92 - Water Ceremony

*You know, a water ceremony. They sprinkle water on you, and you become my godfather. That’s what Dom said has to happen. – Camille, age 8*

Camille’s body shook with the power of the orgasm that ripped through her body. Darkness braced one hand on the headboard while the other arm wrapped around her waist anchoring her trembling body against his own.

“Let me,” he took a ragged breath and pressed a kiss to the back of her head. “Let me catch my breath and I’ll untie you.”

Another tremor ran through her, and she felt her body sag under the exhaustion of her body. If it were not for the cuffs on her wrists and the arm braced around her, she would have collapsed onto her stomach. Darkness shifted and released the headboard from his grasp. With a quick movement her wrists were freed from the bindings and her body sagged.

Lowering her to the mattress, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder before he slid out of her. She moaned softly at the loss of the very full feeling. Another sound of disappointment escaped her as he moved off her and the cool air hit her skin that was slick with sweat and humidity.

It was early April, and the temperature was already in the low eighties. The humidity was almost thick enough to swim through. Prior to living here, Camille never knew that the humidity could be this high without there being any measurable precipitation. In the first week of April the city of Baton Rouge had received less than a quarter of an inch.

Yet, living on the bayou, the air was thick enough for you to feel it clinging to your skin.

The ceiling fan above her pushed the air around, circulating in the room and causing it to cool. The thick breeze coming through the open window was warm, contrasting with the coolness that she felt on her skin.

Recently, LSU classes had started up, but only online. With the professors trying to find a groove and students discovering a little more freedom for classwork, Camille found herself tied to her bed at least once at some point during the day. Not that she was complaining.

Somewhere in the far-off distance, miles and miles away, on the bedside table, Camille’s phone began to ring. Opening her eyes, she looked over but decided that the device was just too far away. Darkness chuckled as he settled on the bed next to her.

“Are you going to answer that?”

“Too far, can’t reach,” she replied, still riding the exhausted pleasure high.

Reaching across her, he trailed open mouth kisses across her shoulders. He grabbed her phone and settled back on the bed. “*Ma Belle*, it’s Doc.”

Grabbing the edge of the blanket that she was laying on, she rolled towards him and covered herself up. He settled her between his legs and held the phone so that her face was the only one on the screen. At her nod, he pressed the accept button and the screen lit up.

In the afterglow of multiple orgasms and being in her man’s arms, she was smiling when Darkness pushed the green circle to answer her phone. Her eyes were drawn to the small square that showed her and Darkness. It was obvious what they had been doing. There was no hiding that she was a well pleased woman.

Smiling at Doc, she looked at the P.A. and took in what she could see. Head covering, N-95 mask and a clear face shield. His once well-trimmed beard was no longer on his cheeks. She could not see his hair under the head covering, but it looked like it had been cut shorter or shaved off completely.

Understanding settled in around her and she knew why he was calling from the dimly lit room. The high-pitched beep and steady sounds of the ventilator said more than the words that Doc did not say. And the three words that he did say cut through her and she knew that this was the end for her godfather.

“I’m sorry, Worm.”

She gave a slow, shallow nod and blinked back her tears. Camille had to swallow hard before she could whisper her soft question. “Can I say goodbye?”

“Yeah, do you want to see him?”

“No,” she shook her head and answered him quietly, “I want to remember him as the man in my memories and not as a whatever is in that bed.”

Doc nodded, “Hearing is the last thing to go. He can hear you, but he can’t respond.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and he nodded before laying the phone on the pillow next to Brute’s head.

Darkness handed the phone to her and hugged her a little closer to him. “Do you want me to give you some space?”

“No,” she shook her head against his chest.

She moved the phone closer to her mouth so that she knew that he could hear her. Taking a ragged breath, the first tears slid down her cheeks.

“I love you Brute. You were there for a little girl who had lost her first best friend. You told me that it was okay to be sad over losing Pops and that my tears were just memories that couldn’t be contained.”

Reaching up, she touched her damp cheeks.

“My memories of you can’t be contained, either. They’re on my cheeks right now. I love you, G-Daddy.”

A ping on her phone said that she had a new text message from G-Daddy. Clicking on it, she read the simple message that she was certain he had typed out when he first got sick.

“I promise, I’ll have a mezcal worm for you. And I’ll stay right here.”

Her voice was cracking, and the words were broken with sobs. Darkness gently took the phone from her and held her as she turned and curled into his chest. He shifted and looked into the screen at the drop ceiling above the dying man.

Softly he spoke in Creole to the man that had been such an important part of Camille’s life. When he was through, he called out for Doc and the other man quickly appeared.

“Is she okay? I mean…”

“I’ll take care of her,” Darkness assured the other man.

“Thanks man,” he sighed out and Camille looked up at her phone.

“Thank you, Doc,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome, little bit.”

With that, the call ended as the machines behind him started to scream and wail. Less than an hour later, the message went out telling the Saints that they lost Brute. Darkness passed the message on to Gator who shared it with the Cajuns and Renegades.

There would be no last ride, no last salute, no memorial and no funeral.

Camille stayed curled up in bed with Darkness for a few hours, letting her memories fall. She finally got out of bed when her bladder insisted on being emptied. She pulled on one of his large T-shirts and found him in the kitchen.

He handed her a glass of iced tea, “I’ve ordered some mezcal, I got the brand that the Saints had.”

She smiled her thanks and took a small sip before letting him lead her to the couch. He wore a pair of gray cotton athletic shorts and settled her in his lap. “Your memories are leaking again.”

Laying her head against his bare chest, she smiled. “I was six, maybe seven, and was supposed to be at school. I don’t remember why I wasn’t, I’m sure there was a reason, or not.” She gave a small shrug and chuckle. “I was with Pops that day, he was dad’s president and my best friend. He had to go to the motherhouse, Blue was still there, so I must have been six.”

“Pops and Blue went to do … whatever. I got left with the new Vice, Brute. We had a tea party. I don’t remember when Blue left, he turned over the club to Brute and said deuces, bitches. He went to Florida to be a drunk on the beach. He had a short career as a drunk beach bum, died of brain cancer just a few months later.”

Taking a drink, she shifted slightly, and he brushed a kiss on her temple.

“When Pops died, Brute came over and sat with me and told me that my tears were just memories that I couldn’t contain, I needed to share them,” she smiled.

“At some point I decided that Brute was my godfather, and one of the brothers said he wasn’t, and I remember that made me so sad that he wasn’t my godfather. I was crying in the hall and Dom found me. She said that it’s only because we hadn’t had the water ceremony yet.”

“Dom splashed us with water and told the club that he was my godfather. And if anyone said otherwise, they could take it up with her.”