Beautiful Collision

by Tori Alvarez

  “Those texts will keep coming. And what do I tell him? Oh, by the way, I have to go to work tonight—at a strip club—where I openly flirt with every single guy there so I can make good tips. And sometimes they get handsy, but don’t worry, because I don’t like it.” I pause and the anger continues to build. “Now, if a guy named Mark calls, don’t worry. I just shag him for money. But it means nothing. There are no feelings involved. It’s just the cash I need.

  “HOW THE FUCK DOES THAT SOUND?” I yell. The house is too small. I need to leave. I stand quickly, knowing I can’t go home but not able to stay here.

  Alex stands with me. His large stature is scary to most but has always been my safety. He walks past me to the cabinets. He opens a bottom one and pulls out a bottle of tequila. He pulls out two small glasses and pours. He hands me one and takes one for himself.

  Without saying anything, he clinks his glass on mine and swallows the contents in one shot. He places the glass back on the counter and raises a brow at me. I follow his lead and take the drink. He pours his glass and holds the bottle out to me. I hold out my glass for him to fill up.

  He walks his glass and the bottle back to the table and sits in front of his beer. I grab a beer from the fridge and take my seat again. He holds his glass to me again. I clink his this round, and together, we throw our heads back, letting the sting of the alcohol slide down. Ready to feel numb, I twist the cap off and chase it down with beer.

  After class, I head back to my apartment, knowing I won’t be able to hide from them forever. I walk in to find Alex on my couch, watching TV.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, confused. He hasn’t hung at my place since last year when he began pushing me to stay away from the hood.

  “I thought about what you said last night. If you don’t want to explain why you are staying away from him, use me. He doesn’t know me, does he?” He says this as if it explains everything.

  “What?” I’m still lost.

  “You said it yourself. You were falling for him but never talked about being exclusive. Maybe you are seeing someone else. If he sees me here, he can assume whatever when you tell him you can’t see him anymore. This is really the way to ensure he doesn’t come back.” He shrugs his shoulders. “That is…if you are sure you can’t see him anymore,” he adds.

  “I can’t see him.” Can I really do that to him? He has been nothing but a gentleman, and this is super effing shady.

  “Your call. Just thought I’d offer.” He is scrolling through shows on Netflix.

  “I don’t know…” I leave the statement hanging because I really don’t know what I want to do. I walk into the bathroom—the only other room in my apartment—to breathe in private.

  Alex is a really good-looking guy. He’s not as tall as Garrett but has more muscle bulk. His dark hair and eyes complement his tanned skin. His chiseled facial features must have been inherited from his mom’s side. His full-sleeve tattoo, brooding mannerism, and constant five o’clock shadow makes him every girl’s bad-boy wet dream. Many in the hood have tried to tame him, but he just goes through them. When I asked why he uses them, his response was, “If they think spreading their legs will get them a relationship, they need to learn a little more about self-respect.”

  I’m not sure what he’s looking for in a girl, but I do know he doesn’t want her to throw herself at him.

  What do I want to do? Can I really hurt Garrett like that? Will he even be hurt? Of course he will. Why would he have been so patient with me if he didn’t care? Why did I put myself in this position? A person like me can’t have normal. It’s just not in the cards. At least, not while I’m still tethered to the south side. But it is exactly what I want now. I was able to taste normal. Normal may be vanilla, but it’s steady. It’s long-lasting. It mixes with everything. It is a flavor everyone likes. It’s normal.

  Wanting so desperately for a transformation, I wish I were a butterfly. Needing a transformation. Wanting so much to be from somewhere else. To be the person who doesn’t need to hide who she is.

  A shower is the only thing I can think of to do. I don’t want to make a decision—at least, not yet.

  Garrett

  Monday came and went. No texts. No calls. Not even a response to Lola. Now I’m getting worried. Why would she just drop off the face of the Earth like that? I decide to swing by her place this afternoon, because I wasn’t able to run into her on campus or the coffee shop either. It really is like she disappeared.

  On the drive over, my mind keeps bringing me to a dark vision of her dead. She doesn’t live in the safest complex. It is not one I would have chosen for a single girl, but it’s not my place to dictate where she lives. If this is what she can afford to live on her own, then this is what it has to be—even if I don’t like it. Why else would she stay silent? As I drive into her parking lot, I see her car parked next to her building. At least it looks like she is home.

  I park and make my way to her door, nervous about what I will find. I knock and wait.

  “There’s someone at your door.” I hear a male voice yell on the other side. My heart drops. Who the fuck is that?

  There is discussion, but nothing I can make out. I can’t even tell if it’s Toni’s voice. I wait, not knowing what I’m about to see.

  A few moments pass before I hear the sound of the deadbolt turning, and the door opens. Toni is in a towel, fresh-faced with her hair wet.

  Stunned at seeing her, words do not leave my mouth. Standing there, speechless, relief she is okay is in battle with the curiosity of the male voice I heard.

  “You are alive?” I begin, trying to tone down the anger I was beginning to feel.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” she counters. The coldness in her voice is not to be missed.

  Weighing my options on whether to go all in or play it safe quickly run through my mind. “A text or call the past two days would have been nice. No need to ghost me.” The anger is beginning to take over.

  “We weren’t exclusive.” Her stance is firm. Her eyebrow cocks, challenging me.

  “Who’s at the door?” I hear the male voice again from inside.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.” She answers the voice without breaking eye contact with me.

  “We were NOTHING?” I ask for clarification. If what we had begun to build didn’t really mean anything, I want to hear it from her.

  “Get ready, I’m starving.” The male voice sounds closer this time as he appears behind her at the door. He’s a tatted up, rough-looking guy. “Are y’all done?” He looks to me, asking.

  “Sure does look like it,” I answer him, turning around and walking away.

  I won’t look back. I want to know if this bothers her, but I can’t look back. I don’t want to give that fucker the satisfaction of glancing back at her. If she doesn’t care, then neither do I.

  The bottom of a bottle seems to be the best place to be right now. I left Toni’s, not wanting to go home, or face the guys at the house, or even face people in general. The best place I knew was a hole-in-the-wall on the outskirts of town. A place where no one knows crap about my life other than being a rancher. I slapped down a hundred dollar bill and told the bartender to leave the bottle. It seemed appropriate at the time.

  “Hey, guero. Por que estas aqui? (Why are you here?)” I hear Juan’s voice behind me.

  I don’t answer, staying hunched over the bar and my drink.

  He takes a seat on the stool next to me and lets out a low whistle, shaking his head.

  “Who pissed in your cereal?” Juan asks.

  “Why did someone need to piss in my cereal? I’m just enjoying my fucking drink, man,” I retort, frustrated, not wanting to tell anyone what happened but wanting to yell about it at the same time.

  “Well, fuck, enjoy the drink.”

  I watch him out of the corner of my eye wave at the bartender. Without any words, she knows to bring him a bottle of beer. Before taking his first drink, he clinks his bottle
to my glass.

  “To no one pissing in cereal.” He takes a long pull before placing the bottle back down on the bar.

  Several quiet minutes pass before he utters another word.

  “Why are you drinking so far from home?”

  “No reason,” I lie. There is no reason to announce what a loser I am right now.

  “Hmmmm.” He mumbles something under his breath quickly in Spanish that I don’t catch. The last thing I need is everyone’s judgment. Maybe Kevin is right. How could I have been so fucking stupid?

  We sit in silence for my next two pours. He finally gets up and walks away, probably because I am still ignoring his presence. I look around the small dive, and a few more people have come in. Most I do not know, but a few of the ranch hands have congregated at a table in the corner. Their laughs carry all the way to the bar. Their laughter and ease is what I’m missing right now. I slide off my stool on unsteady feet. I look at the bottle in front of me and am surprised to see almost half the bottle is missing.

  I have to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, making my way across the room to leave. Juan gets up and meets me at the door.

  “No vas a la casa de tu mamá así. (You are not going to go to your mom’s house like that),” Juan begins.

  “No, pendejo. Voy a el apartamento. (No, stupid. I’m going to the apartment),” I answer angrily. What the hell is he doing in my business?

  “No vas a manejar. (You are not going to drive),” he tells me, holding out his hand in front of me. I place my keys in his hand. I watch him as he gets the attention of one of the guys at the table. He tosses his keys to him. “Lleva mi troca al rancho. (Take my truck to the ranch.)”

  I’m awoken by a car door slamming. I look around and realize I’m at the workers’ house on the property. I watch as Juan walks into the house, leaving me outside. As stubborn as I want to be, I really don’t want to sleep in the truck.

  I make my way into the house, and the smell of coffee hits me. Juan is in the large kitchen, pouring a cup. The house is set up dormitory style, many rooms with double beds. When there are late nights and early mornings, it’s easier for the workers to stay on property. The house is always ready for them, stocked with all the essentials.

  I take a seat at the banquet-style table. He places the cup in front of me with the creamer and sugar. He pours a cup for himself then sits across from me.

  “She’s dating someone else.” Refusing to look up, I fix my coffee instead. My head is already beginning to pound.

  “Who?”

  It was still so new; no one knew about her. How did I fall as quickly as I did?

  “The girl I thought I was dating. But she was dating someone else. I was the fucking pendejo.”

  “Nah. You probably let the little head do the thinking for you.” He lets out a small laugh before continuing. “It happens to the best of us.”

  “I thought she was different. She wasn’t like all the other money-hungry ones I keep meeting. All of them just stand around with their hands out. She didn’t. She wasn’t after me for what I could give her.”

  This elicits a booming laugh. “Of course she didn’t have her hand out, because she had another one.”

  With this realization, my head drops to the table. I was flying blind on this one.

  “Take the back room and sleep it off,” he says, getting up and heading outside.

  Not wanting the coffee, I get up, looking around the cabinets for some pain reliever and a Gatorade. I hope my dad doesn’t come back to this house tomorrow morning and see my truck here. He won’t be thrilled I’m back.

  The room spins as I shut my eyes, begging sleep to take me.

  Chapter 15

  Missing you

  Toni

  I make my way through the next few days on autopilot. Not wanting to spend my days on campus and not wanting to go to an apartment that is closing in on me, I struggle with where to go. Who knew actual physical pain accompanied heartbreak? Always thinking my mom was being a dramaqueen, I didn’t think it was possible. Now, I can’t deny the pain in my chest. The tightness will not let up, but I refuse to cry. I made my decision and I will stick to it. Mingling with people from campus is not an option anymore. My life is too complicated, and not wanting to share makes this my only option. All I need is time to readjust to how my life was before.

  Checking my phone for texts from Garrett has become second nature, but there have been none since before he came over that day. As much as it is a relief, I wish my phone to ping with his name. Lola is the one I cannot shake. She has texted daily. I haven’t answered them, so being the persistent one, she found me on campus. I made an excuse to hurry off, but I had a feeling she was not giving up that easy.

  Sasha called to let me know she has too many waitresses at the club tonight, so she got me in at El Mundo instead. The money will be good, because it is an upscale club that caters to rich, Mexican internationals. While I will make a decent amount, the gentleman’s club has always brought in the most. I change quickly, knowing I need to dress for the women as well as the men.

  As I am getting my things to walk out, a knock stops me in my tracks. Panic on who could be on the other side of the door grips me. I freeze, not wanting them to hear me inside. Another knock. A few moments pass. I hear movement. Have they left? I quietly walk to the door and look through the peephole to find no one. I unlock the door, and when I open it, Lola falls back into my apartment. She is sitting on the floor, book in hand.

  “So you are here and avoiding me?” Lola questions as she stands up.

  “Not avoiding you. Just in a rush to meet friends,” I say quickly, trying to explain my club attire.

  “Cool. Where are you headed? I’ll go home and change then meet you all. I haven’t been dancing in forever.” I know there are no ill intentions with her genuine smile and excitement. How in the hell do I explain this now?

  “Well…” I’m stumbling for words, not knowing how to lose her.

  “Well, what?” she asks, confused by my hesitation.

  “I’m not really going for fun.” I decide to let her know I work. At least it’s at a club today. She didn’t catch me on the way to the strip club. “I’m actually going in to work.”

  “Really? Why didn’t you just say that?” Her brows pull together in question.

  I shrug, not knowing how to explain.

  “For reals, Toni. Next time, just let me know. Where are you working?”

  “El Mundo, downtown.” This time, I can answer honestly.

  “Cool. I heard that people throw money around like it’s nothing there. Is it true?” As well off as she is, this is what amuses her.

  “I guess so. Most of the people that come in are internationals. They are on vacation, so having fun is usually on the agenda.” I smile at her and the fascination she is exhibiting.

  “Is it true the line is outrageous?” She is full of questions.

  “Yes. Unless you are on the list.”

  “To be on the list must be cool.” She shimmies her shoulders. “Line. I don’t do lines, darlin’. I’m on the list.” She takes a couple of steps, trying to impersonate a wealthy snob. I can’t help but laugh.

  “Yes, being on the list must be cool, but the drink prices are not cool.” I bring her back down to my reality. “But I do have to go. Work is calling.”

  She comes in for a hug. “Call me tomorrow. Since I haven’t seen you all week, I’ll take you to brunch. I miss you.”

  And just like that, she turns and walks away, waving. It’s so hard to ignore her. She doesn’t give up, and she makes everything in life seem normal. But I do have a sneaking suspicion she could go to that club and be VIP if she truly wanted.

  After a really long night, I open my eyes, trying to find my phone to check the time. I remember the other reason the strip club is a better place to work: hours on the job. The strip club closes right after last call. No hanging out for coffee. El Mundo caters to the Mexican cliente
le who are used to being able to party into the wee hours of the morning. The booze may have stopped, but coffee, agua frescas, and munchies flow. I didn’t walk into my apartment until after six a.m.—about the same amount of money, but way more hours.

  It’s almost one in the afternoon. I guess I should get up and get my day started. Should I text Lola like she asked? I take a few minutes, playing out every scenario I can think of, and I come back to the same conclusion each time. She won’t let me just disappear. She is persistent, and there is no way to scare her off the way I was able to scare off Garrett. Funny thing is, I don’t want to. I didn’t want to scare him away either, but it was necessary.

  Just woke up hungry. I hit send.

  Perfect. Heading your way in a few. She responds right away.

  We walk into The Candlelight, which is a coffee and wine bar in the evenings but hosts brunch on the weekends. Lola has brought me here a couple of times already. The first time, I was nervous with the swanky décor and upscale atmosphere—a hipster haven. We sat down, and I was surprised with the not-so-exorbitant prices. It’s not an everyday hangout, but I can swing it every now and then. This is a great place, letting all feel the swanky lifestyle for a normal price.

  Walking in this morning, I feel like I am coming home. This is the type of place I hope to be able to walk into, never worrying if I belong or if I can afford the bill. We place our order at the bar, take our pager and lattes, and find a small table in the corner.

  “I always hate to mess up the pretty designs they make on the coffee,” I begin. I always hesitate pouring sugar in my lattes when the baristas take the time to place designs on the top.

  Lola takes her phone out of her pocket and snaps a pic of hers. “You know the drill. Take a pic and post.” Her smile is infectious. I follow her lead and take the pic to post. Her openness and likability is hard to ignore.