by Marie James
I was able to sneak on the bus carrying students from the high school. I got my GED months ago, but the other students were too busy pretending to mourn the loss of a boy, which not less than a year ago they tormented for being different. Anger is said to be the third stage of grief, but sitting on the bus with kids who wanted nothing more than a few hours out of school had me completely bypassing the first two stages altogether.
His family wouldn’t even acknowledge me at the funeral or the graveside. They’ve never been keen on the idea of their one and only son marrying a girl who, by their standards, isn’t even worth the money the great state of New Mexico has invested in her.
Invested. Such a kind, innocuous word for shoved into foster care with a family that couldn’t care less that she’s not stayed a night in their home in months. I’m the only person on the planet that knew Alec in and out. We’ve been friends damn near since my first day in Farmington, inseparable some would say, and I didn’t even warrant a mention in his obituary or during the funeral. His parents refused to let me sit with them, so I ended up with the group of fake kids from the bus. I’ve never felt more alone in my life, which is saying something considering my history.
I have to face all of those same people again today. I read online that there is a benefit fundraiser BBQ type thing going on at one of the parks honoring Alec’s memory; the goal being a monument in the park. He’s by no means the first, nor will he be the last this community loses, but somehow his death landed on the right radar.
Going is the last thing in this world I’d want to do, but I know Alec would want me to be there; if anything to at least see all the fake people. He despised this town as much as I do. He couldn’t wait to get us out of a place riddled with drugs, gangs, and hordes of people with simple minds. It’s the only reason he joined the Army. He didn’t want to be a soldier, but it was a means to an end.
I hear a key inserted into the lock of the apartment door. I know it’s only going to bring me more pain and despair. I’d anticipated this moment happening, but I figured I’d have more time.
Time.
I ask for it in some situations. More time in this apartment. More time with Alec. I’ve also begged time to speed up. Make me eighteen already. End the time I had to wait until Alec came home. Futile requests on all fronts.
I sit on the bed, standing my ground, refusing to give up my grief filled sanctuary. Cowboy boots and the clicking of the kitten heeled shoes Alec’s mother is famous for wearing echo off the wall. Seconds before their forms block the doorway, I see their looming shadows. I’ve lived in literal and perpetual darkness since reading about Alec’s death. It only seemed fitting for my now darkened heart.
Even in the low light of the room I can see the distaste on his father’s face. Brown hair and dark, almost black eyes stare through me. I see Alec in his Hispanic features, and it kills me that they hate me so much. How two people can have so much contempt for a girl who’s a victim of circumstance I’ll never understand.
“It’s time for you to go,” Maria Sanchez all but snarls as she flips on the light.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell them with more bravado than I actually feel. “Alec paid the apartment through the end of next month. I’m staying.”
“That’s correct,” Alejandro Sr. says with a heavily accented tone. “But the apartment manager has had pity on my family and our loss. They’ve refunded us this and next month’s rent, as well as the security deposit.”
Maria smirks at me even though her face is marked with pain and her eyes are swollen red from crying. The loss of a child is something I’d never wish on anyone, not even Alec’s parents. They hate me, but they loved him dearly, smotheringly so. He moved out of their house and away from their judgment of me as soon as he removed his cap at graduation last year.
My lips quiver as I try not to cry. I clear my throat. If anger, hate, and disrespect are helping them through their hard times, it can work for me as well.
“I’m not leaving,” I repeat.
“Yes you are,” Alejandro Sr. says still standing in the doorway.
“We were engaged to be married. I have rights as his fiancée.”
“You have no rights, little girl. What you have are twenty-four hours to gather your things and get out. You should be glad we’re allowing that much time. I could easily have the apartment manager up here to forcibly remove you this minute. You’re not in the rental agreement. As far as they know, you’re a squatter here,” Maria sneers.
She’s right. I’m not eighteen. Alec tried to put me on the lease agreement but couldn’t because of my age.
“I love him. We were getting married.” I hang my head in shame, knowing our pending nuptials were a thorn in their sides at a minimum.
I hear his mother huff. Looking up at her, I recognize the look in her eyes. She only gets it when things are going to turn ugly. Usually, she’s able to maintain her composure, but I’ve seen her lose her control a couple of times.
“That sham of an engagement,” she says pointing down to the tiny diamond ring I’m clasping with my right hand. “If it were real, things would be different.”
“It was real,” I argue, raising my voice. “He loved me!”
“Silly girl, we’ve known Alec was gay since we caught him wearing his mother’s makeup at eight.” I cut astonished eyes back to Alec’s dad. “That’s right; we’ve known for years. We know exactly what you were up to, pretending to be in love so he could marry you and take you with him when was stationed stateside. You may have fooled everyone else, but you can’t fool us.”
My tears return in earnest. Alec died thinking his parents had no idea about his sexuality. He lived in shame every day for how he was born. The stigma of being gay in America, although getting better as time goes on, was a heavy burden. Being gay in a Catholic, Hispanic family was almost more than he could bear most days.
“Listen,” Maria says with an uncharacteristically soothing voice. “We have no doubt you loved him. We have no doubt that he loved you, but you have to go home, Khloe.”
She pats my legs quickly and walks to the door. “We’ll be back to pack up his things tomorrow. You need to be gone before we get here,” I hear his father say before they both walk out of the room.
The sound the front door makes as it closes sounds much like I imagine the sealing of a tomb would.
I climb off the bed even though lethargy has begun to take over my body. I change out of the pajamas I’ve been wearing since getting back from the funeral two days ago. Sliding on jeans and a crumpled t-shirt, I don’t even bother to do more with my hair than a messy knot.
I walk out the door with nothing but my phone. I don’t plan to return, so there’s no need in grabbing anything else. My mind is made up. My fate is written in stone much like the one that is sure to mark Alec’s grave.
Chapter 2
“That’s the last of it,” I tell Emmalyn as I set down the massive box of Styrofoam cups.
“You’re wonderful. Have I ever told you that?”
“All the time,” I say pulling my knife from my belt to cut open the box. “But feel free to keep saying it. I love it when beautiful women sing my praises.”
“Back off my girl, asshole,” I hear from an all too familiar voice coming up from behind me. My eyes widen, but Emmalyn just winks at me as Kincaid, our MC’s president, wraps his arms around her.
I adore Emmalyn; I can honestly say she’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. So it came as no surprise that Diego “Kincaid” Anderson fell hard and fast for her. If I were ever inclined to settle down, which I’m not, I’d aim for someone like her.
“Leave him be, Diego,” Emmalyn says swatting at the arms around her waist.
“Like hell,” he says in his deep baritone. “You got eyes for my girl, Kid?”
“Only in her dreams,” I say walking away from them both. They’re so crazy in love I can only tolerate the clingy, sweetness for a few minutes at a time. I turn ba
ck in their direction. “Come on, Ollie,” I say patting my leg for their dog to join me. “Little boy like you doesn’t need to hear all the nastiness spewing from your daddy’s mouth.” Tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, Ollie follows along beside me.
“Jackass,” Kincaid says from behind my back. Emmalyn giggles softly, and then I hear a quiet moan. Most days they can’t seem to possess the ability to keep their hands off each other, clearly today is no different.
The park is filling up pretty fast. I love seeing the townspeople mix with members from both the Cerberus MC as well as the Renegade MC, a visiting club from out of town. Tickets are being sold for plates of BBQ to raise money for a war memorial. Sad really, that this is just now happening, considering how many military members this town has lost to this war as well as the ones prior.
Several churches have also gotten involved in today’s festivities. Although not very religious myself, I’m filled with pride that our MC has a high enough standing in the community that the religious types are joining us for a great cause.
I make my way to a quieter side of the park, away from the food and children playing. Shadow must have had the same idea, as he’s standing on the outskirts drinking tea from a Styrofoam cup.
“Some turnout, huh?” I ask as I approach.
“Yeah,” he says looking around. “We’re going to match whatever this little shindig brings in and Scorpion’s club is going to do the same, but it’s always nice to see the town’s people come together.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.” I kick at the dirt with the front of my steel-toed boot.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m glad we’re doing this, but being around this many people at one time makes my skin crawl. These are the town’s people; not my people. My skin tingles and crawls, awareness and unease creeping up my spine; not knowing the cause of it makes matters worse.
I raise my eyes to the crowd, my military training and paranoia never far away. It wasn’t long ago that one of our own turned on the club, more specifically Kincaid and Emmalyn. He’s six feet under by now, but only having happened a few weeks ago has me still on edge.
Scanning the people in the park, I don’t see anything or anyone I’d consider a threat. My eyes falter on a girl sitting alone on a bench. She’s young, beautiful, and looks completely heartbroken. I follow her quick glance and see her watching the parents of Alejandro Sanchez, the young soldier we’re honoring today.
Distraught doesn’t even begin to describe her.
“Pretty little thing, isn’t she?” Shadow asks in his deep southern drawl.
I remain silent, watching her pull something from her pocket, pop it in her mouth, and take a long pull from a bottle of water. I frown and shake my head. People deal with grief and pain in many different ways. Who am I to judge if this girl wants to ease her suffering with a few pills.
The fact that she doesn’t even look around or try to hide her drug use is what concerns me. It’s as if she feels invisible, almost like she’s gone unnoticed for so long she knows no one will see her or worse yet, wouldn’t care even if they did.
“Who is she?” I ask out loud more to myself than Shadow.
“Emmalyn told me earlier she’s the fiancée of the soldier.”
Fuck. That’s rough.
“Why isn’t she near his family?” I look over at the large group of people I know to be his blood relatives.
“Couldn’t tell you that, brother. You’d think they’d include her.” I barely register his hand slapping me on my back and his departing words. “See ya later, Kid. Gonna grab me a plate.”
I stand and watch her, only losing my line of sight for a few brief seconds when people cross in front of me.
How could she ever go unnoticed? She’s gorgeous. Even in jeans, a plain t-shirt, and her auburn hair thrown haphazardly on the top of her head, she’s breathtaking. And young. Probably too young.
I shake my head and pull my focus from her, feeling a little dirty gawking at a girl and thinking carnal thoughts, when there’s a good chance she’s a high school student and under age. Top it off with the fact that she’s grieving the loss of her fiancé, makes me feel like a complete asshole.
I force myself to look at anyone but her. The tingle I felt earlier hits me again, and I look over to see her looking at me. I immediately realize her eyes were on me earlier, even though I didn’t see her watching me. It was the cause of the feeling the first time around.
She meets my eyes for the briefest of seconds, and then looks down at her hands, giving her head a tiny shake. She stands from her position on the ground and walks away without a backward glance. She stumbles and staggers slightly, and I know it’s because of whatever pills she’s just popped. Concerned that she’s affected so quickly, I decide to follow her. Completely creepy, and possibly illegal, I know, but for some unknown reason I just can’t let her walk away.
I’m worried about her safety. I tell myself this over and over as she leaves the park and walks toward the long bridge on the far side of the park.
I plan to keep my distance from her. The last thing she needs is some stranger confronting her about drug use on such an emotionally exhausting day. Plus, by the way she’s tripping over her own feet, she wouldn’t retain a word I say.
I see her reach into her pocket again, pull something out, and stare down at it. I watch her shoulders slump, clearly frustrated with whatever it is she’s looking at. With her back to me, I don’t fully understand until she lowers her hand and a flash of orange falls from her grasp.
The lidless pill bottle falls to the ground; the low thud more like a shotgun being discharged.
My mind races as I quicken my step to grab the bottle from the ground. My normally steady hands shake slightly when I turn it over to read the label. Zolpidem? Sleeping pills? People don’t take sleeping pills to get high. Oxy. Hydro. Now that I would understand.
Realization slams in my chest just as I look up to see her grasping the railing on the bridge. Her foot slides off the edge as if she doesn’t have the strength to lift it up high enough to get over the top, which is clearly her goal.
“Hey,” I shout, hoping to get to her in time.
I watch in horror as she somehow manages the strength she wasn’t showing a few seconds ago and begins to throw her leg over the railing. Jesus, right here in broad daylight, less than a quarter of a mile away from a benefit being held for her deceased fiancé this chick is going to kill herself.
I wish I could say this is the first time I’ve been forced to intervene in a situation like this, but it’s not. War fucks people up pretty bad. I force the thought out of my head and focus all of my attention on getting to her before she can make the plunge.
The height of the bridge isn’t enough to kill her, but the rushing water under the bridge from storms from the last couple of days combined with God knows how many pills she has in her system, won’t make for a successful outcome. Well, maybe successful in her eyes, but I’m not letting that shit happen today.
I close the distance between us rather quickly and grab her around her waist. The action causes me to stumble back even though she feels as if she weighs next to nothing. We crash to the ground with me holding her close to my chest, cushioning her from the fall as best as I can.
My heart is pounding, blood rushing through my veins. I look down at her half-lidded eyes.
“Just let me die,” she whispers before her body goes limp in my trembling arms.
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