Melted & Shattered (13 page)

“So you told him I was going to County?”

José shrugged like it was no biggie.

“Dude. Don’t be telling him my whereabouts. He needs to get over it. Him and me—ain’t happenin’. Like ever.”

“Ha! Try telling him that.”

“You tell him!”

“I have. We all have. I think he’s jealous of anyone who talks to you besides him.”

“
Fuckin' A.” There was no way I was going to be able to tell Larry that he needed to find a new obsession without hurting his feelings and totally ruining our friendship. "Just don’t feed the fire, OK?”

“Alright. No more updates,” he said, holding his hands up in defense.

Man, I was going to have a talk with Aaron to make sure he wasn’t sharing info as well.

“So
, you going to the Center tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I went yesterday too. I’ve been
spending more time there lately. It helps.”

“Helps what?”

How did I explain that the only time I felt half way human was with those teens? It seemed like the only time I was truly happy anymore was at the Center. Not that my nights weren’t still plagued with tears, but at least I had some smiles in the mix now. I kept thinking they would be my salvation, the thing that got me back to my old self. The Elle I used to be. That is, if she even still existed. I was starting to question if I’d ever get her back.

José and I finished the joint he’d brought. I had eased up on the weed since the Everclear incident. The more time I spent at
the Center, the less time I wanted to be high. I was beginning to see the value of a clear head. The teens made me want to be a better person, and that equated to not being high all the time. I was pretty loopy when José finally left. Maybe it would knock me out, and I’d finally get a peaceful nights rest.

...or not as ended up being the case.

Damnit. I was so tired of crying.

******

I went to the Center Wednesday and Thursday. The kids were ecstatic to have me three days that week. Was it me or my cooking? I wasn’t sure, but I was going to let myself believe it was me. I gave Genesis the letter from Fernie on Wednesday. Unlike Fernie, she questioned the fact that it was open. I told her it was the postal service tax. She didn’t get it.

“Who’s the postal service?” she questioned me.

“I’m the postal service, Genesis.”

“You work for the post office now?”

“No, girl. I’m saying it because you and Fernie have me delivering letters like the mail carrier.”

“So why are you opening them?” She said this with her hand on her hip, Chris style. Oh no
, no, no.

“Hey, you want me to keep delivering letters, you pay the tax. And the tax is they might get opened.”

“Humph.”

She could humph all she wanted, but when I came in Thursday she had another letter for me to give Fernie.

“Here, I didn’t seal it,” she said with a smirk.

Like she was hurting me! “Thanks for the help.” I winked at her.

She gave the typical American teen response. “Whatever.”

Yeah, whatever. I scurried home that night to read her letter. I texted José a few words.

ME: what’s
tu eres mi vida
? You’re my life?

JOSÉ
: are you reading letters again?

ME: maybe

JOSÉ: it’s just her saying he means alot to her. he’s her everything. her life.

ME: oh. what about
No se que seria de mi vida sin ti

My phone rang.

“Just read me the damn line,” José said when I picked up.

In my best pronunciation, I read out loud, “
No se que seria de mi vida sin ti. Quizás no tuviera vida. Pero si tengo que vivirla sin ti, siempre lo hare pensando en ti
. What’s that all about?”

“Damn. Girl’s got it bad. Read me it once more.” I did. “She said, I don’t know what my life will be without you. Maybe I wouldn’t have a l
ife at all. But if I have to live without you, I will do it forever thinking of you. So like, she’ll live forever thinking of him.” He paused. “That’s heavy.”

“Eh, she’s a sixteen year old girl. We’re an emotional bunch.”

“No doubt. Anything else?”

“Nah, that’s it. Thanks.”

“No
problemo
. I’ll be your
diccionario
anytime, Elle.”

“Well,
muchas gracias
, José.”

I hung up.

And then I cried.

Fuckin
’ A.

I
thought those exact thoughts about J, only I’d been trying to ignore them. I’d attempted to shove them deep down into a place inaccessible to my brain. I was tired of waiting, but I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about all the times we spent together, and how I'd been so freaking happy. Reading those words, even in a foreign language, shattered my heart all over again. I crawled into bed, and didn’t make it to the Center the following day.

Instead Chris found me, and I wasn’t exactly in the best of shape...

Chapter
10

I was lying on my couch watching TV on mute, smoking my world away, when Chris came barreling in. I needed to stop giving out my key. She walked towards me like a woman on a mission.

“Elle, are you alive over there? I think you got some drool goin’ on,” she said, squatting down to look me square in the eye. I wiped the edges of
my mouth with my shirt sleeve. “A few days ago it was Sade’s Soldier of Love on repeat. Now it’s Elle, the couch sloth.”

I flipped over on my back, pulled a pillow over my face and groaned into it. “I’m so fucking tired of feeling
like shit,” I growled. Sitting up on the couch, I caught a stray tear with my shirt sleeve.

“Uh, how long have you been wearing that shirt?”

I looked at my tear and snot covered sleeves and shrugged. “Few days.”

“Guuuuuuuuurl.”

“I know. I know. I’m just not ready to walk among the living yet.”

“You’ve gone to
the Center and County.”

“Keep it real, woman. That’s teens and convicts. Not real people.”

“Your body’s ready. It’s your mind that can’t keep up. You walk among the living every day. It’s the nights that are a problem for you. Tommorow night. Tiny’s. You and me.” I started to protest, to give her some excuse, but she shot me down before any words were able to exit my mouth. “No excuses. I’ve heard them all. It’ll take you a solid ten minutes to come up with a reasonable one, and I’m not gonna wait around for that. Get it together, girl. I’ll be back Saturday afternoon, and you better be ready, cuz it’s on.”

I grumbled my compliance. At least it wasn’t Eight Oh Eight. I’d never step foot in there again.

******

As promised, Chris showed up at my house Saturday afternoon ready to party. I was trying to feel it. Really
, I was. I just couldn’t seem to get hype. I told Chris this. I was hype-less.

“You know that Jay-Z line?”

We both yelled, “Guess I got my swagga back!”

I laughed. It was hurting less and less to do so. The sti
tches were removed, but I was keeping the pink, sensitive skin covered with a dressing. Eventually, a scar was all I’d have left to remind me of a man who claimed he was going to make things right, and a kid I was unable to save. Strike that. A million kids I couldn’t save.

“We’ll get your swagger back tonight, girl. Don’t worry. It’s like riding a bike. Or a dick.” Chris seemed much more sure of this than me as she laughed at her joke.

“I can’t handle a full three inches of heels tonight. So we’re gonna have to get my swagger back in those one inch, wedge boots.” I nodded to the open show box on the floor. “The three inchers bother my side.”

Chris took one look at the boots and started digging through my closet. “I can work with that.” I
laid back on the bed and let her do her thing.

I’d been a bit of a mess
when it came to looking cute since my “run in” with J. I was trying to get though each day. Fashion fell to the bottom of my priority list, one look at my snotty shirt was all the proof needed. I could tell José noticed, but didn’t comment the previous night. I just didn’t care how I looked.

It was like
my night with J, begging me to wait for him added another layer to the Atlas-style weight I was carrying on my back. I couldn’t decide if I loved him or hated him. No, that’s bullshit. I knew I loved him, but I hated him as well, and I hated
myself
for loving the bastard. These swirling emotions of love and hate were eating me alive. Fuckin’ Wale. Why did that have to be our song? Why did J have to start all this to Wale’s Love Hate Thing? Did he know this is how we would end up? Of course not, it was just my shitty luck.

Chris turned to me holding an armful of hangers. “Scoot.”

I slid to the side of my bed and curled up in a ball, while Chris started laying outfits on it.

“So, we’ve got skinny dark jeans, turquoise tank, and we can grab my brown jacket from my house to match the boots. Or, this denim s
kirt—”

“No skirts.” I cut her off. “Wait a minute. I don’t own a skirt.”

“Yeah, that’s mine. Thought you might not catch that in your catatonic state.” She tossed the skirt behind her shoulder onto the ground, and kept going with fashion week in my bedroom. “Ok, so your other option is these beige leggings I found shoved in the back of your closet, and this green shirt I’ve never seen.” She held up an olive, long sleeved top. It was a thick sheer, with gold grommets forming a V down the front. It was slightly see-through, but the grommets subdued the fact that you could see my bra through it. “And where did these boots come from?” Chris held up the dark brown, leather, Michael Kors boots from the shoe box. “They fucking rock, girl.”

I shoved my face into my pillow and told her, “I got them last week.”

“Marshall’s?”

“Macy’s.”

“Are they having a sale?” I knew why Chris was asking this question, but I tried to avoid it.

“No,” I told her, my face still smashed into my pillow.

“Dude. You paid full price for these phat ass Michael Kors boots at Macy’s? They had to be over $200.”

“$325.”

Chris grabbed my pillow out from under my face. “Girl, you’ve been wallowing for almost two months, and I’ve let you, no questions asked, but that ends tonight. What’s up with the boots?” I rolled over on my back and threw my arm over my eyes. Chris continued, like I knew she would. “What’s up with last week? Cuz I
know
something happened. You’re back at the Center, but not the kitchen. You goin’ back to work any time soon? Cuz you gotta be running out of money, not to pry in your financial shit.”

“Fuckin’ A,” I mumbled, sitting up on the bed. I sat crossed legged and started to spill. I knew she would force me to eventually. “You know J paid off my medical bills cuz you were there when they told us at the hospital.” Chris nodded. “He also paid my rent for like, a decade. AND he dumped a grip of
cash into my bank account. So, one, I bought the fucking boots. I went emotional shopping the other day. Two, I’m gonna go back to the kitchen next week. Just a couple day shifts a week until I’m sure I can move well enough for a weekend night. And three, Thursday night...” I trailed off.

“Take a pause, girl.” Chris said holding her hand up like she was stopping traffic. “J set you up with money?” I nodded. Chris shook her head, put her hand on the hip she had jutting out, and said with disbelief
and a rising pitch in her voice, “And you emotional shopped without me?” I threw the pillow at her. “That’s the smile I was looking for.”

“Fuck you, bitch.” I said with half a smile. It was only half, but it was more than I’d smiled lately. I didn’t tell her I came home and sobbed over my emotionally bought purchases.

“And Thursday night?” Chris still had her hand on her hip, but she wasn’t smiling anymore. Fuck. I was hoping to ignore that last question. “Spill it, girl. I know something is up.”

Elbows on knees, face in hands, I told her
about Genesis’ letter and my reaction to it. It had set me back what felt like weeks in my emotional recovery. We hadn’t talked about much J since we made up. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea. I closed my eyes and pictured Chris as a Looney Toons character, jaw hitting the floor, eyes bugging out. When I opened my eyes, that’s about how she looked. She went to speak, but I put my hand up, stopping traffic just like she had a minute ago. I grabbed the letter I still had from Genesis and read it to her. Of course she had no idea what it meant, so I translated

I
said the translated version in a flat voice, void of emotion. I had to, or else I might start sobbing again, and that definitely wasn’t going to bode well for
Operation Swagger Retrieval
.

“Fuck,” was all Chris could say.

“Yep.”

“You wanna talk about it?”
she asked.

“Nope.”

Chris was silent. I loved her so much. She’d been there for me in the hospital and afterwards. I owed her this night, especially after our fight—the only one we’d ever had.

I stood up off the bed and pointed
to one of the outfits she had laid out. “Skinny jeans and tank. We’ll hit your house up for the jacket on the way to Tiny’s.”

Chris looked at me, blank faced. Then she threw her arms around me and squeezed. “You know I love you, Elle.”

“I know. I love you too, BFF.” I stood there, Chris still squeezing me. “Uh, you planning to let go?”

“Just another minute.”
Fuckin' A, Chris. I was holding back tears. She meant so much to me, and I hadn’t exactly been a good friend to her lately. Granted, I’d been shot, which I think meant I got a pass, but still, I would take a bullet for her too, and I wanted her to know this. I’d suck it up tonight and put my happy face on for her. Lately my happy face had been like whiskey dick. I was having trouble keeping it up.

Chris finally let me go, wiping tears
that had made their way out of her eyes. “OK. No more sad ass shit. We’re gonna have fun. I promise. I’m gonna wash my face and pack a bowl. You get dressed, then I’ll do your makeup, and we’ll bounce.”

******

We were half lit when we got to Chris’ house to pick up the jacket. I waited in the truck while she went inside. I kept telling myself that this was going to be a good night. A great night. I was on my twentieth repetition of this mantra when I finally saw Chris emerge out the front door. When she came back to the truck with the jacket, which matched perfectly with the Michael Kors boots, she also had my flask.

“What the fuck? You stealing my shit?” I asked her.

“Watch your mouth, biotch,” she said passing me the flask. I unscrewed the cap, and held it away from my nose to sniff the contents, expecting to smell Hennessey. Wrong!

“Aw girl, you can steal my flask anytime,” I said with a smile. I tilted my head back and let the smooth Patrón slide down my throat. “You want some?” Chris shook her head as she drove, so I shoved the flask in one of the jacket pockets
.

We arrived at Tiny’s and went straight to the bar. Tiny’s was different from Eight Oh Eight in that it was small enough to see everything going on. The bar was in the middle of the room. There was a pool table to the left of the front door, a Golden Tee game to the right, and a few tables scattered around both. To the left of the bar
, in front of the pool table, was a jukebox that would be mine for the night. There was just enough room between the bar and the jukebox for people to dance. There was no “dance floor” really, but around one in the morning people would just start dancing in front of the jukebox. That’s kinda how it went at Tiny’s. If ya felt like dancing, you got up and danced. And no one cared.

Chris gave me a twenty dollar bill, know
ing I wanted to get to the jukebox ASAP. “I’ll order drinks. Shots?” she asked me.

“Fuckin’ A, girl. Let’s do this. Operation
Swagger Retrieval begins now.” I put my fist out and Chris bumped it, a giant grin spread across her face.

I was standing by the juke
box picking songs. A few regulars came up to say hello and ask where I’d been. I was vague, citing illness as keeping me from partying. They were bar friends, that was enough for them. They really didn’t care if I’d been shot or not. They just wanted to dance, and knew I always provided an apt playlist for that. A few even put more money in the jukebox to help the cause. By the time I went back to Chris, I had a good two hours worth of music picked. No Sade.

I sat
down at the bar next to Chris, where she’d already made some new friends. This came as no surprise to me.

“Elle, this is Dylan and Donte.” Dylan was posted up next to Chris, leading me to believe he was interested in her. He wasn’t bad looking. Sandy brown hair and green eyes. He wasn’t necessarily Chris’ type, though he was hella tall. I gave her the
you feelin’ him
look. She shot her eyes to Donte. He wasn’t 6’5”, but he was a good two inches taller than me in my low heels. He had a fade haircut, caramel colored skin, and full lips. He smiled at me, showing two rows of dentist-commercial-worthy teeth. Fuck, he was hot. The black Kangol fedora on his head could’ve looked ridiculous. He wore it well though, with a pair of jeans, a black T, and a green checkered scarf. His confidence radiated off of him, making him look fly as hell. Well, damn if his ass wasn’t fine all around. I mouthed
thank you
to Chris. She nodded. No, Dylan wasn’t her type, but she was takin’ one for the team, and for Operation Swagger Retrieval. I held my fist out and she bumped it.

“Hey, Donte. Elle.” I held my hand out to him.

“Elle, pleasure to meet you.” He said this slowly, holding my hand in his, and locking eye contact with me. I felt a shiver go down my spine and land in my panties.

“The pleasure’s mine,” I replied, shooting him a sly grin and seductive eyes.

Chris handed me my drink and shot. “I got two more for our friends.” Chris handed out the clear shots to Donte and Dylan.

“To swagger.” Chris held her shot in the air.

“And NOT Everclear,” I added.