Bi-Sensual

by Nikki- Michelle

  Nicole was dead.

  My mama screamed. My daddy said a prayer in our native tongue.

  I hung up. Needed to get off the phone. I told them I’d call them back later. I lost all sense of space and time.

  Once we got to the hospital, I had to move out of the way. I needed to give them space. The doctors didn’t have time to answer questions. I tried to keep up, but I was asked to wait patiently and told that someone would let me know something as soon as possible. Demi was wheeled away. Mona came in right after him. Same thing for her. They’d let me know something, but I should probably contact friends and family to let them know the severity of the matter.

  The police wanted to talk to me. They needed to know what I knew about the shooter. I told them that I thought it could have been some guy from Club Noir Eden whom we’d gotten into an altercation with a few weeks back. I wasn’t sure. They kept on asking questions. I got annoyed. I didn’t know shit else. I didn’t know anything else.

  We were breaking news. The words hate and crime were being thrown around. They had the shooter. The area had been locked down.

  An hour later, a woman with a wild blond Afro rushed into the hospital. A brother with locks followed her in. The woman’s eyes were red, and the brother looked concerned about her.

  “I’m a . . . Do you have a patient by the name of Samona de la Cruz here?” she asked.

  “Are you family?” asked one of the receptionists at the desk.

  “Yes,” she lied with ease.

  “She’s still in surgery. You can wait in the waiting area, and we’ll let you know something as soon as we can,” the receptionist said.

  “I hate this shit,” the woman said, then exhaled hard.

  “Calm down, Summer,” said the man who was with her. “If she doesn’t know anything, she can’t tell you anything.”

  They walked into the waiting area. The woman was pregnant. Her face was just as red as her eyes.

  “Who would do such a thing?” Summer fussed. “To shoot someone down like that? What in hell is wrong with these people?”

  “Hate is a powerful drug,” the man responded.

  I looked away from them and back at the TV. Somebody had sent cell footage of the shootings to the news. There I was. I didn’t even remember attacking the man. I didn’t remember stopping when he pointed the gun at me as I rushed out the sliding doors of the hotel lobby. He fired. But there was nothing left. His hate was out of ammo. Right there, on the TV, I attacked the shooter. Picked up the helmet that had fallen out of Mona’s hand and took a swing that knocked the man on his ass and split his skull. I straddled him. Beat him until my fists went numb. Beat him until other male guests at the hotel pulled me off of him.

  I looked like the lunatic the man with the gun was. Violence begot violence. I’d lost it. I wasn’t one of those “turn the other cheek” people. He’d gunned down three people, all of whom I loved. He was going to die. And he probably would have already if those men hadn’t pulled me off of him.

  I looked at my bloody fists. The pain in my hands started to kick in now that my adrenaline had worn off. The people in the waiting room looked from the TV to me.

  Behind me I heard, “You’re Elliot.”

  I turned and nodded at Summer.

  “She talked about you a lot.” She said “talked” . . . in the past tense. I didn’t know how to respond to that. I couldn’t really think.

  “This is my husband, David,” she said, introducing the man at her side.

  David extended his hand to shake mine.

  “Have they told you anything?” Summer asked.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “How long you been waiting?”

  “A little over an hour now.”

  “And nothing on either of them?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Damn,” she said. “I didn’t know him, but you know, this is fucked up.”

  I nodded.

  David asked, “Was the other woman just an innocent bystander or what?”

  “I can’t even answer that. I don’t know why he shot any of them right now, but she wasn’t a stranger. She was my ex.”

  Summer looked like she was fit to be sick. “Oh, Jesus . . .”

  Seeing Nicole collapse on the ground . . . the image of Mona’s body violently jerking as bullets entered her . . . Demitri rushing to shield Mona, only to have a barrage of bullets turn his back into something that resembled ground beef . . . I was hurting. I was hurting in the worst way.

  Summer wanted me to know that if I needed anything, I could just reach out to them and they would help. I nodded, then excused myself. I went into the restroom. Nicole’s phone had kept ringing. I needed to answer it. Had been trying to for the past hour but hadn’t been able to.

  How fucking cruel was the universe that it had sent Nicole to me to spend her last hours on earth? Was it cruel, or was this God’s way of allowing me to spend time with her before He took her away from me again, this time for good?

  I was hurting, but there was no doubt in my mind, the man on the other end of the phone line was about to hurt worse than I could imagine.

  I picked up on the second ring. “Hello,” I answered.

  There was silence. Then I heard Malcolm make a sound that damn near broke me down.

  “Please,” he whispered. “Please . . . please put her on the phone, Elliot. Just put her on the phone,” he pleaded.

  I said nothing.

  He made that sound again. Like that of a wounded animal. “Ah, God . . . just put her on the phone, man. Just . . . I’ll . . . Please. That wasn’t her. That wasn’t my wife. Tell me Nicole is with you.”

  “I can’t. . . .”

  Something sounded as if it had fallen. To hear a grown man cry out like that wasn’t something I could stand. Nicole was loved. There wasn’t a man who had experienced Nicole who didn’t love her. I laid her phone on the counter.

  I had to do the same thing for Demi. His phone had kept ringing too. I went to answer it, but before I could even say hello, his sister started talking and crying hysterically. I couldn’t get a word in. She was crying so badly, I couldn’t understand one word she was saying. I laid his phone next to Nicole’s. I looked at Samona’s phone after retrieving it from my pocket. Waited for it to ring, but it never did.

  She had nobody. No mother she could count on. No father. No siblings that she knew of. That broke me down. I was all she had besides Summer. I tried to keep it together, but I couldn’t. I was the only whole one. I was a whole man who loved broken men and women. I’d grown up in the best home, with loving parents. I’d suffered no verbal abuse. I’d suffered no sexual abuse. I’d suffered no physical abuse. Nicole had suffered physical abuse. Nicole’s father had thought beatings with extension cords, belts, switches, anything he could get his hands on, was discipline. Mona and Demi had suffered all three. I wouldn’t talk about the atrocities that Mona and Demi had suffered.

  * * *

  It was well into the night, damn near nine hours later, when a doctor finally came to find me. Summer had gone home and come back. She stood, waiting, just as anxious as I was to hear something.

  Dr. Rashad West came in to shake my hand and Summer’s. Tall brother, with a wavy fade and hazel eyes. The grim expression on his face scared me. Made me hold my breath.

  “Ms. de la Cruz first. Um . . . she’s alive,” he began.

  Summer released the breath she had been holding and said, “Oh, thank God.”

  I didn’t say anything, because of the look on the doctor’s face. There was a “but” coming.

  He held out his hand to stop Summer’s premature celebration. “But barely. There is a great chance that she could still go into shock and pass at any time. The bullet to her shoulder went in and came out through the back. It took part of her shoulder blade in the process, so there is a great possibility that if she survives, she will lose a lot of movement in her arm. As for the shot to her chest, the area around her lung filled
with blood. We removed the blood and air from the pleural space. Right now, we have a chest tube inserted through her chest wall to drain the blood and air. Now, the plan is to leave it in there for a few days to re-expand the lung . . .”

  I listened to him talk about oxygen and endotracheal intubation, blood tests, chest tubes, CAT scans, and EKGs, things that didn’t make me feel good about Mona’s prognosis.

  “Luckily,” he said, “the wound to her abdomen wasn’t severe. So all we can do now for her is wait it out and see how her body responds.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “And Demitri?”

  As I asked that, another surgeon walked in, this one a black woman with a puff ponytail and a warm smile. She told us that the verdict for Demitri was far worse. Spinal cord injuries. There was a possibility he would never walk again. It was hard to tell. Too early to diagnose. Two bullets went through his abdomen and nicked his smaller intestines. Surgery for peritonitis was needed.

  “The fact that Mr. Alexander is still alive is a miracle. I mean, he was shot eight times. Bullets barely missed his vital organs, and two were less than an inch away from his heart. That many bullets to the back that penetrated the abdomen? I know people who’ve died from one bullet to the abdomen. So Mr. Alexander is a fighter if I’ve ever seen one. The prognosis on him is good, but he’s not out of the woods yet, same as Ms. de la Cruz. It’s a waiting game,” she said.

  “Can I see them?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Sure. Just keep in mind they’re both under right now and still very much in the red. So only a few minutes. And I normally don’t allow non–family members in, but Mr. Alexander works closely with one of the charities I run. So this is a special favor.”

  Walking to the ICU seemed to take forever. The closer I got to Mona’s room, the farther away it seemed. I didn’t recognize her on that bed. Her face was swollen. All those damn tubes and beeping machines alarmed me. She was asleep, but her face screamed that she was in pain. The hissing and sighing of the machines rattled my damn nerves. It was not the way I wanted to remember her.

  The nurse in the room told me I had to wash my hands before I could touch her. I did. Then walked over to the bed. I took her limp hand in mine. I wondered if she could hear me. Wondered if she knew I was there. I wanted her to know that I was there. She had me. She would always have me. Even if we never kissed or touched again, I’d still never leave her side.

  The nurse told me Mona was a real fighter. Would flatline, then come right back to life. She died three times on the operating table. Each time she came back stronger than before.

  “Hold on for me, baby,” I whispered to her. “Hold on for me.”

  I sat there with her for a few more minutes. I told her Summer and David were there, waiting to see her. Told her I’d be back a little later. Let her know I had to go see the giant. It felt as if she squeezed my hand. I looked down to see it was just my imagination. I left so Summer and David could go in.

  I moved to another side of the ICU. Walked in the room to see Demi laid up like that. I’d never seen him so weak and defenseless for as long as I’d known him. He had more tubes coming out of him than Mona did. More machines beeping and hissing. His face wasn’t his own, either. His head was heavily bandaged since he had hit it when he fell off his bike and landed on the ground. His torso also had bandages. The nurse walked in. Told me about what would happen if Demi survived. Told me about the rehab treatments and how long it would take him to recover.

  “He’ll be very dependent on you,” she said. “He won’t be able to do much for himself for a while. So just prepare yourself. Right now he’s on some antibiotics too. The pain meds will keep him under for a while. When he wakes up, he may be a little jumpy. That’s normal, so don’t be alarmed.”

  I listened. Took in everything she said. In my mind, I was preparing to do whatever needed to be done. I just needed him to survive.

  Elliot

  Over the next few days, the narrative would come together. The man who had shot and killed Nicole and severely injured Mona and Demi had been charged with a hate crime. The shooter wouldn’t talk to the cops. Had refused to tell them why he’d done it. He’d said only that no humans had died. “Only a fag and a couple of trannies were put down,” was what the police reported him to have said.

  The news reported on the club altercation that I had told the cops about. I had told the cops we left the club without incident, and I honestly didn’t think anymore about it. The investigation was ongoing. The front of the Marriot Gateway had been turned into a memorial. Mona’s readers were showing her love all over social media. She would be happy to know that.

  All the men and women Demi helped in his spare time had left words of affection and encouragement on his phone and social media accounts. His parents were in town. My parents had flown in. My house wasn’t my own.

  A week later, I flew up to New York. I knew I wouldn’t be welcome at Nicole’s home- going service. But I sat outside the church, anyway. I just needed to be near. I needed her to know I was there. I parked across the street. When the service let out, I saw Malcolm. The brother looked how I felt. My heart felt as if it was about to cave in when I saw the pain on Jacques’s face.

  I watched Malcolm make sure all his children were safely tucked into the white limousine. He stood outside; then his eyes turned to me. He knew I was there. I didn’t know what to expect from him, but when he gave me one simple head nod, I knew our beef had ended. I waited until later, until after they had put Nicole into her final resting place and everyone had gone, to say my final good-byes to my first love.

  * * *

  Back in Atlanta, Demi woke up first. That shocked everyone. He woke up angry. Tried to pull tubes out of his throat, his IV from his arm. I imagined all those small nurses trying to hold him down and laughed. I laughed because I was happy he was alive. Wished I’d been there to see it. They had to call in male doctors and nurses. Then they had put some stronger meds in that IV.

  The next time he woke, he was calmer. Opened his eyes and looked at me. Then closed them again, as if keeping them open caused him pain. I’d been coming in and helping the nurses keep him clean. Shaved his face. Made sure he didn’t turn into Paul Bunyan. We joked about that. I had to let him know how much he’d scared me. That if he had died on me, I would have killed him.

  We laughed at that too. Well, he tried to.

  “Mona,” he groaned. “She alive?” he asked.

  I nodded. “She is. She isn’t awake yet, though.”

  “How long she been out?”

  “Since the shooting.”

  He swallowed. Made a face that said his throat was still a little raw from the tube that had been in it. “I want to see her,” he said.

  “You can’t get up yet.”

  He ignored me. “Maybe later you can help me walk down there.”

  “You can’t walk, Demi.”

  “Fuck you. I can do whatever the fuck I put my mind to,” he snapped.

  He’d been doing that a lot. Anytime the doctor mentioned that he wouldn’t be able to walk again, he had that same visceral reaction. I changed the subject.

  “May I ask you a question?”

  He tried to nod, but instead said, “Yeah.”

  “Why did you risk your life to save hers? You didn’t really know her that well.”

  He closed his eyes, then took a deep breath. He remained that way for so long, I thought the meds had put him back to sleep

  But he opened his eyes. “She’s important to you,” was all he said.

  I loved him more in that moment. To know he would risk his life to save Mona’s simply because she was important to me solidified many of the reasons I loved him. I understood him now more than I ever had. He turned his head to look at me, a different kind of pain in his eyes. I knew what was coming next.

  “Shelle,” he said. “She okay?”

  I licked my dry lips before running a hand down my face. “She’s gone,” I said. “Was gone be
fore her body hit the ground.”

  He made a pained noise that was something similar to what Malcolm had done when he found out Nicole was dead. I watched a tear roll from the corner of his left eye. Demi had never been the type to show emotion. That had never been his style. But the shooting, finding out he might not ever walk again, and now Nicole’s death had moved him. As I knew it would.

  The next day, I saw a woman at the hospital. Tall, like Mona. Skin as beautiful as brown silk. She had an Afro with defined coils. No makeup, but her skin was so beautiful, one would question whether she had been airbrushed or not. She had on a sundress that clung to her curves, no bra. Flip-flops adorned her French-tipped toes. She paced back and forth in front of the hospital doors, smoking a cigarette.

  “You should go in and see her,” I said.

  Amara looked at me, more like cut her eyes at me, but didn’t say anything. She dropped her cigarette, then stepped on it with the ball of her foot.

  “How do you know I haven’t?” she asked.

  “I don’t,” I said.

  “She lied to me when I first met you.”

  “What did she lie about?”

  “About who you were. She said you were just a friend.”

  I didn’t respond to that. Mona had already warned me about her mother’s homophobia.

  She asked, “Who are you to her?”

  “A man who loves her.”

  Amara grunted. “I suppose. You one of those fairies she writes about?”

  “Are you the child molester she wrote about in her first book?”

  That shut her down. Angered her, even. She pulled the long strap of her purse onto her slender shoulder. “Tell her I was here. Tell her that. Tell I love her,” she said as she walked away. Then she stopped. “Tell her . . . tell her I’m sorry.”

  Amara walked off. Disappeared the way she had come.

  Mona woke up two days later. I was the first person she saw. Summer and David were there. I moved out of the way. Let her friend get in. Summer had been there the whole time. Was at the hospital every day. Just like I was. While Mona was under, Summer and I had taken turns reading the words her fans had sent to her. She’d received so many get well cards and flowers that her room looked like the gift shop downstairs. Her agent, Maria, had flown in. She, too, had sat with Mona for a few days, until she had to get back to her life.