Read Online Cry Me a River PG-13 Edition by Devyn Dawson - Free Book Online
Authors: Devyn Dawson
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laid. Ewww, he probably really did. “Yeah, that would be great.” Suddenly, I’m aggravated at the thought of him getting laid before class. Stop! I yell at myself. I always expect the bad from people.
I’d like to puff on my e-cig, I’ll run to the bathroom and take a couple of puffs and come back. Like a heroin addict I hide in a bathroom stall and take a couple of drags on my fake cigarette. Why do I hide? Because you know men find it unattractive and you don’t want Caide to find out you smoke….because you like him. Ugh! I do not like him, he’s not my type! Yes he is. If anyone knew how I have these little arguments with myself, they’d call the loony bin and send me away!
“Good evening everyone. Tonight we’re going to discuss how we handle stressful situations. Remember, this is your place to be honest with yourself and no judgment will be cast. I’ll start the evening.” I take a sip of my water and clear my throat. “When I was about ten years old, I realized the meaning of the word stress. Up until that point, I had been a good student in school. That year was the first time I understood the word bully. No one had ever treated me the way one boy in my class did. He would walk by me and lean in and whisper mean things to me. Things like; what’s wrong little single parent kid? Mama not able to find another man? He would taunt me and tease me about the clothes I wore and being a straight A student. I began turning in my work late or not at all. I started wearing lip gloss and blue eye shadow to hide my face from the real me. By the end of the nine weeks, my grades had dropped to a C. It was that night my mother took a belt to me.” I hear a couple of people suck in their breath. “I didn’t know how to tell her about the boy, but I had to decide which was worse; a belt or teasing. Me and my sore butt decided teasing would be more tolerable. That belt taught me the meaning of someone taking their anger out on you. To deal with my tormentor, I learned to let his taunts roll off of me. I’m what many people call a peace keeper, and I am. The other way I deal with stress is to bake cookies. Thankfully, I have John to enjoy them.” I look over to John and he smiles back at me. Many people who come to the meetings use a fake name, not John; he’s okay with people knowing who he is. He attends the other meetings too, he says he finds peace when he’s around us. “Those are my coping mechanisms.”
Ellen is a heavy set black woman who wears her heart on her sleeve. One time she told me it’s frowned upon to seek help. The South has rules and she grew up old school, where you don’t share with white folks your problems. Ellen is from a town called Swansboro and drives all the way here to lessen the chance of running into anyone she knows. We’ve had coffee a few times and I offered to be her sponsor, but she says she feels like the meetings are all she needs. Tonight she walks over to me and pulls me in to one of her squashing-you-into-her-large-bosom hugs. She’s shorter than my five foot seven stature and her boobs are squished into my stomach. “Baby, you been through too much nonsense. You’re a strong woman, remember that,” Ellen whispers. “I’ll go next, you sit down and rest.” She’s always telling me to rest, which is funny since she’s the one with eight kids.
Almost everyone stood up and told a story about their stress release, and then surprising us all, Caide stood up. His muscular biceps are highlighted by the white Polo he’s wearing. His surfers tan and bright blue eyes are sad looking tonight. A hint of a tattoo on his bicep is peeking out from his sleeve; I can’t help but wonder what the tattoo is of. He walks to the front, his jeans are fitted and I get a quick glimpse at his ass….oh no.
“ I’m uh…” He rocks from foot to foot. “Hey
I’d like to puff on my e-cig, I’ll run to the bathroom and take a couple of puffs and come back. Like a heroin addict I hide in a bathroom stall and take a couple of drags on my fake cigarette. Why do I hide? Because you know men find it unattractive and you don’t want Caide to find out you smoke….because you like him. Ugh! I do not like him, he’s not my type! Yes he is. If anyone knew how I have these little arguments with myself, they’d call the loony bin and send me away!
“Good evening everyone. Tonight we’re going to discuss how we handle stressful situations. Remember, this is your place to be honest with yourself and no judgment will be cast. I’ll start the evening.” I take a sip of my water and clear my throat. “When I was about ten years old, I realized the meaning of the word stress. Up until that point, I had been a good student in school. That year was the first time I understood the word bully. No one had ever treated me the way one boy in my class did. He would walk by me and lean in and whisper mean things to me. Things like; what’s wrong little single parent kid? Mama not able to find another man? He would taunt me and tease me about the clothes I wore and being a straight A student. I began turning in my work late or not at all. I started wearing lip gloss and blue eye shadow to hide my face from the real me. By the end of the nine weeks, my grades had dropped to a C. It was that night my mother took a belt to me.” I hear a couple of people suck in their breath. “I didn’t know how to tell her about the boy, but I had to decide which was worse; a belt or teasing. Me and my sore butt decided teasing would be more tolerable. That belt taught me the meaning of someone taking their anger out on you. To deal with my tormentor, I learned to let his taunts roll off of me. I’m what many people call a peace keeper, and I am. The other way I deal with stress is to bake cookies. Thankfully, I have John to enjoy them.” I look over to John and he smiles back at me. Many people who come to the meetings use a fake name, not John; he’s okay with people knowing who he is. He attends the other meetings too, he says he finds peace when he’s around us. “Those are my coping mechanisms.”
Ellen is a heavy set black woman who wears her heart on her sleeve. One time she told me it’s frowned upon to seek help. The South has rules and she grew up old school, where you don’t share with white folks your problems. Ellen is from a town called Swansboro and drives all the way here to lessen the chance of running into anyone she knows. We’ve had coffee a few times and I offered to be her sponsor, but she says she feels like the meetings are all she needs. Tonight she walks over to me and pulls me in to one of her squashing-you-into-her-large-bosom hugs. She’s shorter than my five foot seven stature and her boobs are squished into my stomach. “Baby, you been through too much nonsense. You’re a strong woman, remember that,” Ellen whispers. “I’ll go next, you sit down and rest.” She’s always telling me to rest, which is funny since she’s the one with eight kids.
Almost everyone stood up and told a story about their stress release, and then surprising us all, Caide stood up. His muscular biceps are highlighted by the white Polo he’s wearing. His surfers tan and bright blue eyes are sad looking tonight. A hint of a tattoo on his bicep is peeking out from his sleeve; I can’t help but wonder what the tattoo is of. He walks to the front, his jeans are fitted and I get a quick glimpse at his ass….oh no.
“ I’m uh…” He rocks from foot to foot. “Hey
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