Hell no.
The only thing that would really hurt me would be losing Lola. She is the only real thing. She is what matters. The job, I like. The car, I like. The apartment, I like. The money, I like. But the girl, I love. And I don’t care if she’s leaving, we need to figure out a way to work it out. I can do a long-distance relationship. We can work something out. But we can’t just give up. And she can’t just shut me out and pretend she doesn’t feel the same way. Because if I’m being selfish, then so is she. She’s being close-minded and not seeing that plans change. People change. She’s changed me and now she has to fucking live with the repercussions of that! Because I’m not going anywhere, even if she is. Wherever she lives, I’m still going to be hers and she’s going to be mine.
I dial her number and the phone rings and rings but there’s no answer. I dial again and again but still nothing. As I get closer to her neighborhood I make an instant decision. I don’t care what she says, I’m not letting her live in that shithole one more day. She’s moving in with me until she she’s leaving for Ecuador and when she comes home, home will be with me.
I’m almost at her apartment when a police cruiser passes me with its sirens blaring. And then another one. The cruisers make a sharp turn into a gas station across from her building.
She’s definitely not coming back here.
I turn into her complex, park, then climb the stairs two at a time. When I reach her apartment her front door is open.
“Huh?” I take a step inside and find her tiny four-hundred-square-foot apartment completely in shambles. Drawers open, clothes spilling out of packed boxes that have been ripped open, tables turned, even her mattress is upside down. I’m shaking as I look around. I know better than to call for her, since she wouldn’t be able to hear me. I dial her number. Nothing. I text her. Call me now. 911.
I’m freaking the fuck out when three police officers with their weapons aimed at me yell from the front door, “Hands where we can see them!”
Taken completely by surprise I put my hands up.
“Where’s Lola?” I ask, startled.
They don’t answer. Instead, they approach me carefully as if I’m about to assault them and before I know it, I’m handcuffed and being led downstairs. “I’m her boyfriend. Where is she? Where’s Lola? Lola Daye. She lives in that apartment. She’s my girlfriend.”
Again, they don’t answer. They just push me down into a police car and drive me to the same gas station I passed by earlier, which now has an ambulance parked there, as well as the police cruiser. I have no idea what the hell is happening except that I need to know where Lola is.
“Don’t move.” The two officers warn before exiting the vehicle.
“Let me out. I need to know what happened to my girlfriend. I want a lawyer.” I’m yelling anything and everything I can think of as they walk off, leaving me alone in the car. I’m frantic and kicking the door with my legs when I glance out the window. The two officers are standing by the ambulance talking, and then they’re pushed aside as Lola runs to the car.
Fuck. She’s alive. I swear to God, my heart drops and I think I might cry. She’s here. She’s alive. The officers stop her, speaking to her, but I know she can’t hear them. I want to tell them this but I’m in this motherfucking car in handcuffs.
They bring her over to the car and open the door. “Is this the guy?” But she’s looking at me and not them and doesn’t answer.
“Baby, look at them!” She blinks, then turns her head and they repeat the question.
Quickly she answers, “No! No! That’s my boyfriend.”
More words are exchanged as my leg bobs up and down. Finally I’m escorted out of the car and the handcuffs are removed and then I’m holding my little Lola in my arms.
“What happened?” I pull away to examine her. She has an egg-sized bump on her head and dried blood on her lips and a bruise forming on her cheek.
I want to murder someone. “Who did this?”
“I don’t know.” Her lips tremble and she’s shaking, even though there’s a blanket around her. “I was walking up the stairs and someone grabbed me. He lives in my building, I think.”
Just then, a paramedic asks to see her, and I wait for her to be checked out. I can’t stop pacing or shaking. I ask the nearest cop what is being done, and they tell me that they have officers surveilling the area and there are a few in her apartment as well.
After what feels like hours, they escort us back to her apartment to take stock of the damage.
Apparently the physical pain is nothing compared to what Lola feels upon walking into her small home.
Immediately, a whimper escapes her lips. I’d gotten a glimpse of her apartment before I was cuffed but with all that had happened, it completely escaped my mind to warn her about what she was about to face. She pushes past me and two other officers and goes straight to her bed, where her mattress is up against the wall. She falls to her knees and picks up something off the floor—a sock, I think. Then, she brings her hands up to her face and begins to sob. Loud, heart-wrenching sobs.
Alarmed, I rush over to her, wrap my arms around her, and force her to look at me. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“My money, Fox. All of it, it’s gone. I had it hidden,” she wails, dropping the passport that must’ve been under her mattress too. At least they left that.
I run my palm down my face. “Oh, baby. Fuck.” I pull her to me, then look up at the officers who are probably wondering what is going on. I quickly explain the situation to them. One is taking notes. “How much was it, sweetheart?” I ask, pulling her a little away from my body so she can read my lips.
“Three thousand dollars.” Her lips tremble, and she wipes the tears from under her eyes. “My tips from the last month. I hadn’t had a chance to go to the bank to deposit it.” I knew she was paying in installments but I didn’t know the amounts. I do know that if she misses one installment, she is out of the program since they made a special arrangement just for her.
The cops continue to look around and ask her to take inventory of what else is missing. She wipes her face, looks around, and shrugs. “I don’t know.” She looks completely defeated. This is not a Lola I’ve seen before. It’s absolutely terrifying. “Nothing important. Ev—everything was crap.” I get what she means. She’s said it before. Everything was crap because she was pinching every penny for savings that is now gone. It’s only three thousand dollars, not the end of the world, and definitely nothing compared to what could have happened to her. But, for her, it may as well be a million dollars. While the cops wrap things up with her, I go knock on her shit of a landlord’s door and explain what’s going on. He doesn’t seem to give a fuck. After some words, he gives me her measly deposit, but only because it’s the middle of the night and I’m threatening to sue him for the lack of lights in the stairwell. Also because the place is now swarming with cops.
Once the officers are gone, I look at the boxes she had packed that have now been ripped open—the contents scattered everywhere. “Tomorrow we’ll repack. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
She shrugs as if in a daze and her eyes get watery again. “I have a little money in the bank,” she says, mostly to herself
I reach into my pocket, take out the money from the landlord, and hand it to her. “And this is your deposit.”
She holds her hands up. She doesn’t have a purse. A wallet. Nothing. “Hold on to it for me? This too, please.” I put it back in my wallet together with the passport she hands me while she kneels on the floor and takes one of the boxes that is the least ripped and shoves some of the clothes that have been scattered on the floor into it. I grab her wrist to stop her, but she pulls it away and keeps working as tears fall down her face.
I look around. The clothes from her closet have also been tossed around as the th
ief looked for money or jewelry or anything of value. But he really hit the jackpot when he lifted her mattress and found that sock stuffed with cash from her tips. I catch sight of a cellphone lying by a table, and when I reach down to grab it, I realize it’s Lola’s. She had said that the thief took her phone, but I supposed he’d dumped it aafter he found the cash. It wasn’t really the newest of the flashiest phone.
“Hey, I know it’s a small consolation, but I found your phone.” I hold it out to her.
She looks at me, and then at the phone, and then finally takes it. She stares at it for a long time. “I’d give anything for this to be my money instead.” She puts it into her pocket and stands up, holding a box that looks bigger than her. “Can I still go to your house for tonight at least? If that’s okay with you?” She sniffles.
I take the box and set it aside. “Of course. I’m sorry about earlier. I was coming here to tell you that. You can stay with me as long as you want, sweetheart.” Forever, if I’m lucky. But I don’t say that because that’s precisely the reason for the argument to begin with. “Come on, let’s go home. I want to take care of you. Will you let me take care of you?”
I don’t think anyone has ever taken care of her. Ever.
She nods sadly.
“Good. We’ll finish packing tomorrow.”
She shrugs and gestures to the miserable-looking box. She walks over to a broken mirror, grabs a teddy bear and the ugly green lamp I detest (I keep that to myself, of course), and then walks out of the apartment without looking back.
I follow behind her with the box that holds the entire contents of her life.
Fox
It’s almost noon and Lola’s still in bed. While she was asleep I drove to her apartment and brought the rest of her stuff to my home. Her phone has rung a few times but she hasn’t stirred an inch. And I don’t blame her, she needs her sleep. But when I realize it’s her boss from the animal clinic calling, I pick it up, quietly walking to the living room. When I explain what happened last night, Vivian simply asks me to send Lola her love and to tell her not to worry about work until she is feeling better. I wonder if Lola knows how much they love her at the animal clinic.
At one she starts stirring in bed. “Ugh, my head,” she moans. The paramedic told us she would feel sore and would likely be in a lot of pain today. “Was it a dream? Please tell me I had a terrible nightmare.”
My heart is breaking for her. I feel like this is all my fault. Had she been at work with me, none of this would have happened. “Sweetheart…” I kiss her forehead. “Why don’t you eat and then take something for the pain?” She nods, her bottom lip quivering as she sits up. I think the despair is more than the physical pain.
“Did they find the guy?”
“I called the detective this morning and he said they’re still looking.”
“I can’t believe I was so stupid. Who hides their money under the mattress? I should’ve put it in the bank.”
“You get those tips in cash, most bartenders don’t deposit it. You’re not stupid.”
“I was just lazy. I didn’t want to take a bus to the bank.” She slams her small fist into the bed, frustrated.
I hate this for her.
“Right now, you need to get better so you can deal with everything else. I need you to eat and take your pain meds. I ordered Chinese and Cuban. Wasn’t sure what you’d want. I also made you a PB&J.”
“PB&J, please.”
I knew that she’d choose the PB&J. I wonder if it’s out of habit or if she truly likes it.
I come back a moment later with her sandwich, a soda, and a pill. She eats it all, takes her medicine, then turns around and folds herself back into the covers. Fuck, I can’t take this side of her. She’s the strongest person I know.
“I guess I’m staying in Miami and working at a nightclub, after all,” she says with a humorless laugh. I think she says it mostly to herself but it finishes tearing my heart apart. How is it that yesterday, just twenty-four hours ago, that’s what I wanted and now there is nothing I want less for her?
No, she’s not meant to be here in Miami. She’s meant to be traveling the world teaching. That’s her calling and her passion and she’ll wither away if she’s not doing it.
I run my hands through her hair until she falls asleep.
Once she’s out, I take her phone and scroll through it until I find the number for her financial aid counselor.
Luckily the man answers and I explain what happened last night and what I plan to do about it. He gives me (and Lola) a forty-eight-hour extension for the rest of the money. It’s all he’s able to do. Otherwise, the spot goes to someone on the waiting list. Also, I find out that aside from the three thousand dollars she owes for the internship, she is in debt with student loans for about twenty thousand dollars, which seems to include her undergrad as well as the master’s program. The man explains that all of this will be deferred while she’s away, and she doesn’t have to worry about any of it for a long while. I, however, wish she didn’t have to worry about it at all.
I can’t wait to see her walking down the aisle to get her diploma when the semester is over. Which means I have two days to get Lola’s cute little ass a three-thousand-dollar seat on that trip to Ecuador.
Chapter 10
Lola
My head is still pounding but instead of jackhammers it’s more like drumsticks. Fox has been great and if it wasn’t for him, I don’t know what I would have done. I roll over and the bed is empty. I squint at the clock on the bedside table, and it’s three in the afternoon. I’m not sure which day it is though. Instead of searching for Fox, I decide to shower. At this point, anything that might make me feel better, I’ll try. And a shower can do wonders sometimes.
After taking my time in the bathroom, I walk out feeling a little more human. I brush my wet hair, then grab one of Fox’s shirts. I notice all my boxes are now cluttering his bedroom. God, Fox is such a good guy.
When I walk out of the room, Fox is on the phone and holds out a finger when he sees me, then actually leaves the room to talk in private, shutting the door to the bedroom behind him. I’m deaf—walking out of the room and shutting the door is overkill. Turning around would have been more than sufficient. Regardless, he’s never done that, and if I’m being honest, it hurts. But I can’t be a jerk after all he’s done for me. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t start being nosy or jealous after being so needy. I go to the kitchen and gulp down some water just as Fox walks back out.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“A bit better.”
He runs his thumb down my cheek. “It’s getting yellowish now.”
“Sexy, right?”
He doesn’t laugh. That’s our thing. Making light out of dark. But he’s not finding humor in this apparently.
“No. Not at all.” He reaches for my shirt and lifts it a bit to examine the other bruises. “How about here? Better?”
“Yes. A little.” I squirm when he touches my side because it still aches. I step back and right my shirt, uncomfortable with being doted on. I exhale, then clap my hands together determinedly. “Time to put on my big-girl panties, right? So, I’m broke, but I’m feeling better. I need to get back to my life. Am I on shift tonight?”
“Excuse me? Work? No. You can’t work yet. You’re concussed, most likely.” He lightly runs his finger along the bump on my forehead and then the one on the back of my head, both significantly smaller now.
“They didn’t say that. I don’t remember anyone saying that.”
“I do.” He grabs the papers the paramedics gave us and shows them to me. “You need to rest.”
I take the papers and look at them. He’s right but I don’t care. I toss them aside and shake my head. “No. What I need is money. What I need is an apartm
ent. What I need is not to get fired.” Thank God, I have some money in the bank. “I also need to talk to Matt and Nick or David or whoever is in charge and let them know that I’m not going to be resigning next week, after all. I hope they’ll let me keep working there.”
He runs his fingers through his hair like he does when he’s frustrated. “Why don’t we go out? Maybe grab something to eat, go shopping, you said you haven’t bought nice clothes in a long time. Let’s do that. See how you feel and then we’ll talk about work.”
“I don’t like you telling me what to do.”
“My little Tiger hates to admit she needs help,” he says with a smirk. “But I’m going to help. I’m going to be here for you, even if you fight me every step of the way. I’m going to take care of you because I want to take care of you. Just let me do it.” He kisses my nose and then goes to get dressed. “I am your boyfriend, after all.”
Ugh. I follow him to the bedroom. “I only told the cops that you were my boyfriend because ‘guy I sleep with and use his washing machine’ was too long of a title,” I lie. I want him to be my boyfriend. I want so much from him but we don’t have the time. Well, we didn’t have the time. But now that I’m staying in Miami, maybe we can have a real relationship.
“Sure it was,” he says tenderly and kisses my forehead.
I hate admitting that, even to myself. I’m not used to feeling so dependent on another person and it scares me to death.
* * *
—
I never go shopping anywhere besides Walmart or thrift shops but here I am at the mall, at a nice store sifting through their nice clothes. “You know…it’s hot in Ecuador,” he says as if this is news to me.
“Uh…yeah, I know. It’s by the equator.”
“Right, right,” he says distractedly, then adds, “But I read it sometimes gets breezy at night.”
“Not that it matters anymore.”
“They could still find the guy and the money.”
Kiss Me Back Page 18