“I didn’t want to!” Her face twitches as she backs away from me. She turns and runs full speed to her car.
“I didn’t force you!” I run after her until she makes to her car.
I call out to her, panicked from her claim. As Zina revs her engine, the dirt from beneath her back wheels create an imposing dust cloud. Please. No.
I chase after her car as she peels out of the gravel parking lot.
CHAPTER 33
ZINA
I’m aching because Zack was on top of me for too long. And sore from him being inside of me. I take a shower, washing the straw and dirt from my hands and hair. My mind drifts while I stand in the shower, haunted by the betrayal of a handsome face and the softness of his touch.
I regret what happened tonight, but it could’ve been so much worse. I think about the way he hesitated; not many would have. At least he was gentle. I guess I appreciate that part. I breathe deeply underneath the warm faucet. I wash the fluid from between my legs and stand under the flow of hot water, staring at the moldy shower tiles. I should’ve had more control with him. I should’ve said no sooner. Maybe he didn’t hear me when I said it. Maybe saying no once wasn’t enough. My eyes burn as I remember him on top of me, pushing his way through me. I’m angry beyond anything I’ve ever felt. I can still feel my mouth all over his. I can’t believe how I wanted to kiss him, over and over, even though I was scared to have sex with him. I feel so fucking guilty. I can’t ever tell anyone. No one needs to know what I did.
When I get out of the shower, I don’t feel like myself, and I hate it. No one ever claims to like sex the first time, but they do claim it was their choice. I tear up and quickly wipe my face with my towel. It was too much too soon. And worst thing yet, he didn’t even stop to slip on a condom. Motherfucker.
Tony calls while I’m sitting on my bed wrapped in my towel. I let it go to voicemail. He calls back immediately, and I answer to the sound of a rustic, anguished Spanish voice.
“I called your phone three times last night. Where were you?” he shouts.
I pull the phone away from my ear in disbelief. Don’t do this right now. I don’t have an answer for him. He’d know if I lied. I don’t have the emotional strength for that shit. So I don’t say anything.
“Hello? Where were you?”
“I can’t talk right now,” I say. “It’s not good for me…” I catch myself. I don’t know what to say next.
“You can’t talk right now?” he asks, suspicion in his voice.
I should hang up now. “Ma’s calling me,” I say quickly. “I gotta go.” I hang up before he can protest.
My phone continues to vibrate. I ignore it for almost an hour before I roll over to check it. Tony’s texted me.
Don’t play games with me, Zina. Don’t insult my intelligence. Next time I call you, you better call me right back.
Okay…Can I go to sleep now?
Yes, chica. Sleep easy, mama. Will talk to you tomorrow.
Sunday morning, around seven forty-five, I finally go to sleep. I lie in my bed dressed in the black tee that I’d boosted from Tony’s apartment while he was gone. I drift in and out of exhaustion, fighting my sleep, hearing Zack’s voice, seeing his smile. I pull the neck of Tony’s T-shirt up over my nose. It smells like him, which nauseates me. What if he takes the way Zack does? I’d never know until it was too late.
I slept all fucking day. I didn’t wake up till Monday.
After homeroom, the students of Albert Chesney filter into the hallways, doing their best to grind their way through the rest of the year. Prom is three days away and the day before my birthday. I hate the idea of it all. I walk passively down the hall toward my parenting class, which is right next to Blanca’s locker, in a section of hallway known to be the hotbed of the senior social scene. Because it’s the cluster of lockers where most of the jocks house their stuff, everyone gravitates here, especially the thirsty freshmen and sophomores. Blanca’s head is buried in her locker. She’s wearing a high, slick ponytail; jeans; and Adidas deck shoes. I know already that this is a blow-off day; she won’t be taking anything school-related serious today.
“What’cha doing?” I ask as I lean over her shoulder.
“Cleaning out my locker,” she replies, without interrupting her work.
“You’re gonna finish before the bell rings in seven minutes?”
She continues snatching loose sheets of notebook paper and beaten-up textbooks out and tosses them to the floor.
“I don’t wait till the last minute. Besides, I’m missing something.”
I step back, leaning against the locker next to hers. I nearly slip on a loose sheet she’s tossed on the floor.
I reach down and snatch her trash from the floor. I hold the pile of papers out toward her, but she doesn’t respond. I toss the pile in the big tin trash can next to her locker.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says, picking up her textbooks from the hallway floor.
I bend down and grab two in my hands. “I’m not going to prom.”
“What the hell?” she yells. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. I don’t feel like it. I don’t have anyone to go with, and it just seems like a lot for not much of anything.”
She gapes at me through narrowed eyes. “Bitch, that’s bullshit.”
“Language,” I say. “We’ve been looking at most of these people for, like, five or six years, bro. Enough! I’m ready to move on.”
“Fuck that. You are going,” she says.
I begin to protest, but she stops me, furious. “No, Zina! I don’t want to hear this crap. You have no legitimate reason not to go, and you are pissing me off right now. Part of the reason we started dealing was so you could have the money you needed for prom and all this other crap. Now you wanna take the money and run?”
“No, I’m not running.”
“Then what?”
“I just don’t feel…”
“Feel what?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
She cuts her eyes at me. “What is up with you?”
“Nothin’. I’m good.”
“Well, the punk ass golden boy who’s too afraid to admit he likes you will be glad to take you,” she says.
I flinch. “No way.”
“Uh, yes way. We haven’t been fighting these girls for nothing.”
“I don’t want to go with him. What about Beatrice?”
Blanca looks at me for a long moment. “Yeah, you want to go with him. Shannon and Beatrice have been on the rocks since she got into it with you and Robert in the hallway.” She smiles and wraps an arm around me. “Don’t worry, Zee. I got you.”
Blanca and Rachel both text me during second period.
He still wants it. Lol. Shannon’s coming, Rachel writes.
The green-eyed monster stalks again! #meant2be, Blanca adds.
Do not send him after me, I text them both.
2 late, Rachel responds.
Fuck. Right after third period, Shannon finds me in the west building, waiting in line for my turn at the vending machine. I almost run when I see him walking toward me, the sun reflecting off his green eyes. Shit. I never thought he’d look for me down here. No one comes to this building during this time of the day unless they have gym or a junk-food craving. I lower my head when I see him coming. He walks up and offers to pay for my snacks.
“It’s okay, I got it,” I say as he stands next to me in line. “Sooo, what do you want?”
He shuffles from foot to foot. “I never thought it’d be this hard to ask a girl to prom.”
“Shannon, you don’t have to. I know Rocky and Bee, like…forced you.”
“They didn’t force me. They just told me where you’d probably be—down here tryna get an apple pie,” he says.
<
br /> “I’m down here for water.”
“So…” He stares at me.
I’m tired of men staring at me. “So what?”
“Prom…” he whispers. “Please?”
“Please.” I cut my eyes at him. “What about Beatrice?”
“We broke up,” he says. “I know you don’t trust me anymore,” he says, “but you will.”
CHAPTER 34
ZACARIAS
She grabs a pillar of cracked marble from my nightstand and bashes it into the side of my face. I stumble backward as Whitney comes toward me again, hitting me so hard that the pillar breaks into threes. As she swings, I block her, grabbing her arm and pushing her away.
The pain is immense. I will myself to remain conscious. But I’m convinced she’s broken my face. She runs when I lurch for her, but I reach out and grab the hem of her top. She knocks my hand away and smacks me on the other side of my face.
“You son of a bitch!” She snatches away, stretching her top out. “You lying bastard!”
“I didn’t lie! I told you what happened.”
“No! You are a liar. And you’re not some sweet, soft-spoken guy.”
“I never said I was, Whit. You wanted me to be that guy.” She tries to take another swing at me, but I knock her hand away. “I’m sorry.” I don’t regret cheating, though I feel that as her fiancé, I owe her an apology. I want someone else. I’m not sorry for confessing. Especially if that’s all it takes for her to leave. This time when she makes a run for my bedroom door, I allow her to go. I need to be sure. And as it turns out, Whitney leaving is what I want.
Later, I patch my face the best I can and call in to Rico’s. I tell my staff I won’t be coming in today and ask the hostess to transfer me to a manager.
When enough time passes, and the aches have settled into every measure of my body, I dig my keys from my pocket and go straight to my car. I consider going to my mother’s house but realize what a bad idea it’d be to let her see me like this. I pull out of the parking lot, but I don’t get far. I pull over at the next Chevron station. I go in and buy five packs of travel-size Tylenol and a bottle of water. On my way back to my car, I tear open four of the five packs and down them in one swallow. John can get me stronger pain meds than this over-the-counter shit. I call him; he picks up on the first ring.
“Hey, brother. What’s up?” His voice is low and casual.
“Nothing…Can you get me some pills? I need ’em ASAP.”
“Pills? What kind of pills? What for?”
“For pain. My head is killing me.”
“So pop some Tylenol.”
“I did. I need something stronger.”
“For a headache?” His voice fades into silence from the other end. I visualize him worried and confused, his eyebrows furrowed. Sometimes I forget John’s my big brother, with his nonchalance about life and his careless ways.
“Don’t worry about me,” I clarify. “I’m good.” My jawbone pops, and I flinch, sucking in air between my teeth. “Can you get me something or not?”
“What happened?” he asks calmly.
I hesitate to respond. “Whitney and I had a fight. I cheated. She did not take it well.”
“You cheated on Whitney? Is she still pregnant?”
“Yeah.”
“So what…her loony ass beat the hell outta you? That is so sad,” he says with a laugh.
“Well, I’m not going to fuckin’ hit her, John.”
“Yeah, I know.” He gathers himself. His laughter ceases. “So what happened to the hoe you fucked around with? Whitney beat her ass too?”
“I don’t fuck around with hoes, bro, and I would never let Whitney touch her.”
“Hold on. You shittin’ me, right?” He sounds surprised to hear such conviction in my voice regarding someone he knows nothing about. “Who is this chick?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.” He laughs. “Whitney has had your balls in the palm of her hand for two years, causing all kinda problems. Now you wanna cheat?”
“Why is this shit so amusing to you?” I ask. “I’m fucked up over here. She bashed my face in with her shitty home décor. Can you get my shit or not?”
“Hey! Calm the fuck down, and watch how you talk to me, bro.” I quickly come to my senses. I don’t want to fight with John. “I’m not the one who gave yo stupid ass a concussion. You should’ve let Whitney go two years ago.”
He agrees to bring me the meds but makes no promise of when he’ll come. As I drive home, I look at my face in the rearview mirror. It’s disfigured; my skin is a freaked-up bluish gray, and my eyes are swollen. The right side of my jaw has tripled in size, with reddish-purple gashes along my chin. I wonder if she could’ve stopped on her own or if the assault would have been fatal if I hadn’t restrained her. My mother will never forgive this. She won’t see past the damage done to her son’s handsome face. I decide not to see her until the bruises go away and there are no signs of injury left.
After an hour and half, I go back into the Chevron. I buy the strongest beer I can find and six more packs of Tylenol. Then I go home to wait for my brother.
Around nine o’clock, John walks through the front door. By now, I’ve heavily self-medicated with weak pills and even weaker booze. The pills and beer have dulled some of the throbbing, but I still have a beast of a migraine. I’m at war with myself and fucked up about all kinds of shit. The acquaintance rape of a minor—a teenage girl whom I’ve developed an addiction to—is, at this point, the most significant moment in my life. I drunk-text Zina a few times and call her twice. She doesn’t respond, and I pass out soon after.
When I wake up, John’s sitting in his chair, holding one of my beers and staring at me. From the look on his face, I can tell my appearance pisses him off. I roll over, remembering my train wreck of pain. I moan, barely able to sit up.
“Wake the fuck up,” John says.
I try to sit up but find myself slouching helplessly back onto the couch. I open one of my swollen eyes. A bottle of Percocet is lying on the table.
“My girlfriend beat the fuck outta me,” I groan.
“I see that. Looks like she was trying to kill you. She did that for cheating?”
I nod. “I deserved it, John.” I reach for the pill bottle. “This girl, she…is so fucking beautiful to me, so real. I’ve never felt anything like her.”
John takes a swig of his beer. “And worth a concussion? How do you know her?”
“She comes into Rico’s.” I twist the top of the bottle of Percocet, not willing to say much more, and dump two pills into the palm of my hand.
“You better not ever let Ma see you all fucked up like this.”
“I know. I won’t.”
“And if she does, you better not tell her who did it.”
I nod.
“So this girl who might cost you your kid…what’s her name?”
“What? Wait…”
“You heard me. I don’t see you and Whitney coming back from this. She’s vindictive, violent.” He gestures toward my bruises and scars.
“Whitney is what I deserve, not what I want. I’m not losing my kid.” My speech slurs. I’m inebriated, dazed. I feel like I’m floating. “Zina will forgive me. She’ll be good with my kid.”
He frowns, and his eyes narrow. “Zina. That her name?”
I nod. “I fucked up with her so bad, John.” I sit up, reaching for John’s beer. He moves it from my grasp and slams it down on the end table next to his chair.
“Boy, why are you so fucking whiney over women?” He sits back, shaking his head. “Who taught you that shit? You can’t suck this much ass. Fuck.”
I pass out for a long while, a depleted pile of guilt and grandeur. When I wake up, John is gone, and Whitney has not returned to the apartment. The pill-and-bo
oze haze has faded into a sanctioning hangover, though I’m still feeling the floating effects of the Percocet. I’m high; I feel indestructible.
Every blow Whitney chucked my way felt like the punishment Zina was entitled to give. I care deeply for this girl I violated, whose trust I betrayed. Coming to terms with this is the most sobering experience. I envision her reporting the assault, though I pray she doesn’t. My life would be ruined because I wanted her too much. I’d be known as a rapist.
In the darkness, I get up from the sofa, fighting my way through the pills and beer. I walk into the kitchen and grab a towel from the kitchen drawer. I fill it with ice cubes and press the icy bulk against my face.
I’m ready to leave the life I’d been living. I no longer want to share it with a woman who fills me with such contempt, a woman who lacks the ability to forgive me when I make mistakes. While I stand in the kitchen, I hear the lock on the front door turn. Seconds later, the door opens. I look around the bar. Through the dark, I see the moonlight reflecting off Whitney’s white top.
Shit.
I watch her as she creeps back into the apartment and heads to the bedroom.
“What are you doing?” I call out from behind her, startling her. “Why have you come back?” She looks at me. “Leave.” I walk out of the kitchen toward the living room.
“Wait, Zack, no…I don’t want that.”
“You murdered my fucking face! Leave.” I point to the front door.
“You fucking cheated on me!”
“So you try to bash my skull in? You’re crazy as shit.”
“I overreacted. God, I’m sorry.”
“I’m not doing this. I’m tired.”
“Not doing what?”
“You! I’m done! I have no intention of being with you.” The harshness of my tone cuts deeper than any gashes she left on me. “You need to get over it.” She’s in shock, not moving, lip quivering. I watch the anger build in her face.
“When we’re married—”
“We’re not getting married. I’m not yours.”
“What about the baby?” she snaps.
Of Hustle and Heart Page 17