Azmir snorts ruefully after a beat and then bends to remove his boxer briefs. During the brief descension I quickly decide not to be a peeping Tom. This comforting thing is not about me and the annoying fact that I could never get my fill of Azmir. He needs soothing. Though my eyes are now facing the Jacuzzi, I can sense Azmir tossing his underwear in the hamper and making his way over to the tub.
I give him time to settle into a place of comfort before I lather the sponge and wash him from his neck to his toes. When we’re done, I dry him off and have him lay across the bed. I’m torn about his obedience. Azmir has questioned very little of my instruction. He does everything I ask, which further coils my heart. He just isn’t himself.
I have him lay on his stomach while I change into something more comfortable, yet aesthetically pleasing, which is a yoga lounge set. I then grab a small bottle of eucalyptus oil from the vanity in the bathroom. When I settle onto the bed, I take my time and massage his glorious lengthy and muscular frame. I start with his feet, as I straddle him backwards. I then work my way up from his ankles to his calves, kneading every muscle attached to each bone as I ascend to his lower back. I don’t touch his butt. Some men have this no-bother-zone thing with their derrieres and Azmir is no different. On a different day, I’d rile him up by hinting to it, but again today is about relaxing him.
I try to focus my mind as my hands explore every inch of him—every scar from childhood, skin-tone blemish, and smooth patch that perfects this man’s exterior. When I’m done with his back, I have him roll over and I place a small towel on his private area to keep me from violating the pact I made with myself when I conjured this therapeutic plan of mine. I don’t even straddle him this time, but sit at his side instead to keep the course. It’s difficult. I’m unaccustomed to not having Azmir’s body as my playground when it’s fully exposed. It also doesn’t help that he has glaring erection. I train my eyes everywhere but there.
When I’m done, I check and see his eyes are still closed. I don’t think he’s asleep, so I go into the walk-in closet and grab some clothes for him to slip on. When I return, he’s sitting up with his back resting against the decorative pillows. I feel like a deer caught in headlights. Emotionally, I’m able to identify, but not so much verbally. I hated when people tried to soothe me with words when I was in mourning.
Azmir doesn’t look at me as he sits, staring blankly at the adjacent wall above the flat screen ahead. I’m stapled to the floor, not knowing what to do. I’d do anything to comfort him right now in any way. I know he and Kid weren’t exactly best friends like Michelle and I, but when I lost her, there was a bit of comfort being alone in my own head. If that’s what my husband wants, I’ll give it to him without resentment. And if he wants me here, I’ll— “Come here,” Azmir’s raspy voice can hardly be heard, but I hear the pain in it.
Within seconds, I mount the massive bed and shuffle around until I’m settled behind him, assuming the support position. I have his back and here’s where I’ll rest in hopes of him laying his concerns on me so that I can help him carry the load. I want to be what he needs when he needs me to be it.
“I feel…” he attempts. He doesn’t pick up right away and that’s okay. We’ll stay here as long as he needs to. “It’s my fault…Kid’s death.”
I don’t know where he’s navigating this conversation to because there is no way I can believe Kid’s death is in anyway Azmir’s fault. He goes quiet again. And again, I wait.
“In The Clan, we all had roles,” he starts again. “Mine, you know was the general. Petey’s was the enforcer. And so to speak, Kid was the terminator. I won’t speak too much on it, but…” He takes a long and heavy exhale, blowing out his grief on the way. It’s so thick I can feel it. “When the fire happened last fall in Pasadena, it was Kid’s role to find the fucker who did it. We’d easily learned who the perp was on the street. He ended up a ghost and I had been on Kid’s ass about recovering him for months. I was marrying you and....” This time he inhales and I can feel his wide back expand against my chest.
“…and even though I’d retired from the game, I couldn’t have that situation unresolved. It wouldn’t be safe for you or good on The Clan’s reputation. Kid kept saying he was working hard at finding him. And I kept pushing and threatening his new crown in the organization. He was putting in long hours and wasn’t sleeping enough to think shit out. D-Struct walked up on Kid while he was getting out of his car late that morning, after a stakeout shift, looking for him. The report said D-Struct got in several shots before Kid’s one accurate blast killed him instantly.”