." His smile decayed into a leer. 

"I am no way getting a tramp stamp."

"No. Not a hoe tag. You know. Something pretty and feminine. Maybe just K. With a heart. At the top of your butt or inside your thigh, or like around here." With his finger, he drew a small circle on his pelvic bone. 

She shook her head.

"Don't be afraid to add a little color to your life, Kitten."

"Tattoos are so permanent," she said glancing at the S-N-A-K-E tattooed on the fingers of his right hand.

"That's the point. You make a record of your life. Or a statement." He gestured to the blue snake on his neck. "You're down with this, right?" 

"Yeah. You totally make that work. But on me, with a tat, I'd feel like a baby stripper in training."

He cracked up. "Where do you get this shit? My Ma's got tats. She's never been a stripper."

"I'm not being judgy. I was talking about me." She turned the ring around her finger.

"Ouroboros," he said, referring to the ring. "It stands for infinity. Forever."

"I thought it was like the circle of life."

"I don't do Lion King, babe."

She chuckled.

"You belong to me forever and ever."

"Belong to you?"

"Yeah, that's what the ring means."

"You don't own me."

He laughed. "What the hell, Lyla? Why you gotta go so negative on me? I mean it like romantic. Like an expression of our undying love."

"You own this car. You own your guitar. But I'm not a piece of property. You can't own me." 

He laughed harder raising her temper. She fumed. "It's not funny."

"Look, girl. When we're finally together then you'll know."

The pressure. Again. He always finds a way to work that into the conversation.

"I'm not ready," she growled. "I told you." 

"You'll see. I'll set you on fire." He clamped her thigh with his hand. "You'll never want to be away from me. Like a tweaker, you're gonna jones for me, you won't be able to live without me."

She scrunched up her face as though she'd just bitten into a cockroach.

"I'll put your name right here," he said sweetly, running his finger across his forearm. "Forever. And you'll wear my ring. Forever."

She shook her head. 

The sugar went out of his voice. "Why you always doing this shit?"

"Let me out of this car."

"I try to be sweet with you. I try to love you and this is what I get?"

"Stop the car."

His nostrils flared. He grabbed her wrist. "You better get your head around. You're mine. You're always gonna be mine." He slowed at a stop sign.

She ripped her arm from his grasp, pushed open the door, and stumbled out onto the sidewalk.

"Where you going?"

"I don't want your ring." She yanked it from her finger and tossed it into the car.

"What the fuck?"

She angrily stomped down the sidewalk as he cruised beside her. She felt her flushed cheeks burning and the rubber soles of her sneakers slapping against the pavement.

"Stop being such a stuck-up bitch!" he shouted. "Get in this car." She ignored him and continued her journey looking straight ahead. "Don't make me drag your ass into this car, Lyla. You'll be sorry."

The blare of a car horn startled her. The driver in the car following Keenan's hollered out the window, "Come on! Move it!"

In one violent motion, Keenan stomped the brakes, threw the car into park, and flung open the door. He stood in the street, his chest heaving, an intimidating figure with his shaved head and the prominent blue serpent tattooed on his neck.

"You got something to say?" He raged. "Say it now, asshole!"

The driver steered around Keenan and accelerated. Keenan kicked a wicked dent in the car door as the car flew past.

Lyla took the opportunity to escape. She ran down the street, her heart hammering in her chest, the peculiar ancient word rattling around in her head.

Ouroboros.