Free Mind Lies by Harlow Stone Page B

lifting my hair and pointing to the stitches in my head. “I’m tired because of my head injury, Ming. No baby.” I’m sure she noticed the ugly bruising on the side of my face; perhaps she was just too kind to say anything. She simply shrugs her shoulders and mutters, “Boy make tired,” before wiping down the sink with a towel.
    “Ming?” I ask. She looks at me. I continue. “Do you remember the man who lived here with me?” She shakes her head. My shoulders deflate.
    “Man no live here with Jerri. Man come after and ask where you go. I tell him Ming not know.” She gives me wide eyes as if to say that even if she did know the man, there would be no way in fuck she would tell him where I had gone.
    “Do you remember what he looked like?” Portia asks. Ming shakes her head and points to my hair. “Hair dark. He tall.” She raises her hands above her head, flicking them to indicate “much taller,” and shifts her eyebrows up and down in a way that suggests she very well may have liked the way this tall, dark-haired man looked.
    I watch Portia pressing her lips together in an attempt to stall a laugh. “Thanks so much, Ming. I really should get some rest,” I say.
    Portia adds, “I’m hoping to find a two-bedroom apartment, Ming. But if I change my mind, I’ll definitely call you.”
    We follow her out of the bathroom, and as we pass the beige couch in the living area, I pause and grab onto the back of it as a memory takes over.
    With my hands braced on the back of the couch, Locklin sweeps my hair over my left shoulder, exposing my right. He starts to place kisses along my skin. His teeth graze my ear lobe. He whispers, “Sing, Jerri girl.”
    Leaning my head back against his shoulder, I do just that.
    Sing.
    “Let’s get home, girl.” Portia says, oblivious of my aching heart.

Chapter Eleven

     
    “I know what we need to do.”
    Rolling my head to the side, I stare at my good friend lying next to me on my bed. I collapsed as soon as we came in the door, but I haven’t fallen asleep yet. With too much on my mind, and so many unanswered questions, it seems like an impossible feat.
    “What’s that?” I ask.
    She sits up, twisting her hands together trying to find the right words. “You’ve had two memories now about the song he asked you to sing to him, right?”
    I nod. “Yes. It seems really personal. I don’t know who the artist is or anything. I googled the words, but nothing came up.”
    “You’re always humming and singing to every song on the radio, Jer. So I’m going to preface this by saying you have a beautiful voice,” she tells me with a straight face.
    “I’m sensing this is where you drop the bomb?” I ask her with a raised brow.
    She confirms. “Not a bomb per say. I was just thinking that if I record you singing whatever song it is you sang to him, I could stick it on YouTube, and maybe it might bring us some luck, you know? Maybe this Locklin guy will see it. If he doesn’t see it, maybe someone who knows him will and pass the message along.”
    I frown. “What message?”
    She shakes her head. “That you’re trying to find him. We can add that message to the video. There’s tons of shit like this that gets posted on YouTube. People are hit sensations overnight.”
    I cut her off. “I don’t want to be a hit sensation, Portia.”
    She places her hand on mine. “I know you don’t. You’d hate all the attention. We don’t need to put your face in the video. But we could put your face in profile or something and attach a message to the song. Cooper can help.”
    It feels so personal.
    Like an invasion of my privacy.
    From what I remember, each time I sang that song to Locklin, it was in the middle of a passionate moment, something I feel should only be experienced between the two of us, certainly not with the world.
    But what other choice do I have? I don’t know what else to do to find him. Going to the apartment didn’t help me get any closer to finding