I know it's a little soon but I was just so excited to post this behind-the-scenes story to "A Father For My Babies". This story focuses mainly on Raquél and how she deals with the daily struggles of being a teenager, the changes that go on in her mother's household and how her life is eventually changed for the better. I hope you find this story to be just as amazing as my first story!
Raquél
Chapter 1: Someone
I moaned groggily as my peaceful slumber was yet again interrupted by a loud outburst.
"… Why do you have to act this way? You're so irresponsible!"
Groggily, I sat up in my bed and rubbed the sleep from my eyes before stretching my limbs.
The sun had been shining brightly this morning, which usually meant it was a good day.
But not for this dysfunctional family…
This routine would usually repeat on a daily basis.
The heated argument of my parents would grow from shouts, until it would soon escalade to full-blown, thunderous screams. Doors would slam, heavy objects would be thrown to the floor, and abusive names would be tossed back and forth.
Neighbors who lived upstairs, downstairs; left and right of us would be able to hear every word. They used to bang on our front door in anger, even call the police if things became too intense. Now they don't do anything at all. Perhaps they've gotten used to it.
"I'm not irresponsible. I don't believe this; I just came home and you're treating me this way?"
"You act like this is my fault; you brought this on your own freaking self!"
I began to collect my pencil and notebook, and an annoyed sigh blew from my lips as my parents' dispute continued. I knew I wouldn't be able concentrate on my homework, so there was no point.
Try as I might, my punished ears couldn't ignore their abrasive yells.
It never ends.
Those two are always at each other's throats, day and night; and I'd suffer whenever I have to listen to the hateful words they keep throwing back at each other.
"Well, it ain't my fault you gotta be such a bitch all the time!" my father spat.
From the shocked gasp that followed, I knew he had immediately regretted what he had said.
SMACK!
I winced as the sharp sound of skin piercing echoed throughout the house, followed by the frightened cries of my younger siblings. Even I felt that.
"You are such a damn jerk! Get out of my house now!"
"What the hell are you talkin' about, girl? This is my house. I'll leave when I want to."
"GET OUT!" my mother screamed.
I jumped as the thump of a heavy object—obviously a suitcase—hit the floor with brutal force, followed by thudding footsteps, and the piercing slam of the front door.
A satisfied grin arose on my lips once the house grew quiet.
My father had lost the battle this time.
I set my homework aside just as Mama entered my room, looking flustered and angry.
She sunk onto my bed and buried her head in her hands, causing a wave of black tresses to tumble over her petite shoulders.
Though she seemed very exhausted and weary, she always managed to look beautiful.
I looked just like her.
I had her long, curly brown hair, her dazzling green eyes, and her high cheek bones. But I'm not as gorgeous or as perfect as her.
The only permanent reminder of my father, unfortunately, that I inherited was his dark skin color. All my siblings and I look this way.
I sighed, "What did he do now?"
I prepared myself for the onslaught of furious words that would be unleashed.
She began to carry on about my father ordering her to do something for him and wanting sex from her.
Yep, that's just like my father.
"I would've figured that since he spent 18 months in jail." Then she called him a pig.
During her rant, I thought of my little sisters. The poor things must have been so scared.
They burst into tears when my mother slapped him.
Whenever Mama and Papa get into a fight, they would always barge into my room, distraught and frightened. And I'd always be the person who has to comfort them.
Now, our family has to get back into the swing of things.
My dad was put in jail for 18 months because of assault charges. He used to be in a gang, and they were rivals with another gang in the area. His friend, who he had known all his life, was sent to the hospital in critical condition after he was injured in a drive-by shooting. Soon after, Papa found the guy that was responsible for hurting his friend, then beat him up really bad, also sending the man to the hospital. For weeks, the authorities were busy searching for him, but they couldn't find him because he hid at his parents' house.
Mama and I never found out about the assault until the night he was arrested.
I'll never forget how terrifying it was when a huge group of police cars sat, surrounding the building. We couldn't leave because the place was put on lockdown. We didn't know what was going on, nor did the neighbors.
My mother and I were busy preparing dinner in the kitchen, and we rushed into the living room once we heard the loud commotion. Utter chaos broke out once an army of police officers burst through the front door and tackled my father to the ground.
The frightened cries of my little sisters echoed throughout the house and spilled into the corridor, where the curious and disturbed neighbors peeked out their doors to see what was going on.
Once an officer informed my mother of the crime he had committed, she didn't believe him.
As the other officers slapped a pair of handcuffs onto his wrists, in a frenzied panic, she tried her best to convince them that they had the wrong guy.
For her, it still hadn't registered that Papa had committed such a brutal crime.
She didn't think that it was even humanely possible for him to hurt anyone like that. We were all fearful, especially my younger sisters. They couldn't understand why their father was "going away", as Mama had sugar-coated.
Although she tried to keep herself together for the kids, reality finally set in, and she broke down in tears. I couldn't blame her for losing her composure like that, though.
My mother was only two weeks pregnant with my brother at the time. So, my father wasn't there for the birth of his only son. But once he found out the sex of the baby he insisted—no, demanded the baby be named after him.
My father's name is Andre James Richmond, and my mother; Gabriella Janélle Richmond (which in my opinion, should've been changed back to Montez a long time ago).
I would always hope that my parents will get a divorce, so the remaining six of us can move on with our lives without Papa.
I absolutely hate my father, but I've never mentioned it aloud to Mama. She doesn't understand.
He's always been such a deadbeat father to us, and a terrible husband to my mother.
And to be honest, I really think that this family would be better off without him. As harsh as that may be; after all these years of disappointment, anger and unhappiness, a line has to be drawn somewhere.
Many times, Mama had warned my father that he needed to wake up from whatever fantasy he thought he was living and take responsibility if he wanted to keep their marriage from ending up on the rocks.
But I say it already has.
The person who I think really needs a wake-up call is my mother. She really needs to wake up and realize that her life is not going to get any better if she doesn't leave him soon.
Or their marriage will do more than crumble to pieces…
Finally relieved of the angry voices rattling my mind, my pen connected to the blank sheet of paper and I began to write.
I smiled to myself knowing that it wouldn't take long to finish my homework.
AP Math—in my case—AP Trigonometry, was a piece of cake for me. Also I've always had a love for Chemistry, which I had inherited from my mother.
One thing I had always regretted about my devotion to school is that it has made me a complete outsider.
I'm only in my second year of high school, and ever since my family moved to New York, fitting into the "A-crowd" had always proved to be a challenge. Philip Randolph Campus High School was like a shark pit, and people like me were the bloody little pieces of chum.
I had learned that after a painful lesson during my freshman year. I wanted to be in the A-crowd like other kids who were former students of my Middle school, but I was never accepted.
In fact, I was ridiculed for it.
"Freak", "Loser", "Geek", or "Nerd" were just a few of the hurtful, G-rated words I'd be called on a daily basis. As if making fun of my intelligence wasn't enough, people used to make fun of my looks.
They'd make fun of my hair, my eyes, my nose; my height.
If there's one thing I've learned about high school is that you should never trust an Upperclassman.
Because of their unpredictable, manipulative ways, a freshman could fall into the torturous snare of humiliation and ridicule.
Just like I had.
I'd learned my lesson during Freshman year, when I met a girl named Maya Ramiréz, who was a Junior at the time.
I had been new to the high school, so of course I didn't know my way around the building.
Our new homeroom teachers had decided to pair us up with Upperclassmen volunteers, which couldn't have been more embarrassing.
That was when I first met Maya.
My first impression of her was that she was very friendly. She approached me with an excited smile and said, "Hello, my name is Maya. What's your name, Sweetie?"
For a moment, I was taken aback. I wasn't expecting to receive a decent greeting from an upperclassman, but I decided to go along with it.
It can't do any harm listening to her, I told myself naïvely. But I was very wrong.
Eventually I became the target for those cocky, selfish "populars" who loved to pick on vulnerable losers like me.
I've always been afraid of criticism and what other thought of me. My mother used to tell me that there's a good chance that others don't see me as negatively as I see myself. She'd always tell me this while combing her fingers through my hair at bedtime. But I could never bring myself to believe her. I'd supposed she just told me that because she was my mother.
To be honest, I've never been content with myself, especially my looks and my body. I'm extremely petite for my age, as in 4 feet, 7 inches. I weigh a measly 90 pounds; another troubling inheritance from my mother, which I absolutely hate.
In school it felt like all eyes were on me, judging me, critiquing my clothes, my hair— everything about me—as I walked through the hallway, tightly clutching my books to my chest. I would rely on walking behind people who were taller than me to avoid unwanted confrontation from Maya and her "cool crew."
Unfortunately, they'd always find me, smelling my fear. Maya would approach me so quickly; she'd be in my face before my back could hit the wall.
"Well, well, well if it isn't the dirty slut. Which player did you have sex with today?" she sneered, which prompted her friends to break into malicious laughter. "I hope this time you remembered to lock the closet door."
I didn't know why Maya had always assumed I'd slept with a member of the football team or the basketball player. I'd never talked to a member of the football and basketball team; much less had sex with any of them.
I'd know the worst was yet to come when Carlos, her right-hand man, would approach me with the stealth of a cold-blooded serpent. He wasn't her boyfriend, but she loved to watch him harass me. It'd really scare me, and upset me. I could see the danger in his eyes, which glowed with cynical amusement.
My heart thumped against my chest with such a force, it felt like everyone could hear how panicked I was. I thought I would suffocate and drop dead under his icy glare. Carlos would reach out his hand to stroke my arm. It was surprisingly gentle, but the way it sent chills up my spine made me cringe. I was thankful I had never worn a skirt, or who knows where else he would've touched me.
"What's wrong, baby girl? I thought you liked to be touched… Or do you like to sit back and let the men handle you?" he'd taunt, his fingertips burning the hairs on my arms. I'd flinch at the sudden movement of his arms once he'd reach up to tuck a curl behind my ear.
"N-no," I denied timidly, while watching my quavering knees. I could feel the burning heat rising in the back of my throat.
"Ha!" Maya laughed. "That's not what Jones told me. Don't you remember what you did for him last night? Or do I have to refresh your memory, you ignorant little whore?"
This was basically a typical thing Maya would do just to watch me crumble. She'd tell me which particular athlete had "informed" her about our daily "encounters." And she would assume how I never remembered because I was such an "ignorant" or "forgetful whore."
Her posse would lean forward with anticipation, eager to hear what I had supposedly been up to the night before.
"Can you guys believe she danced for Jones on a pole in her own house? How can her mother let her have a stripper's pole in her bedroom? But then again, she's a slut just like her mom, isn't that right, Raquél?"
A smile of satisfaction arose on her face once she knew her story had worked. My vision would grow blurred as tears began to flood in my eyes. The situation would go from bad to worse at the mention of my mother. Mama would be the culprit in this for allegedly making me a "slut" just because she had me at 14; which always made me wonder how Maya knew that about me. It was quite scary.
"Yeah, he told me that you were workin' that pole like you were an expert. I guess the slutty apple doesn't fall far from the tree, huh? You know, for a dirty slut, baby Mama got back with a nice rack. " The offensive comment sliced right through me.
"Sh-she's not a s-slut," I'd defend my mom, fighting my incessant hiccups.
"Ohh, Carlos, you made the bitch cry. You're so mean sometimes," she chided disdainfully.
That's when they'd burst into callous laughter, before the rest of the group took turns making fun of me. I felt dizzy as their laughter seemed to grow louder and louder, swallowing my thoughts as it forced its way into my head. I'd feel sick, like I would throw up right before them.
"C'mon, let's go before she pees her pants. See you later, bitch. And next time you're looking for easy money; don't ask a cheap bastard like Jones. You know he shouldn't be wasting his money on a worthless piece of shit like you."
During the short moments I'd have to myself, I took in a few deep, shaky breaths once they sauntered off to torment some other nerd. But I could not rest easily. I knew the worst wasn't over.
During class, where a student could get a first-class ticket to the principal's office for harassing someone, Maya and her friends knew that they wouldn't be able to get away with it. They felt that sneering at me in English wasn't enough to keep them satisfied with themselves. So they resorted to the second "best" alternative to making snide comments at me by speaking in a way that I could fully comprehend: In Spanish.
It made them invincible.
Unfortunately for me, most of my classmates spoke Spanish, and once the teacher would turn her back, the ridicule never ceased as Maya muttered nasty jokes behind my back, and what made it worse was that they all knew I could hear every word they whispered. I could feel all eyes on me everyone joined in the chorus of stifled giggles.
My face burned with humiliation, even as I tried my best to concentrate on my schoolwork and the teacher, which in fact made it worse because I was the only one who cared about passing the class.
Even if Carlos and Maya were caught whispering about me; as always, they'd smooth-talk their way out of trouble using their renowned charm.
Sometimes when a teacher would grow tired of the snickers and murmurs, they'd always question as to why her classroom had suddenly turned into Comedy Central. Their voices dripped with sarcasm as they said, "Was there some memo I didn't get this morning? Because I had no idea it was 'Laugh like a jackass' day."
I'd always hide the smug grin that arose on my face. I knew they couldn't help but swear at them because they knew what immature idiots their students were. But I couldn't keep a smile for long.
They hated getting caught in the act, and would actually accuse me of being a "snitch" and a "teacher's pet". If the teacher was a man, they would make up a claim that I had supposedly slept with them. It was expected anyway.
Once the dismissal bell sounded, they would chase me to my next class while throwing their books at my back, call me names like bitch or slut; threatening to hurt me.
On days when I was on my monthly cycle, gym class was the worst. I'd suffer from the most excruciating menstrual cramps, my head pounded from ruthless migraines, and school was even more nightmarish than any other day. Those were the days when I felt extremely moody and self-conscious, which was basically a lethal combination regarding how uncomfortable I was. I also felt dirty, which made me scrub my body in the shower for hours on end.
What really scared me was that Maya seemed to know that I had my period, and would steal my tampons—which I hated, but wore them since my mother insisted—during the class. Usually at the beginning of the week when I had a heavy flow, I would stuff my book bag with tampons and pads as I backup (I'm extremely paranoid of accidental leaking). But my plan backfired on me when Maya emerged from the downstairs locker room; book bag in hand, and discarded my much needed "supplies" onto the floor… right in front of the class.
She had received detention on several occasions for it, but that would only leave me to pick up every tampon and pad while the boys laughed in my face. And with my unbalanced hormones raging, tears of shame and defeat streamed down my face as I left the heap and ran for cover in the girl's locker room. My thick curls bounced behind me as I skipped down the stairs, nearly tripping myself in the process. I locked myself in an empty stall and cry and throw up all through lunchtime until a nurse would come to rescue. And by rescue I mean send me home.
To my humiliation, she'd try to convince me to come out of the stall while the next group of girls yelled at me for hogging the last stall. I ignored them, hesitant to leave in fear of being watched and criticized. The situation was already embarrassing in itself, and I didn't want to make it worse by being laughed at a second time. Between the nurse and me, we both knew the only person who I trust and would actually listen to.
"Where is she?" I'd hear my mother's voice call from outside the stall. It was only then I could let out deep sigh of relief once she'd gently tap on the door. "Raquél, are you okay? Please come out, baby girl… para mí," she whispered, followed by a short sniffle. Mama always cried when things like this happened to me, and I was very emotional at that time. It prompted me cry even more. Before her knuckles could tap against the surface again, the door swung open and I'd be in her arms, sobbing like a little child. I wasn't so ashamed anymore. And by then, the group of girls would have dispersed.
"Mommy, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…"
"Shh, you didn't do anything, baby. It's not your fault. It's alright, I'm here," she'd soothe, while combing her fingers my tousled curls and kissing my blotched face. The both of us would remain seated on the tiled floor until I had calmed enough to catch my breath. Mama would help me to my feet, and pull me into another hug. "Come on, let's go home. I'll talk to your principal later, okay?"
Once we hurried out the building through the back door of the gym, she'd tell me to wait in the car so that she could talk to my principal. When she said "talk to the principal", she really meant "yell at him." I truly pitied anyone who dared get in my mother's way whenever she was heated. I knew it wasn't the principal's fault that this happened to me, but I couldn't blame her for being angry after hearing about her daughter's constant bullying.
Mama's long brunette tresses swung behind her as she stormed back into the building, her stiletto heels tapping loudly against the pavement. I'd supposed she was going there to murder Maya, but the principal always seemed to send her home just in time. I think he could've sensed an approaching storm. Usually a week's suspension would do, but my mother always demanded for her to be expelled. But like always, Maya got off easily.
And just because she had been sent home, that didn't mean she wouldn't get the last word in. As her car pulled up beside me, she'd call out one last insult like, "Did your mom go in there to 'talk', or is she just screwing him for the money?" before speeding off. Sitting in the seat next to her was her boyfriend—Enriqué, or something like that—who sat back listening to his MP3 player. He was like, almost in his 20's and still in high school (I don't want to know). He never seemed to pay attention to me. I always found it strange that he was never in sight whenever I faced confrontation with Maya in school. Perhaps he didn't want to waste his precious time on someone who was unimportant. I don't know what he sees in Maya, because she treats him like dirt.
I would spot them from the deserted table where I sat alone, and when he'd lean in to kiss her, she would push him away before continuing to gossip with her girlfriends. And, as expected, they were gossiping about me.
Like any other teenage girl, I longed to find that one special guy who would love me for the rest of my life. I yearned to feel his strong arms around me which would leave behind tingling sparks as he'd caress my body. Someone who could make me smile and laugh at their humor; to wipe away my tears when I was feeling upset; or to encourage me whenever I faced adversity. Someone who would protect me from harm or defend me from those who tried to kick me when I was down… or tell me that I'm beautiful. Someone who would love me for who I am.
But I knew I would have a better chance at winning the lottery than finding my soul mate.
My mother always told me not to give up faith, because that perfect guy may just be right around the corner. "For all you know, he could be right in front of you," she'd say to cheer me up. It never worked, but I believed her. I knew couldn't deny how right she was. I believed that someone, somewhere, also waited for the right person. And that right person could maybe—just maybe—be… me.
If only I can make it out of high school alive.
I hope you enjoyed it! Please read and review!