into the bathroom. Leaning both hands against the vanity countertop, I heard the door slam behind Chris. Fuck. I d idn’t mean for this to happen, but damnit, I also wasn’t going to lie and act like I didn’t think about J. I needed my best friend to help me sort through these feelings and thoughts, not go off on me.
“Fuck!” I shouted to no one.
“Fuck you, for making me love you! Fuck you, for shooting me! Fuck you, for not even coming to check on me!” I shouted that to J, even if he wasn’t around to hear it.
I lit a blunt that Chris and I were going to smoke when bath time was done. I held it in my mouth, puffing , while I slathered ointment on my stitches and taped a gauze pad over it.
“Man, fuck this shit,” I mumbled to myself.
Tears started to well up in my eyes. I refused to cry, not over J, not over Chris, not over anyone. I took the blunt and laid in bed. The window was open as it was a beautiful day outside. Not too hot, not too cold, one of those perfect days. I felt the breeze blow over me as I ashed the blunt into an ashtray on the window sill. Closing my eyes, I drifted back to another time I’d laid in this bed with a breeze blowing over me. I was lying with J, and had just asked why he wanted me. I remembered his response.
You’re soft, yet strong, willing to let me in when you could have closed down. You shine your light on me, and it blinds me with all that is good in this world.
To fall asleep, feeling your hair against my chest. To take you on the back of my bike as soon as it’s warm enough, and cross the country with you. To have adventures and make memories with you. You could decide at any moment to never see me again and… and… the thought of that kills me, shatters me.
I also remembered my response to him.
I’m right there with ya, baby. I’m not going anywhere.
I meant those words at the time. I wanted to share my life with him. I wanted to have adventures and make memories with him. Before I went to the drug house Fernie was at—the house that was to be my undoing—I was madly in love with a Giant Hottie who said all the right things and held me just right. Someone who figured me out, and who loved everything he figured out as he peeled each layer back. How did Chris think I could just turn that off? J didn’t shoot me in a cold blood. It was a fucked up situation that went terribly wrong, but it wasn’t cold blood. J didn’t know he was shooting at me. Was I a fool for loving a man who could inflict so much damage on me? On my life?
“Fuck,” I mumbled as the tears began to fall. I couldn’t hold them back any longer. That was the first of many nights I would cry myself to sleep.
******
I went to the Center on Wednesday. The teens begged me to make hot ham and cheese sandwiches, one of their favorites. I had to disappoint them though, citing I needed something with less spatula action. They settled for spaghetti, of which Genesis and Angelica were great help in making. They didn’t know exactly what had happened to me, and most didn’t even know I had stitches, let alone why. Genesis had kept her mouth shut as promised. For the most part, it was just a typical night at the Center.
Dinner was over, the kids were playing games, and I was finishing up dishes when Marcos popped his head in the kitchen.
“Wanna play Scrabble?”
I looked at him. I’d been lost in thought—yes, about mother fucking J—when he came in.
“The board game?” Marcos nodded. “Sure.” I needed to get my mind off J.
I sat down at the table with Marcos, Angelica, Genesis, and Ramón. Angelica and Marcos were playing as a team. I wasn’t competitive about much, but card and board games were my weakness.
“Dude. Is it fair for Marcos and Angelica to be playing together? They get two brains of ideas. We only get one,” I said pointing to my own head.
“We play Mexican style,” Marcos told me.
I raised my brows at him. “Mexican style?”
“Yeah. Pretty much
“Fuck!” I shouted to no one.
“Fuck you, for making me love you! Fuck you, for shooting me! Fuck you, for not even coming to check on me!” I shouted that to J, even if he wasn’t around to hear it.
I lit a blunt that Chris and I were going to smoke when bath time was done. I held it in my mouth, puffing , while I slathered ointment on my stitches and taped a gauze pad over it.
“Man, fuck this shit,” I mumbled to myself.
Tears started to well up in my eyes. I refused to cry, not over J, not over Chris, not over anyone. I took the blunt and laid in bed. The window was open as it was a beautiful day outside. Not too hot, not too cold, one of those perfect days. I felt the breeze blow over me as I ashed the blunt into an ashtray on the window sill. Closing my eyes, I drifted back to another time I’d laid in this bed with a breeze blowing over me. I was lying with J, and had just asked why he wanted me. I remembered his response.
You’re soft, yet strong, willing to let me in when you could have closed down. You shine your light on me, and it blinds me with all that is good in this world.
To fall asleep, feeling your hair against my chest. To take you on the back of my bike as soon as it’s warm enough, and cross the country with you. To have adventures and make memories with you. You could decide at any moment to never see me again and… and… the thought of that kills me, shatters me.
I also remembered my response to him.
I’m right there with ya, baby. I’m not going anywhere.
I meant those words at the time. I wanted to share my life with him. I wanted to have adventures and make memories with him. Before I went to the drug house Fernie was at—the house that was to be my undoing—I was madly in love with a Giant Hottie who said all the right things and held me just right. Someone who figured me out, and who loved everything he figured out as he peeled each layer back. How did Chris think I could just turn that off? J didn’t shoot me in a cold blood. It was a fucked up situation that went terribly wrong, but it wasn’t cold blood. J didn’t know he was shooting at me. Was I a fool for loving a man who could inflict so much damage on me? On my life?
“Fuck,” I mumbled as the tears began to fall. I couldn’t hold them back any longer. That was the first of many nights I would cry myself to sleep.
******
I went to the Center on Wednesday. The teens begged me to make hot ham and cheese sandwiches, one of their favorites. I had to disappoint them though, citing I needed something with less spatula action. They settled for spaghetti, of which Genesis and Angelica were great help in making. They didn’t know exactly what had happened to me, and most didn’t even know I had stitches, let alone why. Genesis had kept her mouth shut as promised. For the most part, it was just a typical night at the Center.
Dinner was over, the kids were playing games, and I was finishing up dishes when Marcos popped his head in the kitchen.
“Wanna play Scrabble?”
I looked at him. I’d been lost in thought—yes, about mother fucking J—when he came in.
“The board game?” Marcos nodded. “Sure.” I needed to get my mind off J.
I sat down at the table with Marcos, Angelica, Genesis, and Ramón. Angelica and Marcos were playing as a team. I wasn’t competitive about much, but card and board games were my weakness.
“Dude. Is it fair for Marcos and Angelica to be playing together? They get two brains of ideas. We only get one,” I said pointing to my own head.
“We play Mexican style,” Marcos told me.
I raised my brows at him. “Mexican style?”
“Yeah. Pretty much
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