Spotlight (The Ballbusters Series Book 1)

    Starting to feel attacked, I crossed my arms over my chest, giving myself a hug before replying, “So…so…what? What are you trying to say? Who decided that because I had killed seven of them I should now be considered a serial killer? Probably the same sick f**k who decided that durians were edible and should be sold globally.”      Tossing her long wavy blonde hair over her shoulder, she snapped angrily, “Deflection won’t work on me. Seven cacti, Lea! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to kill a cactus let alone seven of them? What am I saying, of course you would know.”     Wow. Punches were being thrown now. “Not Tallulah the fifth. She didn’t die at my hand.” I replied with a huge smile on my face.     Looking unimpressed, Sym rolled her baby blue eyes and I silently prayed that her eyes would get stuck at the back of her head…not permanently…just whenever she didn’t agree with me. “No. Tallulah the fifth didn’t die by your hand, she died by the sound of your voice like a reverse siren, which is worse—oh! and by the way, normal people don’t name their plants. Especially Tallulah. Don’t even get me started on the serialized Tallulah thing.”     Hands in the air, “What else was I supposed to call them? Jennifer? That is a ridiculous name for a cactus! Also… The numbers were to add identity and class. They all sounded like the plants of someone with money!”     “You want to know the serial killer nickname Dad, Mom, Jason and I gave you? Black Thumb.”     Oh. Damn That hurt .I had to force myself not to stroke my now hurting chest. “Well, the joke is on you, seeing as I am black and therefore is not an insult but a fact. My thumb is indeed black.” I couldn’t hold back my scoff as I added, “And whose fault is that? Both you and Mom suggested I talked to Tallulah a little bit every night. How that makes me the bad guy? Tallulah the fifth chose death.”     Hand on hips, “You drove her to it. When we said you should talk to her, we didn’t mean for you to tell her about your patients’ problems!”     “It was right in the middle of my internship! I was either seeing patients or taking classes…what else was I supposed to talk about?”     Staring at her nails as if her giving me her full attention was a waste of time, “Fine. You only killed six cacti. Let’s call it-assisted suicide, then. Still a serial killer. Still very much not normal.”      My eyebrows tried to introduce themselves to my hairline. I smiled, knowing it looked evil as hell but not caring one bit, “Oh...is this how you want it to be? Fine. Two can play that game, sis. You want to talk about normal? You know what isn’t normal? The size of your head! That’s why you can’t pull off any hat! Your head doesn’t go in it at all…all hats end up looking like an alien spaceship hovering over you as if they are about to abduct you. ” I finished taunting her with a raised eyebrow…just to extra piss her off because she has never been able to do it.     I had to give credit were credit was due. Sym knew how to control herself. Believable performance, if only I didn’t know her the way I did. I smirked the moment I saw her tell. That little vein at her right temple was about to blow.     Knowing someone came with a price, since more often than not, they knew you just as well. It was that same knowledge that forewarned me of a possible oncoming attack; whether physical or verbal was yet to be determined. Just in case, I widened my stance and kept repeating to myself that I was a tree…sure, trees go down all the time…but I think of myself as one the Hiroshima tree.     It never came, though, because just as she open her mouth a massive dude dressed as Deadpool cut her short of whatever verbal shiruken she was about to throw my way, “Oh My God! Enough! You want to know what’s not normal? The two of you! You guys behave like children. Grow up.” He pushed the words past the leather mask but some parts still came across muffled. Not as muffled as they would sound after what I had planned for him.      The soon to be dredged pool wasn’t done just yet. Taking off his mask, revealing pudgy white face and reddened cheeks, he sighed, “Wait…how old are you? Are you a minor?” He asked with furrowed eyebrows as he looked at me in a way that one should only look at a puzzle. That was the exact same way I stared at Tilda Swinton in any movie and it made me feel uncomfortable as hell. What was Tilda Swinton?     It was decided then. He dead. Sym bursts out laughing, so I guess she dead too. I decided to address the discriminating jerk first, since I knew where Sym lived. “First of all, why are you talking to us? Secondly….how dare you? Thirdly…”      In a voice that was meant to be heard, Sym said, “There she goes again with the numbers.”     This pretty much should be considered a gangbang, two against one…but that’s ok, I was a big girl. And I was…just not the vertical kind of big, if you catch my drift. Through clenched teeth I said, “Thirdly, my height…”     “Or lack thereof…”     Maybe I should reconsider and take care of Sym first. “Height is not an indicator of age. There is correlation but not a causal relationship between the two. I happen to be a grown ass woman in my late twenties. And finally, you want to know what’s not normal, fat guy who ate Deadpool?”     Sym chocked on her own saliva but managed to reprimand me, “Lea!”         Both Fat Guy Who Ate Deadpool and I sported a face of pure confusion as we stared back at her. “What?” I asked.     Eyes widened angrily, as if her reasoning—or lack thereof, as she put it- should be obvious to me. “How can you call him that!” She snapped hurriedly.     We were smiling even as I gestured for Fat Guy Who Ate Deadpool to turn around, giving his back to us. And there on his back a sign that read I’m the Fat Guy Who Ate Deadpool and then this happened. “Earth to Sym. He has been standing in front of us in line for over an hour now and you didn’t even notice?”     This wasn’t like her. If I didn’t know her any better, I would dare say she was flustered by my observation. But just as soon as it came, it left, leaving me unsure as to if it was just my imagination or something else. She shrugged, “I just figure is was part of his costume.”     What an embarrassment she was; she needed to represent.  “Cosplay. Not costume. I am so sorry. She is still new to all of this.” I explained hurriedly.     Fat Guy Who Ate Deadpool nodded, kind comprehension shinning in his brown eyes. “Don’t sweat it. Compare to all the s**t my father has given me since he caught me sewing my suit, her comments register as nice. I mean, this is not even the same suit. He burned the first one.”      I genuinely grimaced in pity, because I could read between the lines. “I’m sorry that there is someone important in your life who constantly strives to make you feel ashamed for doing something that you love.”         He stared at his boots, avoiding my eyes at all costs. “Thank you for saying that. ” Said Fat Guy Who Ate Deadpool.     I looked up and saw Sym looking at me, pensive with furrowed eyebrows, her eyes looked sad bordering on yearning. Noticing me, she shook her head dismissively Sym turned her gaze away, anywhere really, as long as it wasn’t me, making me narrow my eyes at her. There was something off about her today and I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Yet. It just pissed me off that it took me so long to figure that out. But then again, I wasn’t in my right mind, at least not since Sym surprised me with the Photo Op. ticket this morning.     Did something happen with her good for nothing fiancé? Was she using the ticket to hide something from me? I wanted to push for answer but right now wasn’t the right moment, she would just close up. She always did that when it came down to her fiancé, knowing I hated his guts.     Looking at the still unknown stranger, “Two things: what’s your name and are you telling me that you sew that suit yourself? ” I asked beyond impressed. He even used real leather.      Smiling sheepishly he extended his hand, “Hi. I’m Ryan and yes, I did sew my suit.”     “Pleasure to meet you, Ryan. I’m Lea and this one over here is my sister Sym.”     Ryan, just as every other male in existence, seemed at loss of words at the sight that greeted him. It was obvious he had been purposely avoiding looking at Sym and failing miserably at it.  Sym was just stunning…and my exact opposite in almost every sense. She represented the sky while I was more representative of earth. Sym had baby blue eyes, long, wavy golden hair, silky smooth white skin and as if that wasn’t enough, she had the body and height of a model. Cherry on top? She had a beautiful soul…when it wasn’t attacking me, anyway. She could be discriminatory, though. I mean, is there a word for when tall people hate short people just for being short? But of course there is one: asshole.     Ryan did that eyes following a tennis ball thing. His eyes going from Sym to me, then again and again. Searching for similitudes, finding all the differences. It was more than obvious that he was itching to ask about it but a look from me shut it down real quick.     I tried to see myself through his eyes. First, people trend to pick on how different our skin is…when we know that what they really want to say is not my skin. It was the color that threw them into a loop. If I had to describe the color of my skin I would use the word mocha and while I love Sym’s coloring I also happen to love my own. What I loved the most about myself? My green eyes, because if I’m to believe the statistics, it’s not a very common eye color, even more so when you consider my darker skin tone. And finally, I was on the shorter and curvier side…which, sounds so much better than saying I was short and fat.      Pulling on his earlobe nervously, he asked, “Sisters?”     Sym and I just blinked at him. Just stared.     “Right…I…you know, I shouldn’t have…”     “Yep.” We both said.     Looking straight at me, “Let me guess, did you come here for Payne?” Before I could answer, he shook his head, then came to an abrupt stop, “I’m sorry, but is your sister famous?”      She was indeed famous…just not in the mainstream sense. She was, after all, a pioneer in her area of expertise. Meaning her fan base was mostly compromised of other scientists and actual famous people. She was a psychologist specialized in creativity processes and all that that carried. Writer block? Meet Sym. Lost your passion for things you used to enjoy? Meet Sym. Performance Anxiety?     You get the idea.      Sym rolled her eyes, “Sister can talk and as to whether my being famous, the answer is not really.”     Cheeks flushed, “So…Payne?”     “Nope. I’m here for Daniel and Sym is here as an emotional support. Think of her as a service dog.”     “Next time you go poking a dog, remember to check it’s leashed first.”      I looked at Ryan with pride in my eyes, “Technology is an amazing thing. Remember the talking dog in Up? They all laughed, thinking it was impossible and yet here we are…talking dogs.” I pointed at Sym.     Ryan tried to hold back his laugh to the point that tears filled his eyes. Then he lost the battle.     If I hadn’t been so excited that the line moved again I might have seen it coming. A blue tote bag slammed my ass to the point that I fell right onto Ryan’s arms.     “Sym, you are a psychologist!” I snapped, looking at her over my shoulder as I righted myself.     She shrugged in a what you gonna do manner, “When dogs feel attack, they are very likely to attack first."     Fine. I did deserve that. Moving on. “What about you, Ryan? Bella…or Payne?”     For a second there, he seemed at loss of words then finally settled with, “Bella!” His face was as red as the mask that now hanged from his hand.     We all burst out laughing. The conversation continued to flow until I saw people wearing a shirt with the word staff emblazoned over their backs and the faces of actors on their front- divide the line into six clear lines. One for each actor; the future grandfather of my great-grandchildren—Daniel Luna, of course, there was also Payne—or as his fans called him, Mr. Payne— Kieran Warden, Weylan Zabala, Bella Johansen and Wendi Lu. After that, they began to call for people to go to their lines, so we parted ways with Ryan.     “Not long now.” Said Sym.     I inched toward her so I could murmur, “That’s what Lorena Bobbitt said.”     She tried to sound reprimanded but a small smile gave it away, “Lea!”     I raised my hands in the surrender, “That is what she said…not me.”     That did it. Sym began to laugh but shook his head. “You are too much.”     “You don’t get to be size sixteen without being too much.” I said out of reflex only to realize my mistake. And wasn’t that always the problem? I had a hard time knowing when to shut up.      As if somebody erased a board, her smile disappeared. I had an inkling as to what had bothered her so but that was something for another day. “Unless you are ready to discuss what has you on edge since this morning, I’d suggest to leave it at that.”     She looked away.     That’s what I thought, I repeated to myself.     My chest hurt because I hated the idea of hurting her, but I didn’t feel like revisiting my past. More over in a place like this; I refused to lose my s**t in front of the whole world and had I allowed the conversation to move any further the likelihood of a panic attack coming to pass was not a possibility but a certainty.     She was obviously hiding something from me but she wasn’t ready to tell me just yet…so why go there? Our emotional baggage were different but both were there, very much present and painful.     Trying to distract myself, I began to take in my surroundings, to count the black curtains of the makeshift rooms for photo Ops…only to regret it a second later. Air caught in my throat at the sight that greeted me. “Look at them…they are like cockroaches around him, Sym.” I shook my head in clear disgust at the group of women currently pawing Payne like a scratching post. I frowned as I realized I was mixing my similes then shrugged it off; my thoughts were not being graded. I refocused on the group barely visible through a sliver between the black curtains that were placed to afford a sense of privacy for the photo op, but I saw enough.     She followed my line of vision, “I can’t believe you just said that. Lea, women need to build each other up. And cockroaches? Seriously?” I knew the exact moment when she realized what I meant. Her eyes widening at the sight of wandering hands into territory they had no business in. I hated the pity I saw in them as she connected the dots. “Oh, Lea.”     I glared at her, challenging her to go that route.     She just shrugged, causing her blonde hair to follow the movement. “Still. Cockroaches?”     I flinched inwardly but didn't even attempt to offer a token apology. Yeah, just like them I was about to meet someone I had a crush on, crushing to the point that I was willing to pay for a moment of their time…well, not exactly, the paying that is, my sister bought the ticket as a gift for me—but unlike those women over there, I didn’t feel entitled to his body. Some people might disagree with me and brush it off as my being over sensitive and stuff, but if things were reversed, he’d lose his career. No questions asked.     I forced my eyes away and decided to make light of it, “Spare me. And yes, cockroaches. It’s like his mouth is the human body equivalent of Real Kill; he just winks the baby blues and says a few words with that sexy voice of his and they flip onto their backs, legs in the air and all.” I finished with a nod, believing both things were true. Those females were far too touchy but, it also should be noted, that God was in a great mood when he put together Thomas Payne, not that that gave them a free pass…but, yeah.     I forcibly peeled my eyes off them; he didn’t seem to mind so why should I?     She piggy snorted. “God knows I shouldn’t laugh at this. It only encourages you…but damn. You have a way with words.”     I nodded, burdened with this knowledge, “I know. Which is why I have considered venturing into writing books for children.”     “Yeah. I am certain they will sell out in a day. Because people will organize and burn them all in a pyre.”     I sighed dreamily, “I do love bringing people together…and hey, I still make money out of it. And if you are planning to join them, remember to bring the marshmallows, ok?”     “So altruistic of you.”     I tapped my chin pensively, “Also, would it be too low of me to use Zamora’s photo instead of my own?”     “As a professional psychotherapist? Yes. As your loyal, bloodthirsty friend and sister? I will tell Jason to erase your electronic trail and create a solid alibi for you. What I’m trying to say is that this conversation never happened.”     “Unlike you, I have no claims to call myself a psychotherapist, but…I do know that forgetting things as quickly as you have is not a good sign. Premature Alzheimer? Or maybe not so early…seeing as your hair is mostly white with some blonde strands.”     “This is my official diagnostic of your case.” She flipped me off. With both hands. Look at my ambidextrous sister, she was so accomplished. “And just to be clear, you have all the ground knowledge of a psychologist, you just decided not to graduate right at the end. Also, f**k you. I have no gray hairs.” She self-consciously padded her hair as if to reassure herself. She froze mid patting her tresses.     “Sym…we are cool. You don’t have to watch everything you say around me.” I frowned, tasting the lie given the circumstances, “well…not everything…you know what I mean.”     She smiled, looking far younger than her years.     I was more than likely projecting, seeing as I hated to be touched without fair warning…and even then. Still… the sight of them made me mad.      Was that...yep, my eyes narrowed on the turquoise haired woman’s hand, as it slithered down his long back, down to his ass as they posed for the photo. My eyes snapped up at his face, trying to gauge his reaction only to widen in alarm as I realized his eyes were zeroed in on me but his expression was pure rage…I looked over my shoulder, then at Sym, then back at him. A demanding auburn eyebrow rose over now dark blue eyes. They held such unbridle hatred and contempt that it sent a rush of blood to my face. My face throbbed with embarrassment because I came to the sudden realization that he had heard us…no. He heard me and unlike Sym, he would take my words at face value. Even as she reprimanded me for my words, I was willing to bet that she knew I didn’t actually meant it; I may be sarcastic but I wasn’t that far gone into cynical territory. She was a smart cookie and she saw right through me- the problem was never about him or the women themselves. It was my view on unsolicited touch that caused me snap the way I did.     He just stared, his eyes darkening with unbridled waves of emotions. Even as he stood a couple of feet away from me I experienced a cold chill go down my spine. I didn’t have a “thing” about being seen, per se,  it was about feeling judged by people that brought detailed attention to me…that made others stop and look. And unlike last time, there was a reason for me to feel ashamed. The mere idea of a physical altercation was enough to make my palms sweaty and send my heart into overdrive.     I have trained myself to tolerate touch and yet a simple f*****g look and I was about to lose my s**t. A cold hand grasped my burning wrist, anchoring me back by brute force alone. With a hiss I pulled away from Sym, who didn’t seem to notice the ticking bomb standing across from us. She was calmed and focused solely on me. “Colors?” She pressed on, unfazed by my reaction.     “What?”     “Colors?” She pressed on again.     I was the ticking bomb. Not Payne. I turned my body towards her, ignoring the sounds beyond us, even ignoring the snapping fingers and yells of a very angry photographer. Pushed past the heat of that man’s gaze. I knew what she was after and since it was the same thing I did I willingly went with it, looking into her eyes, I said, “Tiffany blue, black, brown. Gold…even a bit of green, you beautiful bastard.”     She tsked, her smile genuine to the bone. “At least I was planned…” Damn. She smiled evilly, so naturally for her. Nose crinkled, she asked, “Smell?”      Did we really have to do that one? Yes. Anchoring was a process and shortcut won’t ever do. “Febreeze we had to used on Ryan?” I genuinely didn’t remember the scent and seeing as he took the bottle with him, you know.     She nodded solemnly…almost looking sad at the mention.     I was now sad too.     “Hear?”     I forced my hearing beyond us, straining my senses until there was no overload, “I’m pretty sure I just heard Ryan laughing like a schoolgirl.”     She nodded her agreement, “Touch?” She extended her right hand, flat palm up.     I sighed, waiting for her question.     “What roles did we play in fifth grade?”     My index finger already tracing the letters of my answer on her hand. Trees. It wasn’t even an ecological themed play…we had to audition for it. That teacher was a b***h.     She nodded approvingly, “Good girl.”     My shock is audible, “Did you just…I am not a dog!”     She shrugged, “OH, I most certainly did not! I would never talk like that to Luka because, unlike you, he is a good boy.”      “Payne? Come on. Look at the camera, my man. Earth to Payne?” Just like that, my mind was brought back to present time.     Payne had moved even closer than I had initially realized, now parting the black divisory curtain with his right hand, looking like a predator about to leap at prey. He had been watching us do the anchoring and somehow I knew he knew what it was or for what it was. His understanding was that visible. I prepared myself for a look of pity but it never came. Payne visibly discarded the fact and continued to glare at me…it was somewhat welcomed. His anger did not bother me, though. If push came down to shove, I could take him down, not easily, but I could. It was not a matter of lack of strength to defend myself. It’s about not resorting to a physical confrontation unless it was necessary. I had trouble still determining what constituted a real threat and what simply was not, specially when your brain was still on survival mode.     e kept his heated blue beam on me for a few more seconds. This must be what a barcode feels like as it comes under the intense, red glare of a scanner.     Sym gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, whispering, “Oh my God! He heard us.”     Look who decided to join us. Welcome to the party, Sis. It took her this long to realize what had set me off. She had been so focused on me that she didn’t even notice him.     I kept my eyes on him, trying to convey in my gaze the apology that refused to come out of my mouth, “No. He heard me.”     He nodded once, the movement almost unnoticeable yet animalistic, as if saying, yes, I did hear you.  Slowly, he raised his hand, with both his middle and index finger he motioned for me to come to him.     My eyes widened, my head already shaking from side to side. There is anger, right? But this…it went deeper and it ran far colder. It was fury. It almost felt like a promise of some sort, of what I did not know.     I watched him rejoined the now cheering group of fans, who picked it up right were they left it off, his eyes, though, they never left me.     Then a man I could not see but could hear yelled, “Payne, what are you doing? We are not done yet. Look at the camera.”     His right eye twitched at the other man’s words; he clearly didn’t like being told what to do. Then he did something I did not see coming…he smiled. But it was twisted and evil…and f*****g hot…in a scary sort of way.     “He’s a damn scary man.” Sym murmured.     “Yeah. One with superb hearing.” I said, casting my eyes back to Sym.     Somehow, I knew with bone deep certainty that this wouldn’t be the last I’d be seeing of him. It felt like a promise.