Shades of Black and Gray
I can hear Brock in the other room; the sound's a distinctive rustle and the presence keeps my breathing calm. He's okay, he's safe – I repeat it over and over but I'm still unable to move, flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling. Glued to the spot, like I've fallen in super glue, not rubber cement, I could pull that off, little balls of it rolling between my fingers.
Brock is safe, I haven't lost him. A night in the hospital and a stern talking-to and then he's back. A warning to watch him a little more closely, the doctor looking me over like I'm obviously neglectful, like I just allow Brock to roam around eating plants while I hook and shoot up or whatever he thinks I do in my free time.
I'm not like that. Not like that. Is it my fault that all of this shit happened? I take care of Brock. I would die for him.
And what about Jesse? All that weird shit he told me – ricin? I looked it up when I got home, it's some weird poison you can make yourself – I don't know why anyone would want to make poison. Why would Brock have ever been – I don't know.
I don't know what to think about Jesse, but I've never known what to think of him. He scares me. He scares me because he's not what I expect, what I'm used to.
Jesse's sweet and soft, kind, but kind of – what's the word, frenetic, worried and haunted. He gives so much, I wonder – what is he making up for, or what does he expect in return?
They always want something in return.
I manage to move my arms, push myself into a sitting position as I remember how Jesse's hands had felt on me that first night. I shiver, because my mind's battling itself – Jesse is the last kind of guy I should be around, anyone who automatically expects poison when a child is sick, that's a dangerous person, right?
A dangerous person who is paying for me to live in a big house in a safe neighborhood.
A man who comes and goes, seemingly at random, a man who kills the men who poisoned – poison, poisoned – Tomas and then killed him – at least I'm maybe almost sure it was him. A man whose eyes dart in between blue and black and gray.
I shouldn't want him. I should run a mile. And I don't know whether it's because I think I'm better than being with him, or not good enough.
Because Jesse, for all of his faults, looks at me and smiles, doesn't – hurt, doesn't act like he owns me, like he's bought me.
I shudder, my body shaking again as my hands jerk in front of me, as I think back to Miguel, Brock's father; my everything when I'd still been young and… well, at least somewhat innocent. Before Tomas got swallowed up by the gang, but not very long before. Miguel had been big and bulky, tattooed, but suave, well-liked, charming… until he got me. Older than me, twenty or twenty-one at least.
When I'd gotten pregnant with Brock, he'd laughed in my face, spit in it, called me a slut and I never saw him again – well, that's not quite true. I saw him around the neighborhood, still the big pimp man with girls falling over him. Little girls like me.
If it'd happened with Jesse, I could see him hugging me, smiling.
And maybe that's what scares me the most. I'm dreaming of a future with Jesse. Moving him in here, maybe, this nice big house. Waking up next to him. Maybe one day, a ring on my finger – a white dress, more kids maybe…
Unfortunately, the idea of waking up next to Jesse is also leading me into thinking about what we'd be doing before that. Jesse's hands, those tattoos curling up his arm and over his chest… He looks so young, younger me, though I don't think he is – he looks like a boy but those eyes, those eyes of his command power. But not power used to hurt, power used to… I don't know, I don't understand.
His lips on mine, consuming me and drawing me in – I run my hand down my chest, mimicking Jesse's hand, trying to copy his touch because if I can, maybe I won't need him.
I can't. I close my eyes and let my fingers drift downward, feeling guilt nip at my heels for doing this now, after all of this, but I need it, need a distraction because my life is a mess, more and less of a mess than it was. I'd spent my days watching Brock and using on the sly while saying I was looking for a job, trying to haze away everything. Now I go to school, to Central New Mexico Community College with money from Jesse, but having his money isn't having him, and I don't know if I can ever truly have him.
But I want him. As I finish, one last gentle brush stroke like Jesse does, I know. Maybe it's deeper than want.
I fish for my phone and select his name, take a deep breath, and hit "Call".