Shannon stands still, watching the flood of tears stream down my face. It’s a hard cry. One that I cannot control. Through blurry eyes I can almost see the lump in his throat. He steps toward me. Unable to speak, I hold my arms out, signaling for him to keep his distance. He backs away until he’s almost in the far corner on the opposite side of the room.
“Tell me,” he croaks. “Tell me what happened.” His pain is a reflection of mine.
No longer able to stand, I back into a corner, wedging myself between a desk and the bed. Sobbing, I slide down the wall, collapsing into a pile of charmeuse silk, barely able to breathe. I fall to my side, and I lie there.
“No,” I say as Shannon moves toward me. Shaken, he backs away and sits on the floor on the other side of the room.
I cry for what seems like hours as he watches, helpless, stinging emotion and glassy tears all over his face. He sits propped on his knees as if ready to intervene on my behalf and chase away whatever boogey man haunts me. When I quiet down, my loud gasping and coughs depleting into tiny whimpers, he crawls toward me.
“Zina.” His voice is grave. I continue sobbing. He clears his throat. “You’re scaring me. I don’t know what to do,” he says.
“It’s nothing.” I lie on the floor, distant and tired. My voice sounds hollow and faraway as my spirit flutters from the room. “I was raped. I didn’t want to…but he did.” I crane my neck to look at Shannon. “You’re the only person who knows. It’s been a week,” I whisper. I see his hands begin to shake.
“Can I come closer?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nah. I like you on that side of the room.”
I nod in and out of sleep as Shannon keeps his promise and leaves me alone in my corner. He talks to me, never knowing whether I’m awake or not to hear him. Occasionally he ask questions I can hear but don’t bother to answer. At one point I awake up underneath a blanket he’d pulled from the king-size bed. I jerk up to find Shannon sitting Indian style, his tie removed, his shirt untucked, and shoes sitting next to him.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I could tell you were cold.”
I lie back down.
“Did you go to a doctor?” I don’t respond. “Let me take you.”
“I don’t want anyone to know,” I mutter.
“So no police?”
“Fuck the police.” I pull the blanket tight around me.
“Stop it. That’s not funny. You have to. You can’t let this dude—”
“No cops.”
“What if he does it again?”
“I don’t care.”
“I do!” he snaps. “The only thing I know to do is to take you to the hospital. It’s the only way I know how to help. Let me help you. Please.”
I push the blanket off and get up from the floor. “No! You can’t help me, Shannon. That’s not why I told you. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t face it alone. If you tell someone…it would be too much. It’s too late anyway. I washed away any traces of him.”
Shannon jumps up and runs to my side. “Who was it?” He grabs my arms and shakes me a little.
“You don’t know him.” I sob.
“Does he go to our school?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to take me home.”
“What? Why?”
“Can you just let me go? Please.”
Before I leave, I wash my face as best as I can and rinse with mouthwash. Shannon calls a cab for me after he asks again why I won’t let him take me home. And again I ignore his question. I don’t want Shannon to know that I’m not going to Tony’s. His talk of going to the cops set my guard on high. I’ve never liked cops, and I don’t trust them as far as I can spit. There’s no cop who gives a shit about me or what I’ve gone through. I don’t need them. And I don’t want them creepin’ around my life. It’s bad for business.
My cab comes in about thirty minutes, and by six forty-five I’m knocking at Tony’s door. I knock because I don’t want to ring the doorbell, and I text because I get tired of knocking. I stand outside for what seems like forever. I can already tell it’s going to be a hot day, as the sun begins to peek above the horizon. I pull my hair up and use the wristlet corsage as a ponytail holder. Finally, Tony unlocks the door and looks at me through a crack in it before he pulls it open. He’s shirtless and shoeless, wearing only black pajama bottoms.
“How’s everything?” he asks.
I shrug. “Fine. I have a little pot left. I’ve made a lot of money.” I hold out the skirt of my dress. “See my dress? It cost a grip.” I force a smile. “Real charmeuse silk.”
He chuckles.
“You look tired.” He steps outside and stands over me, staring into my face. It returns. The heat I felt the last time I was with him. But now it makes me feel used and nasty instead of loved or wanted. He grabs at the layers of my dress.
“I think someone missed you,” he says. “He’s been wandering around the house, not knowing what to do with himself.”
He tugs at the bottom of the dress and motions for me to come inside. I do, and he shuts the door behind me, locking it. I take a deep breath, sit on the couch, and kick my shoes to the floor. He stands in the doorway, rubbing his palms together and staring at me intently.
“Can I stay for a while?”
“Yeah, of course.” He clears his throat. “You know you can stay here.” He walks over and picks up one of my shoes. “Andy McQueen,” he says. “Your favorite, huh?”
I shrug again. “I guess. I buy a lot of it.”
“Have you slept yet?”
“I had a nap.”
“I bought sheets for the guestroom. You can sleep in there.” He offers his hand, and I take it. As he pulls me up, I sway a little, and he puts a hand on my stomach to steady me.
“You okay?” he whispers.”
“Long night.”
“Yeah, of course. Prom night.” He stares at me. “Did you have fun? Who took you?”
“His name’s Shannon. He’s amazing.”
As I recall what happened last night, I understand how amazing Shannon is. He really is the only safe person to confide in. Blanca would react terribly if she knew, and Rachel would never stop crying for me. I’m certain he’ll keep my secret, despite how badly he wants to report it to the authorities. I will never tell Tony, because I don’t want him to look at me the way Shannon did. When I mumbled those words to him, he looked at me like I was broken…beyond repair. Like what happened to me is who I am, or something like that. I can’t believe that’s true. I don’t wanna be the girl who was so stupid and clueless that she sat willingly on the lap of a predator. That’s not me. I’m not that. I can’t be.
Tony notices the shift in my mood.
“What’s wrong, chica?” he asks sternly.
I take a deep breath, shaking my head.
“You having problems with the product?” he asks, referring to the pound and a half of bud I have left to sell.
“Nope, no problem. The product sells itself. Easy money, you know.” I clear my throat.
He rubs his chin as his eyes roam the angles of my face. He knows something’s wrong, but he doesn’t push.
“When you’re ready to talk, you’ll come to me, right?” I nod and force a smile. “Right?”
“What’s there to talk about?” I ask.
He stares, his eyes burning holes in me. “Happy birthday,” he finally says.
“Thanks. I had a party. Blanca and Shannon and some kids from school chipped in.” I smile. “It was so cool. You should’ve seen it.”
I tell Tony about the decorations and the cake, the gifts and the fuss. I tell him how good Shannon was to me and about the separate room he booked so I could rest. I search Tony’s eyes for a response but see little there.
“Well, I’m glad they did all that for you.” Hi
s hands travel along my hips in search of my hands. When he finds them, he strokes the tips of my fingers. I’m shaking.
“You have a blanket? I need a blanket. It’s cold in here.” I break away and walk toward his master suite.
“Zina, you can’t go in my room right now. Natalia is sleeping.”
“Oh.” I freeze. It was not a good idea to come here. “I’m embarrassed to be here,” I say.
“Shhhh.” He holds his hands up, trying to soothe my nerves.
I shake my head, mad at myself. “What was I thinking? I can’t keep coming here. I didn’t call. You didn’t say I could come.”
“It’s okay.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder, walks me into the guest room, and shuts the door behind us. “Lie down. I’ll get a blanket.” He nuzzles my ear, and I begin to sob. “Hey, stop. C’mon. You’re exhausted and stressed out.” He walks me to the bed and pushes me down. “Wait here. I mean it. Do not leave. I’ll be right back.”
He returns with a blue cashmere throw and a blue, long-sleeve button-down shirt.
“Sleep in this.” He hands me the shirt and lays the blanket on the bed. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
I stumble to the closet and tear off my dress. When I come back, Tony is spreading the blanket over the bed.
“I’ll go ahead and go to sleep now.”
My eyes are so heavy, I can’t keep them open. I crawl up to the pillow and curl up in a ball.
“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” he mumbles, spreading the covers over me.
I roll away from him and cling to the edge of the bed. He leans over and kisses me at the corner of my mouth. I open my eyes, and he kisses me again, full on the lips and breathing into my mouth. He strokes the side of my face as he kisses me, lowering himself until I could feel his body against mine. I push away when I feel his tongue on my lips and then in my mouth.
“Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
His hands are soft and careful with my face. Am I wrong to doubt him?
I force myself to let him touch me. His hands travel to PG areas, never falling below my stomach. Suddenly, he stops and pulls the covers up over my chest. He tells me to go to sleep. He leaves me, exhausted and alone.
CHAPTER 38
ZACARIAS
I never agreed to stay away. I’m determined to find Zina, to explain that what happened between us wasn’t wrong or ugly. I know she doesn’t get it, and that’s okay. She’ll understand eventually, or the guilt will bury me.
John left me on the patio last night, so put off by me it was impossible for him to look my way. We sat in silence for a long time, passing the whiskey bottle between us until John killed the last drop. When the bottle was done, so was he. He sat the bottle on the ground and went into the apartment. As he passed me, I averted my eyes, embarrassed by what’d happened between us. His wrath was burning like hot coals in the dusky night air. An hour later, I crept into the apartment and settled on the couch, falling into a drunken haze and asleep soon after. I dreamed of Whitney calling me, hysterical and terrified that she was losing the baby.
“I’m bleeding, Zack,” she says. “I can’t get it to stop. I think the baby’s going to die.”
I’m jolted from my stupor, sweating and hung over, as scared as Whitney was in the dream. I text her because I’m not in the mood to hear her voice.
Are you okay? How are you feeling? I hit Send and notice the night sky’s purple-orange hue. The sun is rising in the eastern sky.
John and I are both in attendance for the noon service at Silver Crest Assembly of God, our mother’s church. She called both of us early in the eight o’clock hour, reminding us that we needed to be at her house by quarter past nine so we could ride together. She demands we be on time for the ten o’clock service. She is agitated to find neither of us in shape to attend the early services—or any other service, for that matter. I don’t say anything to my mother or John about wanting to ride in separate vehicles, but when I get out of the shower and notice that John has left before me, I know he is in the same frame of mind.
I’m on my way to my mother’s; I get a group text from John, my mother and I listed as recipients.
Don’t wait for me. I’ll meet you at the church.
I look into the rearview mirror, trying to gauge the appearance of my face in sunlight. My bruises have faded to minor blemishes compared to the massive knots I’d suffered over a week ago. Only a few scars and a purple ring under my left eye remain. Nothing too alarming. Nothing my mother would be too concerned about.
As the service comes to a close, I bow my head and hold my mother’s hand, asking God to forgive me for all the pain I’ve caused. I pray for the safety of my child and its mother. And for any sort of reconciliation with Zina. On the drive home, I talk openly with myself, hoping God is still listening. I’m not sure whether he heard my prayer in the church or not, but I want him to hear me now.
Once I make it back to the apartment, I return to the balcony, this time with a cup of black tea and two text messages from Whitney.
I’m okay, Zack. You’d know that if you were here with me. The baby and I are where you belong, the first text read. Then, You said you’d call me…not text.
I don’t respond. I only need to know the baby is fine.
As the hours drone on, I maintain my place on my apartment’s balcony. The sun ascends higher in the sky until it beams down over me, forcing me out of my tie and gray, long-sleeve button-down shirt. I lay them over the arm of my chair.
“I know one of the cooks from your restaurant,” John says. I look up, the sun glaring in my eyes. He stands in the patio doorway, leaning against the doorframe.
“You do? How?”
He hesitates. The conversation is one he has to consider, the wall between us getting thicker, indestructible, permanent. I realize I should’ve prayed for John’s forgiveness as well. His jaw tenses as he looks past me, staring at the pond that separates our apartment complex from the neighboring subdivision.
“Zack,” he says, clearing his throat, “did you force some woman to have sex with you?” He looks at me. “You did that?”
“It wasn’t like you think,” I mutter. “It wasn’t violent or drunken…”
“And you think its okay to go looking for her?”
“John, I would never…” I realize his angle; he thinks I’d do it again. “I would never…man…I’d never…”
“What, rape a woman twice in one month?”
“It’s not like that.” I stand, forcing him to look me in the eye. “It wasn’t on purpose. It wasn’t.” I shake my head. “She was with me. She wanted to at first. I could see it…she liked what I did.” My voice fades as he moves from the doorway and sits in one of the patio chairs. “John, don’t think of me like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like…like I hurt someone. Like I’m a monster.”
“But you did hurt someone. Bad.” He narrows his eyes. “She said no. I think you said she did.”
I nod. “I didn’t mean to. I just…wanted her so bad.” It’s difficult realizing that what happened between Zina and me was the most horrendous thing I’d ever done. “I couldn’t stop. She tried to push me off. She pulled my hair. She said stop.”
“The dude from your restaurant? He’s my girl’s cousin. They had a barbeque about two weeks ago. I met him at her family’s place.”
“Mmm.” I nod. I appreciate the change of subject and John’s small talk. I stare out past the small pond and the neighboring subdivision, lost in the shitty world I’ve created. One where my brother doesn’t trust or respect me, estranged from the mother of my baby. Knowing the girl I hoped would love me never will. But my relationship with my brother should never be severed. There’s nothing he could do that would ever cause me to turn my back on him. I’m not so sure he can say the same.
“What
’s the guy’s name?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, pausing. “Spencer something. You know him?”
I nod. “Spence. Yeah, he’s decent.”
“Hell. I thought the same shit about you.” He laughs begrudgingly.
“Low blow,” I say, looking at him. “Not necessary, John.”
He ignores me and continues. “Spence knows shit about your girl. Not the one you raped. The one you fucked around with and knocked up.”
“Are you fucking with me?” I get the urge to crack him in the face. “I’m not for this bullshit right now. So fucking leave if you came out here to fuck with me.”
He cuts his eyes, warning me. He’ll slap the piss out of me if I try him.
“Boy, you’re a motherfuckin’ rapist. I’ll fuck with you any way I want,” he snaps. “And you’ll sit there and take it. And better not say shit about it. Besides, I’m trying to help.”
I look away as he continues.
“There was a rumor going around Rico’s a couple of months ago,” he says, shoving his hands into his pocket, “about Whitney and some dude you fired or had a fight with.”
“Had a fight with? I don’t know who…wait. Bruno?”
“Yeah, I think that’s him.”
“He quit. I didn’t fire him.” I shake my head, annoyed. “What rumor?”
But John doesn’t have to answer. Shit. I know. I knew. The night in the kitchen at Rico’s back when I wanted my relationship with Whitney to work. There was a reason Bruno had begun to find flaws in his friendship with me, why it never stood a chance. Why he’d bailed on me at work when I needed his help the most. I felt the hangover again as the truth set in. That night I found him and Whitney in the broom closet arguing, and he let me know she was pregnant. John’s right; I can’t be this damn weak over women.
Of Hustle and Heart Page 20