Luxe (33 page)

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When he saw her, his heart broke into a million pieces. She lay in front of him destroyed, looking nothing like the girl he had met a year before. Iman was a strong man. He had seen many things. He supplied the streets with the very drug Bleu craved. He had murdered, robbed, and seen the ills of the game without flinching, but when he saw Bleu … when he saw his beloved Bleu, his pretty young thing with the sharp wit, ambitious goals, and beautiful smile, laid before him strung out, it broke him. He had to turn around and face the door for a brief moment to stop the tears from leaking out of his eyes. She didn't deserve this. L.A. had chewed her up and spat her out. Somehow he felt responsible. It had started with her cravings for the life. She had wanted to indulge in all things luxurious. Clothes, cars, hair, diamonds, the night scene. It had been fun for her, but he had seen that path destroy many. He should have spoken up.
I could have stopped this before it happened,
he thought guiltily. His heart no longer beat the same. The moment he saw her, its rhythm had been forever altered. He looked at Eddie and then at Marta, who both stood solemnly to the side.

“How did you find her?” Iman asked. He had searched high and low for her to no avail. He would have much rather never found her than discovered her like this. It hurt him too badly to witness this.

“She was in the apartment above the restaurant. The real estate agent found her first,” Eddie said.

Iman walked over to Bleu and got down on his knees at her bedside. He rubbed her hair, stroking it softly as he whispered, “Hey, beautiful.”

Her eyes fluttered open, but instead of welcoming his image, she sat up in alarm and scrambled out of the bed in fear as her eyes darted around the room.

“Please, please, don't hurt me!” she shouted as she held her hands up in defense. She was paranoid and completely afraid as she looked at him with pleading eyes. The fact that she thought he would bring her harm wounded him as he slowly approached. It was as if he were running up on a wounded animal.

“Nobody's gonna hurt you, Bleu. I just want to help you,” he said, voice cracking with emotion.

He walked up on her and she started swinging, fists and feet flying, thinking that she had to defend herself. She did fear Iman. She remembered what had happened to Aysha. Bleu didn't know if he had done the deed personally, but he ordered the hits.
Same thing,
she thought. As she fought him, Iman wrapped her up in his arms, tightly pulling her to his chest so that she couldn't move. When she could no longer defend herself she simply cried. She let her head fall on his chest as her legs gave out. He scooped her up into his arms. “It's okay, Bleu. It's okay. Everything is okay now … I promise you.”

He carried her out to his car and tucked her safely inside. His uncle and aunt came rushing out after them. “Where are you taking her, Iman? She needs help,” Eddie said.

“I'm taking her home,” Iman said, determined.

“You can't just tuck her away in Calabasas by herself,
mijo,
” Marta said. “She's strung out. She needs rehab.”

“I'll be her rehab. She won't be in Calabasas by herself. I'll be there with her. Every minute, until she's clean,” he said, emotional as he gritted his teeth. He hit the top of his car with a closed fist as he leaned over it, angry with himself for allowing this to happen to her. He couldn't help but feel like he was the cause. Like once she had found out he was married she had jumped off the edge of the cliff.

“Tan will never allow it,” Marta said. “Don't get that girl into any more trouble. She has enough problems.”

He nodded and then kissed Marta's cheek before he rounded the car and got into the driver's side. He no longer cared about severing ties with Tan. His reluctance and hesitance to divorce her were what had made Bleu run away from him in the first place. Fuck it, if he had to stay married to Tristan in order to keep his connection to the Mexican Cartel he would give it up. He had enough money, enough power, enough love from the streets. He could find a new supplier, or better yet, he could retire altogether. That was every hustler's dream, right? His mind raced as he sped out into traffic. He looked over at Bleu. He could get her clean and start a life with her. All of these things could happen if he played his hand correctly.

“Are you going to hurt me?” she asked.

“I'll never hurt you again. That's my word,” he assured her. She frowned because they were clearly having two different conversations. She was talking about punishment for Cinco's death. Did Iman not know that she was involved? She studied his face, and the amount of love he had for her shone brightly, oozing out of him as if he couldn't contain it any longer. It was then that she knew that Iman had no clue what she had done.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered.

“Don't be sorry, Bleu. I just want you to be better. I'm going to help you. You're going to hate me for a while and it's going to hurt. Your body will hurt, you'll go through emotions that will make you feel like you can't do it, but I'll be right here with you every step. I just want you back … the real you. The smart, pretty, plain girl from Flint, Michigan. You have to promise me that you'll get clean, Bleu. Do you trust me?”

Bleu hesitated, because she wasn't sure if she did. “It's okay to tell me you don't. I know I fucked that up. I'll earn it back. I'll earn you back, but for now I just want you to focus on kicking this shit.”

He reached over and held her hand. It was so bony. Her scrawny fingers felt like they would break if he handled her too harshly. The drugs had eaten away at her. In months she had lost so much weight that she looked sick … almost breakable. He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her wrist while keeping his eye on the road. She could see his love for her. She could feel his energy as it emanated from his hand to hers. The pain in his face at the discovery of her condition plagued him and he couldn't hide. She teared up just witnessing how much he cared, because she knew that she didn't deserve it.
I don't want to stop,
she thought.
It feels too good in a world that's so bad. I'm going to disappoint him.

“I'll try,” she whispered. “It's hard.” Her voice cracked. “But I'll try.”

“That's all I ask,” he replied.

 

28

THE RECOVERY

“Open this door! Iman, please just let me out!” Bleu's pleas fell on deaf ears as she banged on the wooden door. Iman heard her—in fact, he was sure the entire neighborhood heard her—but he couldn't let her out. She had already tried to take money out of his wallet and steal his keys while he was asleep. He had to keep her confined in order to wait out her withdrawal. Listening to her cries tore at his soul, but he kept a hard resolve and didn't respond. “Open this shit up now!” Bleu shouted, getting angry as she hit her flat hands against the door in frustration. Her moods were high and low. One moment she was weak and sulking; the next she was animated and livid. She was out of control and he couldn't believe that it had gotten that bad in six months. What he didn't know was that it had been six months of bingeing. She had smoked day and night as often as possible to stop herself from feeling. “Iman!!!” she screamed before giving up and sitting in a heap on the floor as she planted her face in her hands. Her entire body was wet with sweat and she felt as if she would die if she didn't get out of that room. Iman had made a comfortable stay for in her the west wing of his home. She had every luxury available to her, but with a monkey on her back it felt like a prison. “Ughhh!!” she screamed. She just wanted a hit. One deep pull on a crack pipe would do her so much justice. She missed it so much that she even missed the coolness of the pipe when she placed it between her lips. It had only been three days. The first two had been a daze. She slept, depressed and out of it, as the world seemed to crash down around her. She had no energy to get up and protest, and the cold sweats that soaked her clothes kept her tucked into a shivering ball, bedridden. Her entire body itched and she scratched so hard that Iman had given her socks to put over her hands so that it she wouldn't scar herself. It felt like something was crawling on her all the time.

“At least bring me some water!” she shouted. Her mouth was dry, her tongue stale. She hadn't eaten in days. She refused to. The only thing that she was truly hungry for was a blast of a crack pipe. Nothing else would nourish her the way that it could. It fed her soul and she felt like she was experiencing a slow death without it.

Her mind was playing tricks on her. She had relied on the drugs to make her feel good for so long that without them she felt nothing but sorrow. The physical ailments were minimal, but the mental and emotional ones were unbearable. Crack had a hold on her that was so strong she just wanted to give in and get high. Every time she thought about it she would get aroused by the idea. Her mind was trapped. When she looked in the mirror she saw her mother, literally saw her mother's face. Bleu felt like she was losing it and if she didn't score soon she would go insane. What she wouldn't do for just one little hit. The thought alone made her tremble. She heard the lock on the door as Iman entered and she turned to look at him. Sympathy filled his eyes.

“Everything just hurts so bad, Iman. You can't do this to me … not like this. I'm not strong enough,” she cried.

He knelt down on the floor. “You are,” he said. “It's mental, Bleu, so if it's hurting to think about shit then get it out. Talk to me. I won't judge you.”

“What about rehab? What if I promise to go to rehab?” she asked. She knew that she couldn't fully disclose the things that haunted her. The regrets she had, the things that she had done, being a part of Cinco's murder. She couldn't admit those things to Iman.

“You just want to go there because you think it'll be easier to run away. I'll bring rehab to you. Whatever therapy you need to get better,” he said.

“I never wanted it to be like this,” she whispered, her voice full of angst.

“Neither did I,” he replied. He got to his feet and walked over to the bed, pulling back the covers. He didn't say anything, but she took the hint and slowly climbed to her feet.

Another knock at the door caused her to look up to find Big Les standing in the doorway. She smiled at his presence.

“It's good to see a real queen back in the castle,” he said with a wink. “Hello, Ms. Bleu.”

“Hi, Big Les,” she replied. He pushed a small circular table on wheels into the room. It was covered in a white cloth and set beautifully for one.

Bleu looked up at Iman. “I can't eat. I'm not hungry.”

“You've got to get your weight back up. You being this small scares the shit out of me. Just eat a little, a'ight?” he responded.

She nodded. She was too focused on being deprived of drugs to realize that she was deprived of food. Her body needed all the nourishment it could get. Not leaving it up to her, Iman walked over to the table and snagged the plate.

He dipped a fork into the meal as he sat at her bedside. She opened her mouth, accepting the food. It wasn't until she tasted it did she remember how long it had been since her last real meal. Shelter meals and scraps, bags of chips from the liquor store weren't enough to live on. She closed her eyes, savoring it as she moaned in satisfaction. She damn near snatched the plate from his hands as she began digging into the meal. He had to stop himself from chuckling as she annihilated the food. He looked up at Big Les and nodded his appreciation. Big Les nodded back.

“Glad you like it,” Big Les stated jovially. “Feel better, Ms. Bleu.”

He left them alone so that she could finish her meal in peace.

“I need to leave for a few hours. Big Les will be here. I need to know that you will be here when I get back,” he said seriously. He wanted to stay, but he needed to make a run. He didn't want to play games anymore. Juggling his marriage and his relationship with Bleu was what had caused him to lose her in the first place. He didn't want Bleu on the side. He wanted her in the forefront, and in order to make that happen he had to end things with Tristan.

“I will be,” Bleu said.

“I got something. It'll help you sleep. I contacted a detoxification counselor and she recommended sleeping pills. I want you to take it. It'll help,” he said.

“You don't have to put me to sleep, Iman. I won't run,” she said.

He wanted to extend his trust, but he wasn't a fool. He knew how addicts got down. They made promises they couldn't keep. He wasn't setting himself up for the disappointment. If he were in a smaller city he could have put word out on the town to cut her off, anyone who served her would face deadly repercussions, but this was L.A. It was too large to put an advisory over every corner, so instead he would have to keep a close eye on Bleu until the poison was out of her system.

She could see the worry in his gaze and she sighed as she nodded. “Okay.”

Iman went into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out a pill bottle. She held her mouth open and he placed a pill on her tongue before handing her the water glass from the table.

“Feel better?” she asked.

“I do,” he confirmed. “I won't be long. If you need anything, ask Big Les.”

Iman pulled the key to the bedroom out of his pocket and her face fell. “Please don't lock me in here, Iman. I won't go anywhere,” she said, eyes misting. “It makes me feel like I'm in a cage or something. Like I'm an animal or something.”

Iman nodded and leaned in to kiss her on the top of her head. He didn't mean any malice. He had none when it came to Bleu. He simply wanted to keep her safe, but perhaps his reins were too tight. “Okay,” he said simply before getting up to leave.