Melted & Shattered (6 page)
We got back to the house and
José asked me if I wanted him to come in. I declined his offer, preferring to be alone. I had a lot I needed to think about, and I preferred to do my crying in private.
Friday Aaron and Chris came over for movie night. We were marathoning all the old seasons of Sex
and the City. Chris brought junk food, Aaron brought weed, and I’d set up the living room for us to glutton ourselves out.
Carrie was meeting Mr. Big for the first time, her purse strewn out on the cement, when Chris decided to take ou
r light-hearted night in a different direction.
“How did your meeting go with Fernie?”
Did I want to talk about it? I wasn’t sure. I’d barely processed it myself. Plus, I wasn’t sure what Chris and Aaron’s reactions would be. Immigration was a sensitive topic for many. I didn’t know where my friends stood on the issue, if they had an opinion at all, and I wasn’t about to listen to any negativity.
“Can we skip that question for the night? I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Of course. You doin’ OK, chica?” Aaron asked, scooting closer to me on the couch.
“Yeah. It’s just been a long couple weeks. I think I may need some alone time soon. I appreciate everything ya’ll have done for me, but I need Elle time. Is that OK?”
“Girl, you don’t even gotta ask. I knew sooner or later you’d get tired of us. I’ll still come help you shower whenever you want,” Chris said.
“Thanks, girl. The sti
tches come out in a little over a week, and then I’ll be able to get the area wet. I’m not trynna be a bitch.”
“Chica, we’d tell you if you were being a bitch,” Aaron interjected.
“I’m sure you would.” I smiled at Aaron, glad for the levity I could always count on him for. “Now I just gotta tell Larry.”
We all broke out into laughter. Telling Larry he had to knock was going to be interesting, and funny. Of course, the weed and pills Aaron, Chris and I were on made it all
the more funny. Chris was a little drunk too, while I’d refrained from alcohol while on antibiotics. It wasn’t much fun to drink when I wasn’t out at the club or a bar. I was in no shape for either, and would undoubtedly be avoiding Eight Oh Eight like the plague for the rest of my life. I knew Chris had been to Tiny’s, but she too was boycotting Eight Oh Eight.
“What’s up with
José?”
I looked at Aaron, confused. “What do you mean?”
“You two have seemed pretty chummy lately. You tappin’ sex on legs?”
Chris’ ears perked up. “What? Sex on legs? Where?”
Aaron and I both found Chris’ sudden interest hysterical. So much that I was holding my side from laughing so hard.
“Fuck you
two. Tell me about sex on legs,” Chris pouted.
I wiped a tear at my eye. “No, Aaron, I ain’t tappin’ that. You know the rules. No kitchen guys. Ever.”
Chris fell back into the recliner she’d bolted up from at the mention of sex. “Oh, he’s a cook. None of your cook friends are hot, Elle. I’m assuming Aaron is joking?”
“You are correct, my wise friend. Most of the kitchen guys aren’t super model hot.”
“Some of them aren’t bad. Ryan, Jesse, and the guy’s name I can’t understand.”
“
Cuauhtémoc,” I filled in the blank for him. “It’s an Aztec name.”
“Yeah, him. And Larry really isn’t that bad looking. You two just can’t get past the fact that he’s not seven feet tall and maaaaaaaybe is still living his glory days from the early 90s.”
“Try 1985,” Chris huffed.
“So he dips his toes into the 80s on occasion as well. He still ain’t that bad looking. Thick hair, blue eyes. He gets his fair share of ass.”
“Ew.” I scrunched my face up. I didn’t need to have those mental images. “But he ain’t no José. He ain’t sex on legs.”
“I’m actually surprised, Elle, that you noticed,” Aaron joked.
“Hey, even I can’t help lusting after him. He’s starred in a few fantasies, I’ll admit it.”
Chris was annoyed.
“How long has sex on legs been working there? You haven’t ever mentioned him.”
Fuck. A while. “Not long.” I begged Aaron with my eyes to back my story.
“Yeah, he’s kinda new.” Aaron shrugged. He could’ve been a bit more convincing, but I’d take what I could get.
I placated Chris with promises of introducing her to
José soon. I wasn’t sure about it though. I’d never thought about my best friend fucking a cook. It seemed like a bad idea, like a situation waiting to implode. We watched a few more hours of Sex and the City, before we were all passed out in my living room. I woke up at some point and crawled into bed.
******
It was Monday night, and Chris was running conditioner through my hair while I sat on the edge of the tub in my panties. Thank God she wasn’t weirded out by my semi nudity. Without her, I’d be Pig-Pen from Charlie Brown, a dust cloud hanging around me. I was telling her how “the key talk” went with Larry.
“Not good.”
I gingerly leaned forward so she could rinse the conditioner out of my hair.
“What did you expect? I told you that boy was in love with you.”
“I just need space. I got a lot on my mind and I need some time to work it out. Can I tell you something?” I asked.
“Why would you even ask that?”
“Cuz I think you’re going to be pissed.”
“Nah. Lay it on me, sister.”
“I keep thinking about J.”
Chris dropped the rinsing cup she’d been using into the tub. It hit the porcelain, and the plastic cracked. I put my hand out for Chris to put a towel in. I’m pretty sure my hair was clear of conditioner, and I needed to sit up for the rest of this conversation.
“You mean you keep thinking about killing him?” she asked, handing me a towel with a little more force than necessary.
“No.” I said it to the wall, unable to meet Chris’ eyes. She’d done so much for me since I’d been shot. I felt like I owed her big time. I knew what I wanted to say was going to hurt her. She det
ested J and was vocal about it. That whole night was a bit fuzzy for me. I remembered Genesis calling, going to the house, crouching in the doorway of the bathroom with the little mirror, and I think I remembered running into the living room. The last image I could recall was looking at J’s face and realizing he was the shooter. It’s all fog after that.
Chris on the other hand didn’t get the luxury of fog. From what she said,
she and J fought incessantly at the hospital, and I knew J had been escorted out by security at least once, maybe more. I’d asked Chris what all he had said while I was unconscious, but she would just start going on about what a bastard he was. I didn’t disagree. He was a bastard. A bastard who shot me. I knew I should hate him with the same fierceness as Chris. That’s why telling her this was so hard. It felt like betrayal.
“Chris, I know you hate him, and I know I should t
oo. I just can’t stop thinking about him and why he hasn’t come around. You’d think he’d come check on me. I heard Fernie’s side of the story. I want to hear his.”
“His side is he’
s a killer. What else do you need to know?” Chris was leaning against the vanity, arms crossed, ready to dispute anything I said. I continued nevertheless.
“But why is he a killer? I can’t imagine him wanting to kill. Everything about it seems contradictory to the J I love.”
“You love?” Chris pushed off from the vanity and stood with her back straight. “You mean loved, past tense, right?”
Fuck. “I don’t know.” I wanted it to be past tense. It should be.
I mean, the asshole shot me after all. But, in my mind, it wasn’t always past tense.
My silence was all the answer Chris needed. “What the fuck? The bastard shot you! I’ve sat here with you half naked for weeks washing your hair, helping you dress, even sleeping on your fucking couch in case you needed something in the night. I’ve done all this because of what HE did to YOU. There’s no way you could love a monster like him.”
Her words burned me. He wasn’t a monster. There was no way the gentle man who’d held me that night at the Chateau in Kansas City could be a monster.
“He’s not a monster.”
Chris disagreed. “He’s a fucking psycho killer. He would’ve killed that boy if you hadn’t dove in front and taken the bullet. You’re crazy if you think you can love him, and I’m crazy for fucking helping you for the last two weeks if you’re still trynna be with that fuck head.”
“I didn’t ask you to sleep on my couch for two weeks,” I retorted back at her. I knew she had valid points, but I couldn’t deny that I was having these feelings. Her words made me feel terrible, and instead of explaining it to her, I was a bitch.
Chris’ voice got low. Bad sign. Bad bad sign. “No, you didn’t. Sorry for cramping your style.”
Chris stormed out of the bathroom. I did my best to get my robe on as
quickly as possible so I could run after her. Not an easy feat while nursing a set of stitches. They were uncovered while I bathed. The rubbing of the cotton robe wasn’t a sharp, shooting pain. More of just a dull annoyance. I went into the living room to find Chris packing all her shit into a bag. Fuck.
“Chris. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to piss you off.”
“Uh huh.”
“Please. I was just telling you how I feel. I’m sorry I was a bitch. I’m grateful for your help.”
Once her bag was packed, Chris turned to me and laid it out. “Elle, you’re the one person I’d take a bullet for. Instead, you made me do something even harder. You made me watch your unconscious body being wheeled away on a gurney while doctors said things like STAT and OR. I was living a fucking Grey’s Anatomy episode. I sat with you for days, praying you’d wake up. I’ve been here for you every step of the way since you got home, yet you still love a bastard like J? Maybe you aren’t the person I thought I knew.”
I sucked in a breath. We’d never fought like this. She was being incredibly harsh when I was just trying to explain the shit in my head. That’s what we did. We shared the stuff we wouldn’t dare tell another living soul, and she was getting pissy with me for it?
“You know, Chris, I get what you did for me, and I’ve said thank you. But you have no idea the situation I’m in. You have no idea what’s going on inside my head cuz you won’t let me even explain. So fuckin' go, I’ll take care of my damn self.”
I turned and went back 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.