by Mara White
Table of Contents
Dedication
Cast of Characters
Lucky ~ Después
Belén ~ Antes
Lucky ~ Antes
Belén ~ Después
Belén ~ Acensión
Epilogue ~ Antes (Belén)
Epilogue ~ Después (Lucky)
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright © 2017 by Mara White
Cover © Daniela Medina
Formatting by Integrity Formatting
Edited by Leanne Rabesa
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2017
ISBN 10 0–9896707–7-5
ISBN 13 978–09896707–7-7
All rights are reserved to the author. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The unauthorized reproduction for distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. While some of the business establishments, locations, and organizations mentioned in this work are real, they are used in a way that is purely fictional. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love
For Gavin and Geraldine
Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love Love is love is love is love is love
Dedication
Cast of Characters
Lucky ~ Después
Belén ~ Antes
Lucky ~ Antes
Belén ~ Después
Lucky ~ Antes
Belén ~ Después
Lucky ~ Después
Belén ~ Después
Lucky ~ Antes
Belén ~ Después
Lucky ~ Después
Belén ~ Después
Lucky ~ Después
Belén ~ Después
Lucky ~ Antes
Belén ~ Después
Lucky ~ Antes
Belén ~ Después
Lucky ~ Antes
Belén ~ Después
Lucky ~ Después
Belén ~ Después
Lucky ~ Antes
Belén ~ Después
Lucky ~ Después
Belén ~ Después
Belén ~ Acensión
Epilogue ~ Antes (Belén)
Epilogue ~ Después (Lucky)
Acknowledgments
About the Author
I realize it’s been some time since most of you read Maldeamores (Lovesick) and I don’t expect you to remember all the characters, so here’s a little refresher course.
Belén Heredia—AKA: Bey, Len, Lenny, Beylenny, B. Belén is the heroine of the story. She’s Luciano’s cousin.
Luciano Cabrera—AKA: Lucky. Lucky is the hero of the story. He’s Belén’s cousin.
Betty Heredia—AKA: Mami, Tía Betty. Belén’s mother, Lucky’s Aunt, Awilda’s sister.
Awilda Cabrera—AKA: Titi, Tía Awilda, Ma. Lucky’s mother, Belén’s Aunt, Betty’s sister.
Jimena Heredia—AKA: Tía Hemi. Betty and Awilda’s sister. Lucky and Belén’s aunt, the black sheep of the family.
Yaritza—AKA: Yari. Belén’s best friend, Lucky’s on and off sexual partner.
Adam—The man Belén married after she lost Lucky. He lost his twin brother Luke while he was serving overseas.
Luke: Belén and Adam’s son.
Jeremy: Belén’s on and off high school boyfriend.
Luis: Belén’s father, Betty’s uncle.
Irma: Proprietress of the neighborhood botánica.
Also:
Antes = Before
Después = After
Después
My arms shake and worm-like veins bulge huge with a greenish tint. I’m so fucking dizzy that I’m afraid I’ll vomit. It’s torture being strapped to this board. We only get to forty-five degrees and the world swims incomprehensibly. I can’t tell nausea from doom, or confusion from dementia.
“Take me down!” I yell at the young physical therapist. I try not to direct my anger towards her, but rehabilitation feels like real torture. I want to yell, “I don’t have what you want! I can’t give you what I don’t have!” Instead of information, what they want from me is determination, conviction, a strong will to live, but I don’t have those things anymore. Alls I’ve got are my memories. There’s no future for me if my head’s fucked, my back’s fucked—even my brain has been injured. Who’s gonna fucking want me if I can’t even sit up on my own? Spoonfed for three months and alls I wanna do is smash the tray of food around the room. I feel like a trapped zoo animal. A million people poking and prodding, discussing my body like it doesn’t even belong to me. Nurses my age changing my bedpan or worse, a diaper, because my lower body has decided not to cooperate with my head. I’d rather be dead than fight a battle I don’t care about winning.
“We have to get to forty-five degrees today. Just two minutes and I’ll lower you,” she says.
Forty-five degrees feels like a liter and a half of cheap-ass whiskey spins on my ma’s tiled bathroom floor. Forty-five degrees is as fucked up as heroin sickness when you can’t see straight, can’t take a shit, can’t imagine being alive another lousy minute. Sweat drips in my eyes and I have no functioning hands to wipe it away. I grit my teeth, lock my jaw and hold in every fucking thing I want to say.
“One more minute and you’re done,” she says, smiling.
I dry heave. She places a pink plastic basin in fr
ont of me. I’m going to kick it just from sitting up, and here I had imagined myself jogging through all the hallways of this hospital from day one.
I groan out loud and grind my teeth. Sweat pours down my face.
“It fucking hurts,” I yell. My arms are so weak that they can no longer support even the weight of my upper torso. So dizzy too, I’d swear off drugs and pussy for life if they’d just get me off of this nightmare carousel.
“Great job. That’s it for today. Next week, we’re going to get you to standing.”
Hooray. I don’t even have it in me to thank her. My head falls back against the padded board and I turn my face away. Forty-five degrees. Healing is slower than slow motion. A useless argument between my body and my mind. A stalemate because neither one of them cares anymore.
Instantaneous sleep after PT brings visions of home, and of course, Belén. Dreaming about her soothes me almost as much as it causes pain.
A loud crash in the middle of the night jolts me awake. I want to sit up; instead I lie there like easy bait, because it’s all I can do. But the noise turns out to be a sterile tray that a nurse taking vitals has knocked off of her cart. My heart jackhammers in my chest and I start to rain sweat. Everything sounds like gunfire or an explosion to me, only difference is that now I can’t run. I just lie here like an open target. I sweat, quiver, shake, feel my heart raging in my chest. Kill me already and get it the fuck over with it. I’m no use to anybody. I got a past but no future.
Sometimes I wonder if this is the punishment I get for ruining Belén. If that’s the case, so be it. Let it burn. Let it hurt. Throw me into the fire, let the flames burn my flesh and muscle, skin and hair. Char-broil Luciano. I deserve it and I don’t care. Purify me down to nothing but bones in sand. Fuck me up. Kill me. You ain’t even seen the worst of it. I don’t forgive myself so there’s nothing you can do to me.
The desert glass stays clutched in my palm like a talisman. I ain’t giving up yet. I might be cursed, a bad seed, corrupted from the getgo. But if the devil wants my soul he can fuck off. I already sold it.
Antes
“Bey, do me a solid and shut the fuck up!” I bark at my cousin. She’s hanging around the stoop where a bunch of lowlifes are congregated. We’re organizing distribution for a big shipment that, if word on the block is right, arrives tonight and will be parceled off to every single corner in the neighborhood.
She’s gathered all the garbage, cigarette butts, and grocery store fliers from the steps and put them in a bag. She loves a neighborhood that will never do shit for her, cleans up after people who will never, ever thank her. It kind of breaks my heart how hard she tries to make a shit hole look beautiful.
“Are you coming up to eat? Mami wants to know if she should make you a plate for the fridge or serve you up?” She’s wearing a denim skirt and tank top, an unzipped hoodie thrown casually around her shoulders.
“Fridge,” I grunt out and flick my cigarette down to the sidewalk where it bursts into a spray of red embers as it tumbles into the gutter. The last drag, I exhale into the thick city air. The night gives me chills, Bey’s legs give me a fucking boner like the pervert I am.
Primahermana, I chant to myself in my head. How fucking dirty you gotta be if you fanaticize about banging the person who shared your childhood bed?
“Now get the fuck outta here, Bey.”
What a stupid mistake, to look up to catch her face. She bites her lip to keep it from trembling as water fills her eyes. If I could ever have an interaction with Bey that didn’t include her getting upset, I’d have to get down on my knees and thank God himself for the favor.
“Can you bring it down to me?”
All I need is a fucking deal gone bad, a shoot-out or stabbing out here, and Tía Betty will send Bey away to a convent for good. It’s anything but safe when a shipment comes in and the corners are loaded. Everybody is packing and the tensions run high.
“I’ll be right back,” she says. Equilibrium restored, eyes bright. Eager chipmunk. Puppy. No, kitten.
All I gotta do is be nice.
Why, of all people she could choose, does she seek my approval?
I meet her halfway up the stairs because no way is she coming outside again. I just snorted a line. Nose won’t stop dripping. I wipe my upper lip with the back of my hand. Hide the evidence. Distract her. I rub my nose clean. Lick my fingers. Shove my hands in my jean pockets. Keeping Bey in the dark keeps her innocent. The drugs keep me sane. It’s the only recipe that works for us.
She’s got a full plate wrapped in foil and a napkin rolled around utensils. Hands it to me and smiles like I deserve to be taken care of.
“You’ve got something on your face,” she says. I start wiping my nose, then my whole face with my hand.
Nerves creep in lightning quick. My joints creek, my teeth gnash; I work my jaw once or twice and plop down right there on the stair and pull back the foil. Bey sits next to me and crosses her arms. I’m so far from hungry that food looks like a foreign object. A plastic toy, greasy, cold. Hard to imagine putting it in my mouth, all the coordination it will take to chew and swallow.
Try to act normal. My heart pounds, my blood jets through the veins flooding my brain. I feel smart. Quick. Powerful. I feel like I could grab Bey, fold her under me and fuck the hell out of her, here and now.
“I could get you a drink?” she says.
“Sit the fuck down and stay,” I bark.
Try to watch your tone with Bey. She’s a fucking kid. Sensitive. Be nice. I’m volatile as shit when I’m keyed up. There’s no way in hell she doesn’t notice.
I stare at the chicken, rice and fried plantains, poke it a little with the fork. I cover it back up again and put it on the stair beside me. “Bey, I can’t eat right now, I’m sorry.”
“Tomorrow is a school day,” she states matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, for you anyway.” I sit on my hands because I can’t keep them still. “Bey, you go to school. Do your best. Knock ’em out with that brain of yours and show all them haters that a kid from the Heights can be just as smart—just as good as the rest of ’em. Better, in fact. You’ll be better.”
My words come out too fast—instead of slurry, they’re sharp, abrasive even. But still, I want to say them. There ain’t a doubt in my mind that she’ll do great things.
“Why you talking like I’m never gonna see you again, stupid?”
I feel like something bad is coming, like I gotta be ready to say goodbye at a moment’s notice. It’s just a feeling, but you never know. And if shit does go wrong, I want her to keep doing her thing.
“Promise me you will. Never give up.”
She leans her head on my shoulder after rolling her eyes at me. “It’s the crap you put in your body that makes you think the world is ending.”
I nod, too fast. Rub my eyes with the heels of my palms.
“Lucky, it’s just dinner and me, sitting in the stairwell of our crappy apartment building.”
Antes
His name is Adam and it’s him who pursues me, not the other way around. I would never go after a relationship, not after the last one nearly killed me. It took three interviews to secure my position at the hospital. The last one was with the project manager who’s leaving the position, and we had a lot in common—maybe too much. He’s smart. Interested. He asks me out for coffee.
Hope. A future. I can build a new life. Maybe there is life beyond loving Luciano. Maybe Adam can be the medicine I need to recover. Everyone gets their heart broken at some point or another. I hold my chin up, keep my shoulders squared and tell myself it will only get better.
Courtship is sweet. We don’t exactly work together, not in the same lab, but both employed by the research branch of the hospital, so we see one another every day.
We share our sad stories first to get them out of the way. I’ve got the future on my mind and I storm toward it with conviction—Lucky or no Lucky, I’ll make the best with what I’ve been given.
<
br /> He cooks for me and it’s terrible. I saw into the fish with a knife and the flesh is tough and dried out; I’m afraid he fished it out of the Hudson River.
“It’s delicious. Buttery,” I say. Swallow, smile, repeat. It tastes like a bucket of smelly fish heads. I wonder if he got the “gringo special” from the local seafood shop up on 159th. Those fishmongers figured that the fastest way to get the yuppies out of the neighborhood was to poison them slowly. I try to be discreet while pulling a fishbone out of my mouth and hiding it in the napkin. As for the yellow rice, I’m pretty sure it came from a box. I scan the counter for Uncle Ben’s or Rice-a-Roni evidence. He even bought fresh flowers. I want to cry he’s so nice.
“I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
I might really cry. Adam is so sincere, so genuine. Chardonnay washes down the fish taste. I gulp it and slide my glass over toward his pouring stream for more.
“What do you think of the team?” He studies my face because he cares about my answers.
“I love them. Smart and funny. So great to work with. I really hit it off with Valerie. I like Cole too.”
“Everyone has only good things to say about you.”
His living room is modern, sparse but still cozy. Two end tables with lamps that cast the room in a soft yellow. I pull my legs up under me and leaning into his chest feels natural. We drink more wine and talk about work, the neighborhood—Adam owns, he bought this apartment as soon as he got the job at the hospital. We laugh about the noise and how the older women in the building treat him. He’s got one who gives him tin-foiled dinner plates on Sunday; she just shoves them at him because she doesn’t speak any English.
“And one of the older couples downstairs cornered me in the hallway. I think the wife wanted me to listen to her husband’s lungs. I told them I wasn’t a doctor, but I don’t think they believed me.”
“People did that to my mom growing up too. She was a radiology technician and a home health aide. People practically asked her to give them check-ups on the street corner because she wore scrubs.”