Ghostface Killer(58)

And just like that, Q&A is done for now.





BAZ AND I have been playing house for nearly two months. Getting to know one another in the most intimate ways. And I don't just mean sexually, although we do spend plenty of time exploring that way, but also emotionally and personally. I've never taken the time to actually get to know the person I roll around in the sheets with, but to be fair, no one has ever been Baz.

I said it before and I'll say it again, he's my exception. My choice. And he is more amazing than I could have ever imagined. I dreamed about him all the months we were apart. Trying to piece together the precious tidbits of his personality I came to know. Clinging to the even more precious memories we created. He was the star in every single one of my sexual fantasies. But being with him, in real life, is so much better, in every way.

Baz has attended to my every need. Starting with my thirst for information, patiently explaining what his "issues" truly entail. According to him, he is plagued with an adult form of ADHD, a sprinkle of obsessive-compulsive disorder, and a healthy dose of depression. I witnessed the obsessive-compulsive disorder first-hand when I caught him scrubbing the kitchen sink until it bled, and well, the depression, we were all there for that. His ADHD comes in waves and bursts of energy. Hence the amount of firewood outside. He needs to expend it, a lot, so he's constantly coming up with ways to tire himself out. And his newest outlet is me. The man can fuck for days. Days. It's a good thing, too, cause my sex drive is as insatiable as my appetite lately.

And Baz has no issue abating it either. A few weeks ago, he trekked ten miles to the nearest town, at ten o'clock at night, in three feet of snow, just so he could buy all the ingredients for burritos because I was craving them. I found out after the fact he keeps a truck parked a quarter of a mile away. It prevents anyone from following the tire tracks directly to the house.

We ate at nearly one in the morning, and it may have been the best meal of my life. And not because Baz is an amazing cook, but because there was so much love in that food that I could taste it in every bite. He surprises me in new ways every day. With his kindness, his generosity, his wit's, his infectious tenacity for life despite all his challenges.

Sometimes I don't think I deserve him. But even if I don't, I would never give anyone else the chance to figure out if they do.




 

 

He's shared stories of his childhood, how his mother and Benny tried to make it work, but in the end Benny's rejection of him forced her to leave. Gianni took him and his mother in. He raised Baz like the son he never had and took care of Audrina, his mother, until she moved to Florida when Baz turned eighteen. He speaks so highly of his uncle. A man I've only seen from afar. Whom I only know from the stories Benny and Regina told me.

In turn, I share my own stories with Baz. How Benny homeschooled me, academics in the morning and physical education in the afternoon. I trained with the most lethal killers, the best marksmen, and studied with Rhodes scholars. Nothing was too good for me, and Benny spared no expense. But it was a lonely, sheltered existence. I had no friends. Only Benny and Regina and my given tutors at the time. I was Benny's biggest secret, or so I thought all these years. Until I found out about Baz. I don't particularly think he likes hearing about my upbringing with Benny. He gave me all the things he deprived his own son. And who was I? A stray he plucked off the street one random night. I was nothing, no one, but Benny felt compelled to give me everything someone of value deserved.

I try not to bring up Benny if I can help it. I hate seeing Baz upset, but he seems hungry to get to know the man who rejected him his whole life, so I indulge him when he asks. They are the most basic questions, too, like what was his favorite food or favorite movie. Pasta bolognese and Rocky, the original and number three. And number four because Apollo Creed died. Benny said he went soft. He had a big hang up about being soft and being weak. It was his biggest pet peeve.

It just goes to show how little Baz knew about his father, and how thirsty for information the young boy inside is.

I twist my ring around my index finger, inwardly fretting, as Baz traces the lilies tattooed across my back. We just finished a huge dinner. Baz went all out, recreating our first meal. Venison steaks, potatoes, green beans, the works. He even managed to track down some non-alcoholic red wine when he went into town the other day. He provides us with all the necessities.

Now we're just lying in front of the fire, digesting, watching the flames dance in the hearth, naked on the bearskin rug. This has sort of become our place. Our refuge. But worry is never far away, at least not for me. I try to keep my dark thoughts to myself, but I know Regina is looking for us. There is just this black feeling in the pit of my stomach. And I know, even though we don't discuss it, Baz feels it, too. He refuses to let me leave the house, won't take me into town, and insists I need to rest. But I know all of that is an excuse. We both know what the family is capable of, the people they associate with, and the actions they execute on a daily basis. Execute being the operative word. He's scared. He's scared for me and the child I'm carrying. I'm scared, too, but not in the same way. I'm scared of losing everything. Of being alone again. Of being a ghost. Because that's what I've been my whole life. My street name is fitting. Baz and Claudia were the first people to ever see me. The real me, not just the hair or the eyes or the body. The person. It makes me feel real. They make me feel real. So does this baby. I want to be its mother. I want it to be happy. I want to give it the life I never had.