“You’re going to regret smoking those cancer sticks one day,” I say.
Saint and I don’t smoke. Lo smokes weed, but not cigarettes.
Micah changes his boxers just as much as he changes girls. He’s like a dog in heat. I don’t know who’s the bigger whore, him or Lo. I think they’re having a competition.
“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m going to live forever,” Micah says as he takes a sip of Hennessey from his red solo cup.
Micah has milk chocolate skin with brown eyes and a high-top fade. He’s sort of a fashionista. He’s wearing distressed skinny jeans with a red and black floral fitted button-up shirt. He has the “swag” that the girls simply cannot deny.
“What about you? Do you want pictures, too?” I ask Saint.
“No, there’s only one girl that I want.”
Lo and Micah exchange looks. It’s no secret that Saint wants me to be his girlfriend, but I’m not interested in him that way. It has put a strain on our friendship. I love him, but it’ll only ever be in a platonic way. He’s like a brother to me. He’s been in a somber mood ever since I told him of my pending move, and he took the news the hardest. Saint is the wide receiver on the school’s football team. I don’t like football, but I do know the basics since I’m a cheerleader. He doesn’t want female attention.
Saint is of Mexican descent. He stands around 5’10 with Micah being just a little taller. He has a Mario Lopez look… dimples, black hair, and dark eyes. Saint has an early birthday, so he’s already eighteen, but Lo, Micah, and I are still seventeen. The girls can’t resist his sex appeal, especially when he returned from Christmas break last year with a beautiful blue Suzuki Hayabusa purchased by his parents. It’s the world’s fastest production sports bike, and after this year it’ll be discontinued. Because of him, I’m addicted to motorcycle rides. I have to admit, he looks sexy as hell in his fitted black t-shirt and distressed faded jeans.
“Why do you keep denying what’s between us?” Saint asks.
“Saint, I don’t want to argue with you on my last night here. Please, just drop it.”
“I don’t want to drop it,” Saint yells as he slams his fist on the table. He stands then walks over to the sliding glass door to enter the kitchen.
“Would it hurt you to try with him?” asks Lo.
The strain between Saint and I is hurting Lo and Micah, too.
“I don’t feel that way about him. Shouldn’t my feelings be taken into consideration? Fuck what I want, huh?”
“You know I love you girl, but I think it’s good you’re leaving. I think Saint will stop obsessing over you and give other girls a chance.”
I stand but avoid walking into the kitchen because I don’t want to risk running into Saint, so I walk around the side of the house to sit on the front porch. I don’t want to leave Los Angeles with a rift between Saint and me that would hurt too badly. Every time I’ve had a boyfriend, Saint would distance himself from me. I’m going to sit here until I calm down, then go search for him.
I turn my head when the front door opens, Saint joins me on the porch. He takes a seat beside me.
“I hate this,” he says.
“Me too.”
“I don‘t want you to leave with things left between us like this.”
“Me either,” I say as I lay my head on Saint’s shoulder.
“Come on, I’m going to take you on a ride.”
That’s Saint’s way of apologizing.
We walk over to his motorcycle.
Saint hands me a helmet then places one over his head. After he settles on his motorcycle, I follow. When he starts the engine, adrenaline races through my veins. The hum and vibration of the engine are therapeutic to me. Saint takes off. I close my eyes and lose myself in the sensation of the wind caressing my skin. I’ll miss motorcycle rides with him when I move to West Virginia.
For the most part, I’ve stayed in for the last two days to unpack, while my mom and Michael attend orientation, preparing for the start of the school year. Though they’re employed at two different schools, orientation is the same week. Montgomery, West Virginia is just so boring. I’m used to the fast pace of city life, so living here is going to take some getting used to. I’m experiencing a culture shock. Sure, I’m still living in the United States, but the people here are so different from the people in Los Angeles. Our cars finally arrived yesterday, so today I might do a little sightseeing and apply for jobs.
The plus side is that Charleston, West Virginia is a big city that’s about an hour and a half drive away, so I won’t have to completely give up my city life. Even though it’s not an easy distance, I’m willing to travel there to get my city life fix. The few people I’ve met so far seem nice, but this town lacks diversity and that’s not something I’m used to; I don’t feel too good about that. Los Angeles has people of different shapes, sizes, and colors.
Michael’s house is big and spacious, which means more privacy for me; four bedrooms, four bathrooms, a basement, and an attic—lots of room for storage. The houses here are large and spread apart. The nearest neighbor is probably a mile away. Woods are at the sides and back of the house. Two of the bedrooms are upstairs, with one bathroom in the hallway and the other in the master bedroom. My bedroom is on the first floor, and lucky me, I have a bathroom, too. Thank God for small favors. I don’t want to hear my mom and Michael doing the nasty. I’d be traumatized forever. That’s definitely a disturbing thought. I like to think of them reading the bible at night and abstaining from all sexual activity. The last bedroom is in the basement, with a bathroom next to it.
I fell in love with my room on sight. It’s bigger than my room in Los Angeles. My new ivory-colored bedroom set with pink bedding screams girly. My room consists of a queen-size bed, nightstand, dresser, closet, armoire, and vanity with mirror. I also have a little table and a chair in the corner, where I can complete my homework. My Mac laptop is lying on top of the table. It was a surprise gift from Michael. He said all students attending the school are required to have one.
According to Michael, this town eats, sleeps, and breathes football. Every Friday night, that’s where most of the locals can be found. It’s a big thing, so it’s either go big or go home. I haven’t met anyone my age yet, maybe that will change on my excursion today. I’m listening to Rihanna’s “Love on the Brain” as I unpack the last box in my room. Once the box is empty, I break it up to be recycled later.
As I’m about to head into the bathroom, I hear my phone ding, indicating I just received a text message.
Lo: How are the local country bumpkins treating you?
Me: Fine, I guess. I really haven’t met that many people, and no high school students at all, but I’m about to hop in the shower and then do some sightseeing.
Lo: Be careful. I heard those country boys will knock you over the head and drag you to their cave by your hair to rut.
Me: You’re a mess, lol.
Lo: Starting school without you doesn’t feel right, I already miss you.
Me: I feel the same. I’m going to try to come for a visit during Christmas break.
Lo: Yayyyy, I would like that, and so would Saint and Micah.
Me: I’ll call you tonight.
Lo: Okay, love you.
Me: Love you, too.
After a quick shower I decide to wear tight burgundy shorts, a white halter top and sandals before I head out to explore. I put my box braids in a ponytail. I grab my sunglasses and keys. I lock the front door then walk over to my car. As I drive through town, I see locals going about their daily routines. I park in front of Tom’s Café. I walk inside to a small, quaint, and homey atmosphere. Brown round tables with matching chairs are scattered around the establishment. The pastries, bagels, cakes, cookies, and donuts in the display case look amazing.
“Hello, how may I help you?” an employee standing behind the glass display asks.
He looks to be my age. I wonder if he attends Montgomery Academy.
I read his name tag. “Hi, Jackson.”
“Hi.”
“My name is Cocoa, nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he says with a smile.
“Are there any positions available?”
“I’m not sure, but the owner is in the back. I can get him for you.”
“That would be great, thanks.”
“No problem,” he says, walking to the back.
A short man with a pot-belly and thinning hair emerges from the back, following behind Jackson.
“Hello, how may I help you?”
“Hi, I’m Cocoa,” I say as I extend my hand to him.
“Nice to meet you, my name is Richard.”
“Are there any openings available?”
“Unfortunately, no, not at this time. Try, Mary’s Famous Pizzeria. I know Mary is finding it hard to find reliable employees.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem. The pizzeria is a few blocks that way.” Richard says as he points to the left.
“Thanks, again.”
Since the pizzeria isn’t far, I decide to walk instead of driving. I’m looking at my cell phone as I turn the corner. I collide with a hard body causing me to fall to the ground hard. I’m still attempting to gather my bearings when a hand appears in front of my face.
“I’m sorry about that,” I sat, grasping the offered hand.
I look up to meet a striking pair of dark blue eyes.
The boy staring back at me is very attractive, to say the least. He looks to be 6’1, with a swimmer’s lean muscular physique, tan skin, and dark black hair cropped close to his head. I look to the left and notice there’s another good-looking boy standing to his left. He has red hair, green eyes, and pale skin. He’s about the same height too but with a stockier, muscular build.
“Watch where the fuck you’re going,” says black hair.
“It was an accident, you fucking asshole.”
Red hair laughs.
“What did you say?” black hair asks.
“You heard me.”
He gets in my face. “You better learn really quickly,” he says, then walks off.
Red hair saunters behind him.
What a fucking asshole.
I continue my walk to the pizzeria.
When I enter the building, Mary (I see her name tag) is working the register. Mary is a short, plump woman with a kind face. She has shoulder-length gray hair and light blue eyes.
“Hi Mary, I’m Cocoa. I recently relocated to Montgomery and I’m currently looking for a part-time job. I wanted to know if you have any positions.”
“Bless your heart child, I do.”
A smile spreads across my lips. “When can I start?”
“You’re a tenacious one, aren’t you?” Mary asks, chuckling.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What experience do you have in food service?”
“I have two years’ experience working in a coffee house in Los Angeles. I can provide you with my previous supervisor’s number for a reference check. Her name’s Cindy.”
“I need someone who can do a little of everything—cashier, clean, cook, delivery driver. You would need to be able to wear multiple hats.”
“Trust me, I can do it. I’m a jack of all trades.”
“Great, I’ll call your supervisor now. Harry!” yells Mary.
“Great,” I reply excitedly.
“Come take over for me. Harry’s my son. My other son, Chuck, is feeling a little under the weather today, so he stayed home.”
Harry emerges from the back.
“Harry, this is Cocoa. She’s interested in a position here. I’ll be right back.” Mary walks to the back.
“Nice to meet you, Harry,” I say.
“Nice to meet you, too,” he replies, leering at me.
Harry is not an attractive man. He’s as skinny as a twig, with yellow teeth and dull greasy brown hair. I wonder if he’s the reason why Mary can’t keep employees. I hope he won’t be a problem. Mary walks from the back ten minutes later.
“When can you start?” she asks.
I jump up and down in my excitement. I’ve found a job within three days of moving to Montgomery, West Virginia. Not a bad start.
“As soon as possible,” I tell Mary.
“How about Tuesday, after Labor Day?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“You’ll work Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, and your schedule will be 6:00 p.m. until 10:00 p.m. and 12:00 p.m. until 3:00 p.m. on Saturdays. How does that sound? That way you’ll still have a social life.”
“It sounds great to me. Thank you.”
“No problem, I was young once, too. I need you to complete an application and tax forms.”
After I finish up at Mary’s, I drive back to my new home.
The town of Montgomery, West Virginia consists of government offices, a library, pharmacy, general store, grocery store, café, pizzeria, an attorney’s office, an insurance agency, a child development center, a sheriff’s office, and hair salon. Montgomery Academy is on the outskirts of town. Locals have to travel to Charleston, Virginia for doctor appointments, clothes shopping, and other activities.
My mom and Michael are home when I arrive.
“Mom, where are you?” I call when I enter the front door.
“I’m in the dining room, baby.”
Michael and my mom are sitting at the dining table with their laptops.
I sit in the chair next to my mom, facing her. “I found a job, Mom.”
“Congratulations, honey.”
“Wow, you found a job in three days,” Michael says. “I say this is cause for celebration. I’m taking you both out to dinner, my treat. I know a nice Italian restaurant in Charleston.”
Michael is the best stepfather I could’ve asked for.
“Thank you, Michael.”
“You deserve it kiddo. You’ve been a trooper.”
John and I are having an obligatory father and son dinner at an Italian restaurant in Charleston. If I occasionally do what he wants, he stays out my way most times, just how I like it. I’m twirling my fork in my shrimp linguine when I see Mr. Thompson approaching our table.
“Judge John Carter, it’s nice to see you,” he says, coming to a stop in front of the table.
John pastes on his fake award-winning smile as he stands to shake Mr. Thompson’s hand. I look just like John, and I hate it. To the citizens of Montgomery, West Virginia, he’s a God who can do no wrong, a pillar of the community, and a role model. He’s a charmer with Ted Bundy characteristics. Only a few people know him as the monster he really is. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’s an abuser and a sexual sadist, and I’m just like him. It’s true what they say— the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I like to hurt and control people because I’m fucked up just like the bastard who sired me. I have no conscience. I feel no empathy or sympathy for others. I’m incapable of love. A psychologist would have a field day inside my head.
John beat the shit out of my mother. Afterwards he would beat the shit out of me. My mom committed suicide to escape the bastard and left me all alone to face his daily abuse. My mother’s family abandoned me after her suicide. I haven’t heard or seen those motherfuckers since my mother’s funeral. I wonder, do they ever think about me? They knew what my father was, but they left me to fend for myself. No one questioned the bruises that decorated my body, all believing the lie that I was just a clumsy kid. I was afraid to go home every day after school, not knowing what torture the monster would inflict on me. My body was John’s punching bag.
I received creative punishments for any slight I supposedly committed, as perceived by John. Being locked in a small dark closet, kneeling on rice, standing on one leg, or holding my arms out in front of me with bent knees were some of the punishments I endured. If I dropped my leg or arms, the punishment would be ten times more severe. Crying was considered weak by John, so I learned not to cry or risk inciting his fury furthe
r. The nightmares I used to have at night took a toll on my young mind. The last time my father dared raise a fist at me was two years ago. I broke his fucking jaw. He can’t beat me anymore, he doesn’t even try. He knows I’ll fuck him up. It’s him who’s afraid of me now. Oh, how the tables have turned.
“Michael, it’s nice to see you too. Did you get back recently?” John asks.
“I arrived three days ago to start orientation. Judge Carter, I don’t mean to interrupt your dinner, but I would like to introduce you to my wife, Kelly, and my stepdaughter, Cocoa.”
“Nice to meet you,” Kelly says, followed by her daughter.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” he says as he shakes both of their hands.
Cocoa is like the sun, with beautiful caramel skin and golden eyes. She makes my dick hard. I shouldn’t want to fuck someone so far beneath me. Her burgundy shorts are hugging her thick thighs, and her breasts are round and full. My hands can span her waist. I want to cause her pain and leave her broken when I’m done.
I know it kills John to shake Cocoa’s hand, but he has to keep up pretenses. He doesn’t like black people or any other race for that matter, and neither do I. It’s been drilled in my head since I could talk, that white people are the superior race.
“Congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you,” replies Mr. Thompson.
“Kelly and Cocoa, this is my son, Maverick.”
I don’t stand or shake their hands. My father gives me a look.
“Hi,” Kelly says, too excitedly for my liking. I don’t like preppy bitches.
Her daughter notices my slight disrespect and then turns her body slightly to ignore me.
“You left Montgomery a single man but come back married. How did that happen?”
“Kelly and I have been in a long-distance relationship for years. Three months ago, I decided to propose, and the rest is history.”
“Kelly and Cocoa, I hope you find our little town to your liking.”
“I do, I love it,” says Kelly.
“I do, too, Judge Carter,” Cocoa adds. “It’ll take some time getting used to since living in Los Angeles was so different.”
Her voice is beautiful. I wonder how her screams sound.
I LIKE THE WAY YOU HURT: A Dark Interracial High School Bully Romance Page 3