The Art of Me (The All of Me Book 1)

by S. J. Blaze

  I try to find a way to compromise. I tell him that if he agrees with the guys sleeping on the couch, I’ll agree to go to couple’s therapy even though we are no longer married.

  He relents and adds that I need to go out on at least one date a week with him, alone. He claims that we need to connect, for the baby. I hate how he’s already using our daughter and she isn’t even born.

  So, that’s what happens. For a solid month, Coen lives with me in my fully furnished two-bedroom rental. He has a gorgeous mansion. I have a fantastic three-bedroom condominium, but we stay in the rental. We go to therapy twice a week, and every Friday night Coen takes me on a date. The trio and Malice are on rotation with who will stay the night. They don’t complain too much as long as I have beer and their favorite snacks. Bullet has pulled back a bit, though. We were together nearly every day until Coen’s return, and then he pulled away. I think he’s trying to give me some space but I never know with him.

  Coen is ridiculously attentive. He makes sure that I’m well fed, that my stress levels stay low, that I’ve taken all my vitamins, and that I’ve included extra iron in my daily diet. If not, he runs out and buys me something and then practically forces it down my throat.

  By now, my little BB Gun, as I like to call her, has made herself known by stomping all over the remainder of my internal organs. Coen loves it when we lie on the couch and he puts his head on my stomach. I think that’s when he’s at his happiest. He’s positively adorable with the way he loves our mini. He’s started reading to her every night before we go to bed and he talks to her all the time. Sometimes she reacts by kicking him and they play this weird game together. He puts his head on part of my tummy and she kicks, then he moves to the other side and she sometimes kicks him there, too. He’s going to be an amazing father.

  Almost daily, I have to remind myself of what he did. It would be so easy to let him take over and take care of me. Sometimes, I want that. I want to love him like I did before. Sometimes when we are in therapy, I feel that connection to him. He swears he’s so sorry that he cheated. He claims he was planning on telling me what happened, but he was scared he’d lose me. I’m not sure if I believe him, but in the end, it doesn’t matter.

  The truth is simple: I don’t trust him now. He betrayed that trust so it’s lost. Maybe in time we can regain it, but I doubt he’ll be that patient. I often wonder what he’s doing when he’s not in sight. Is he with someone else? I’m certainly not fulfilling his needs in that capacity, so maybe someone else is. These traitorous thoughts invade my mind constantly, bulldozing over any of the good we’ve accomplished.

  He goes to work every day and I’ve been quite busy with my case. The courtroom proceedings are concluding and presenting closing arguments has commenced. My hope is that Juanita’s case will be dropped. She’s a bright girl who deserves a solid future. I have enjoyed getting to know her and her family.

  When dressing on Thursday morning, I feel something brewing in the air. All day, I keep my hand on my little BB Gun. I feel this need to keep her close.

  Coen, Gunner, and I shared a relatively quiet breakfast this morning. I sent both men off and got my sweat on in the communal exercise room downstairs. I’ve put on almost ten pounds in the last two months. My doctor, who I saw on Monday, said that weight gain is necessary for pregnancy and that I’m doing a good job keeping healthy. But other than my stomach growing, so are my boobs, my hips, and even my butt. My face has filled out a bit, too. I feel chubby. Coen compliments me daily. He says I’m more beautiful every time he sees me, and he even thinks that the ‘fuller’ me is incredibly sexy. I think he’s just trying to have sex with me.

  We’re scheduled for court at ten thirty today, and when I get there, I see that poor Juanita is a nervous mess. I do my best to comfort her and her family and they tell me that no matter what today’s outcome is, I have impacted their lives permanently and they bless me and my daughter. Though I’m not as religious as I’d like, I’m humbled by their words. With people like them in my life, I feel blessed.

  When the verdict is finally delivered, Juanita and I stand hand in hand. I’m confident that the court appointed attorney and I have delivered a strong case against the state but one never knows. Then the judge delivers the verdict; not guilty. Juanita cries tears of joy in my arms and then I’m pulled in from behind as her parents grab me and kiss me over and over again. They can’t stop thanking me. I have given them back their world. I have renewed their love of this country and the judicial system. I can’t help but smile. If this was my daughter on trial for a crime she didn’t commit, I bet I’d act in the same manner.

  After ten minutes of gathering my work and speaking with the assistant DA, I walk out of the courtroom. I hadn’t realized how late it was. I’m supposed to meet Coen for a late lunch a few blocks away. I grab my phone to call him, part of our mandatory dating agreement, when Juanita joins me on my walk.

  “Thank you so much for everything you did for me, Ms. Charlie. When I have my first child, I’m going to name her or him after you.”

  “You’re like a saint, Ms. Charlie and the new house is so cool. They even have a pool, did ya know that?” little Manual asks. He looks so much like his dad, Manual Sr.

  “Yeah, little man, I lived there for a few years before I gave you the place, silly.”

  “Ma, I forgot Osito. Ma, I need him, he’ll be scared without me.” We all stop to look at the littlest guy, Esteban, who’s four and a handful.

  “I got it. We’ll catch up. Come on.” Sr. grabs Esteban and they run back to the courtroom we just vacated.

  “Juanita, what are your plans after high school graduation?” She graduates in a few months. She’s a bright girl and I hope that she doesn’t get trapped in a minimum wage job. I want to help her, even going so far as to talk with Coen about it.

  We are walking arm in arm when I feel all the oxygen in the room being vacuumed out. Every hair on my body stands on alert. There’s a tussle at the far end of the room, near the exit doors.

  Then there’s yelling and I see a man carrying some type of gun, it’s an AK. Oh my god, it’s an assault rifle.

  Juanita continues talking and doesn’t notice the man cocking the machine as he spies his target to the left of us. Although there’s at least a hundred feet between us, I see his eyes narrow and know that the world before me will end.

  Then I hear the most god awful sounds. First, is the horrid popping; like explosive popcorn or fireworks. It’s deafening and reverberates across the room along with the accompanied screams. Without thought, I push Juanita behind me and freeze. I have nothing on me. No weapon to protect myself. People have to go through the metal detector before entering the courthouse.

  Seconds extend into an eternity. Everything shuts down and moves in slow motion. I know what is going to happen seconds before it does. And I can do nothing apart from watch in frozen silence.

  He swipes the gun across the room and one by one, I watch as people go down. The sound is sickening, but I don’t have to wait long for my turn. The impact of the bullets hitting me is so powerful that I fall backwards. It takes a few seconds, or so it feels, for my brain to connect with what has happened. Then pain. So much pain. I think I have been shot twice. I try to look down my body to confirm this horrible stinging and fire that explodes from my middle. Even through my blazer, I can see the blood. My cream camisole is soaking it up and I want to reach down to see if my baby is alright. Maybe she missed the bullets.

  I scream in the hopes that she’ll hear me and move to let me know she is still with me. But I feel nothing but fire and acid. There’s no way she could have survived that. I doubt even I will. My breathing is uneven and with the pounding in my head there is also ringing in my ears. I vaguely hear the moaning and crying surrounding me, plus the continued shooting as the cops show up and the gunman throws his weapon down.

  The ringing continues souring my focus and I try to look around. Juanita is a few feet away from me and her
eyes are open. There’s nothing there, though. She has gone and I sight the blood seeping from a chest wound. It must have been instantaneous. I don’t hear the gasping for air that comes from my left, from her. I don’t hear the sick rattling of lungs failing, of air vanquishing without meeting its mark.

  My legs deaden and I feel a chilled numbness moving north. There are tingles threatening my arms when I realize I have my cell in my hand. Coen is going to break when he learns of this. I need to apologize before it’s too late.

  I press some numbers with my thumb. When I fell, my arms came up by my head, next to my ears. Though my fingers move, I’ve now lost the feeling in most of my arms. I hope he can hear me. I think I hear the ringing and then someone answers. When I go to make a sound, nothing comes out. The pressure in my stomach has taken hold of my lungs and captured whatever air I had left.

  My eyes feel heavy, though I am fighting to hold them open for a little longer. I need to connect. I need…something. I hear screaming through the phone. The voice sounds so small, so distant. My head is locked to the side watching the little voice scream my name over and over.

  A policeman comes over, his weapon still drawn and on alert. He looks at Juanita and shakes his head when he sees her eyes. Then he looks at me and catches my extinguishing gaze. He immediately holsters his weapon and squats down by my side.

  “Guys, guys, I’ve got a live one here. Quick someone get the paramedics.” He shouts over his shoulder. Then he looks at my little baby bump covered with blood and god only knows what else. “Shit, she’s pregnant.” He tries to smile. “Hey there, help is on the way.” He tries to reach my hand and sees the phone lying untouched, someone still screaming through it. He looks at it and then picks it up to his ear.

  “This is Sergeant John Holden speaking. Were you speaking with a woman moments ago?” He’s watching me as he speaks to, I think Coen. I try to focus but everything is starting to get fuzzy. His image swirls and the dizziness welcomes me into darkness.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  I can feel my consciousness seep in. The beeping and gurgling noises that can be heard over my head must be what brought me out. There are several voices around me making muffled sounds. I think about connecting them to faces but then I realize that I don’t care who is here. I know why they are here and that’s enough to make me sick.

  The last time I woke in a hospital, I spent time categorizing every injury, taking stock of what still worked and what didn’t. I tried to shut out everything before waking and only focused on the now. This time, I don’t want to open my eyes. Because the fact that I’m still alive and undoubtedly, my unborn child isn’t, makes me wish for death.

  I feel a depression on the bed next to my feet and then sobbing. Maybe I’m about to die. No, I wouldn’t be that lucky. Instead the heavy pull of sleep welcoming me from the reality of this barren place lulls me away. I gladly go and embrace the short vacation from the perpetual pain.

  I come to again when I feel something lifting my eyelids and then intense burning light. I immediately pull back and flinch away.

  “Ah, our guest is awake. Mrs. Collins, how are you feeling?” An unfamiliar elder man asks me. I don’t respond. I have nothing to say. How dare he ask me how I am? How the hell does he think I am?

  With my eyes now fully open, I stare at nothing.

  Nothing is here, nothing is happening, nothing is all I feel.

  “Oh, thank you Jesus. Love, do you hear me? Charlie?” There’s a new shadow hovering nearby. But I’m not here. I am nothing.

  “Charlie?” His voice breaks as something warm touches my face. “Doctor, why isn’t she talking? What’s wrong with her?”

  “Mr. Collins, she could be in shock and don’t underestimate her concussion. We need to give her time and let her body and mind heal.”

  They converse further on God only knows what but I have vacated once again. This time, I don’t drift into sleep. Sadly, I’m still wide awake. Instead, I drift into my psyche. Let colors and shapes carry me away. Remove the horrid pictures that have begun to cycle through my mind.

  I flick back into the present when I hear fighting at the door. There’s banging noises and a barrage of voices yelling.

  “She’s not even your fucking wife, you piece of shit. You fucked that up. Couldn’t keep your fucking dick in your pants. I bet you didn’t know that, parents Paz. He tore her heart wide fucking open and ripped her to shreds.” Then a louder thump. “I should fucking kill you, you fucking son of a bitch.”

  More banging and grunts, then a nurse or doctor comes to yell at them. I tune out the commotion and surf the freefall of white noise buzzing in my ears pulling me back into the abyss. My eyes still open, the shapes and shadows drift out of focus and I’m gone.

  I’m alerted back to the present when crying meets my ears. This time it’s closer to me and appears to be coming from my neck area. I think someone is there because there’s moisture and the warm body shakes me with each movement.

  “You’ve gotta hold it together, brother. She’d be pissed if she saw you this way.”

  Then there’s chuckling in my ear. “She’d kick my ass anyway, if she saw what I did to Richie’s face. Something aint right, man. She’s giving up, I can feel it.”

  “Nah, she’s a fighter. You’ve seen what she’s done in the cage. She just needs more time. She’ll come back to us and this time we won’t let her push us away.”

  Warmth falls on my face and the colors in my line of sight change, but I don’t care enough to identify it. I’m not here. I want to tune the voices out but they’re still so close. Why can’t they let me go?

  “Baby girl, ya gotta pull through. Charlie, do you hear me? Listen baby, I fucked up. I kept pushing you away. I was so fucking wrong. I love you and I want to be with you forever. Whatever you want as long as we’re together.” The warmth is gone and then I feel pressure on my chest and more sobbing noises. “Please, baby!” The shaking continues.

  “Bro, maybe now isn’t the time for confessions. She’s gotta lot on her plate. We need her to heal.”

  “She got shot, motherfucker. You have no clue what it’s like to hear her on the other line. Then some cop tells me my girl is shot. I’m never waiting again!”

  “Visiting hours are over gentleman. Say your goodbyes.”

  I feel pressure on my face, maybe my lips but I don’t feel much.

  “I love you, baby girl. I’ll come back tomorrow. Wake up for me.”

  Then I hear additional voices wishing me goodnight and feel more pressure on my head and face. Next the silence greets me. The shadows grow darker and darker until there’s nothing left.

  I awake again when I feel a tightening on my right side. There’s a light flowery scent and I can hear random chatter. “You’re awake. Are you hungry?”

  I don’t make eye contact nor do I respond. She grumbles further and then another voice chimes in. I tune out the first part until I catch the word ‘starvation’. I find it deplorably humorous. I couldn’t care less if I eat or drink or breathe or die. I feel unequivocally empty.

  I stare blankly at the nothingness in the room. The shadows get brighter and new voices and noises come to light. I don’t care who’s here, I just want everyone to leave. Let me drown in the emptiness.

  “Good morning my love, are you ready to join us today? I miss you so much.”

  “She doesn’t want you, Richie. Stay the fuck away from her!”

  There’s more noises, more arguing but I allow their sounds to numb me, and drag me back under.

  I’m alerted back to consciousness when someone snaps their fingers in front of my face. If I cared, I’d think that was rude.

  “Charlie, Abba is worried about you. You need to focus.” I think I recognize that voice, the perfume, but I don’t care. I feel something being shoved against my mouth. I think they’re trying to push my lips apart and feed me. I don’t think I want food. I don’t think I want anything.

  “What the fuck is wr
ong with you? You’re only gonna make things worse!”

  “You tattooed menace, who are you to judge her own mother? You should leave. Let her husband and family deal with this in peace without being attacked every other minute.”

  More noises. I let it continue to numb me but this time the pull isn’t coming as easily. Instead, I feel achiness in my abdomen. The bullet wounds are making themselves known. My barren and shredded womb is calling me to take notice.

  “Charlie, it’s okay, baby. I’m here. Come back to me and we’ll deal with whatever you need. I’ll take care of you. Please, baby girl!” Someone says at my side, and then there’s pressure on my cheek. I think there’s wetness there. Is it mine?

  “Don’t listen to him, love,” comes from the other side of me. “I’m your husband. We can still make this work, Charlie. We’re going to make this work. I need you. You know I do.”

  “Charlie, you need to wake up this minute and take care of your husband. Do you hear me? Quit being so selfish. You always…”

  I grab onto the pain. I let it shut out the pandemonium elevating all around me as well as the clamor in my head. The throbbing and stinging centers me. The pain and I connect. It swirls me in its sharpened tendrils and carries me away.

  Later, I feel my skin moistened and chilled. There’s an unfamiliar humming nearby. I try to focus. I let the pain untangle me, I let the colors sharpen and bring all my thoughts to concentrate on that one sound. It takes work, I have been numb and uncaring for so long that I’m not sure if I’m still capable of connecting again.

  I fixate on the shadow closest to me. Slowly, the colors take on shapes and eventually the shapes bring about smaller features. I can see her now. She appears to be in her thirties and has chocolate brown hair and pink scrubs on. I see her.