Their Broken Pieces by Jessica Gomez
Chapter Sixteen
Jasmine
When I arrive home, Mom is waiting in the kitchen. She must be between pill pops because she seems more coherent than normal as she spins on me when I enter the room.
“Where have you been?” She spits through her growl.
“Researching my bio project.” As proof, I hold out the plants we collected.
She narrows her eyes at them, as if they’ll tell her all my secrets if she glares hard enough. “I’m hungry, and you’re responsible for dinner.”
I know I’m responsible for dinner, but the last time she ate with us was well over a year ago. I haven’t cooked a “family” meal since then, but to avoid her theatrics, I ask, “Okay. What’re you hungry for?”
“Don’t smart-mouth me, little girl. I was hungry when it was dinner time, and now that it’s way past, I don’t want anything.”
So what the hell are you yelling about? I want to scream, but don’t. “All right, another time then.” I take the stairs two at a time, quickly removing myself before I unintentionally give her another reason to slap me around.
My sanctuary was silent for about a half-hour when my cell rings… Andrew.
Groaning my frustration, I snag my phone, wanting to answer, but not wanting to talk. Why had I told him to call me?
“Hello.”
“Jasmine… Hey.”
“Hi, Andrew. How are you?” The words are forced, but I figure I can work with the basics.
“Great. I was relaxing before my shower and started thinking of you.” His voice has an, I’m trying to seduce you, pitch to it.
“Well, um… okay. I better let you go, then.” We reacquainted only a few days ago and were never close to begin with, so why he thought his version of phone sex would be a great idea, I’ll never know. Tacky. “See you at school tomorrow.” I cut his words off when I hang up the phone.
I slam a pillow over my face before screaming, “Oh! My! God!” Can I catch just one break?
Heading to bed early is my only choice if I want to conserve any part of my sanity. Plus, knowing Alex will… shaking my head, I dislodge that line of thinking immediately; nothing good will ever come of it. But tendrils of curiosity and desire continue to burrow their way under my skin, snaking through, and discovering every hidden inch behind my erected walls.
Why can’t I feel this way about Andrew? My life could be so much easier.
~~~~~
The next morning, the first person to greet me isAndrew. Last night, I convinced myself to give him an actual chance, because allowing Alex free rein over my thoughts is out of the question.
Andrew is nothing to sneeze at with his tan skin, light brown hair that’s always messy… in a stylish way. He’s lean and tall, standing at almost six feet. He also has this sexy, casual walk. Not something I noticed until now as I watch him approach my car. I admire that walk—and it’s even better from behind.
“Hey, Jasmine. Care for some company to your first class?” His smile is contagious.
“Yeah, sure.” I climb out of my car while Andrew holds the door open, closing it for me once I exit. “Thanks. How’s your morning so far?”
He nonchalantly takes my books and tucks them under his arm with a wink. “So far, so good, but it’s getting better.”
“We have a few minutes until the bell rings. You want to get something to drink?”
“Sounds good.” With my books tucked under one arm, he places a hand at the small of my back, guiding me to the vending area. The touch is light, but sends tingles up my spine. “You know what you want?”
“Orange juice, please.”
“Orange juice it is.” Two bottles of OJ plop out of the machine after he swipes his card and taps the button.
“Thanks.”
“You want to sit down?” He gestures to a table.
“Sure.”
“So, I was wondering… I mean, I know we’re going to Hawaii this weekend, but I would like to take you out on a date, Saturday?” Before I can answer, he goes on. “I know we get there Friday, but I thought we could take a day to settle in, and then if you wanted to, I could take you out Saturday.” His nerves are showing when he repeats himself.
The rational side says to accept this is the chance I talked myself into giving him just last night, but then the wild and carefree side rejects his offer immediately. This side wants a caramel skinned, bad mouthed, gang member, and isn’t ashamed to let that stalking flag fly. Even though I may have more feelings than I care to admit for Alex, I can’t say that anything good would come from us being together. My mom would make sure that never happened, and I couldn’t come up with one reason for not giving Andrew a chance.
His knee bounces as he waits for me to answer. The nervousness brings out his boyish good looks. He’s also funny and smart and seems genuinely interested in me.
Take a leap! “Yes. That sounds nice.”
His smile grows from ear to ear and his knee stops shaking the table. “Yeah? Great! I’ll plan everything. You won’t have to do anything except show up.”
“All right. I’m looking forward to it.”
“We should probably go. I think the bell is about to…” And then the bell rings.
Like yesterday, Andrew walks me to each of my classes. Only today, he’s taken my agreement of a date as a green light for touching. A hand on the small of my back, fingers brushing mine in the hall, standing closer than necessary to rub against me. The sensation of his touch isn’t the same as Alex’s rush of consuming heat, but a kindling ember that warms the skin, and is not completely unwelcome.
When we arrive at biology, Andrew leans into me as we stand just outside the classroom doorframe, then brushes his lips against my cheek while whispering in my ear. “I have to leave early today, but I wanted to ask if I can pick you up for school in the morning?”
“That’d be nice.”
“Good.” He kisses my cheek and purposely glances in Alex’s direction. “See you later.” He turns to leave, but then winks over his shoulder, tinting my cheeks pink. He’s no Alex Navarro, but Andrew’s got moves, and he isn’t afraid to use them.
My hallway interaction has me flustered, floating on a cloud as I enter class, but as I near Alex, the fog dissipates. The tension rolling off him is like watching thunder coil, readying itself for the loudest crack in the sky. His jaw is clenching when he leans closer, muscles tight—ready to strike—as if he’s going to tear into me about Andrew.
He surprises me when he closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and says, “I finished a few recipes for the plants we picked yesterday. I thought you could make some too and we could pick the one we liked the most for extra credit.”
The anxious sigh releases, “That sounds fun.”
My emotions are exuberant, devastating, and terrifying, all of which churns guilt into the finest concoction in my stomach, ending with wanting to puke. The sudden surge of emotion has Jace front and center in my thoughts, wishing that he were here, and experiencing our senior year together. Any anticipation or excitement fills my chest with shame. How can you stop moving forward without your other half when time stands still for no one?
The conflict raging within plays its first act across my face, revealing its internal torment for a fraction of a second, but long enough for Alex to decipher. His expression softens, as if he understands my struggle personally; and I guess he does. He’s the only person who recognizes the pain and sees it for what it is, a gaping hole in my heart.
“Are we still on for tonight?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
His esurient chocolate eyes burn a trail from head to toe before coming to rest on mine. “Yeah, I can pick you up at…”
“No!” I interrupt too loudly and have to clear my throat before starting again. “No. I’ll come to your house and call you when I’m outside.” Secretly, I love the idea of him escorting me inside.
Suspicion narrows his scrutiny, but he doesn’t ask questions. “Eight o’clock good for you?”
“Eight’s good.”
“Sounds good.” Without another word, he returns to the reading assigned in class.
After our conversation, concentrating is like holding marbles in your splayed fingers… not possible. Usually, the teacher has us work as partners, but today she’s assigned reading for the entire period. Indecision tears me in two, because I’m relieved we’re too occupied to speak, but the desire to do so is almost overwhelming.
When the bell rings, my escape is simple since my books are packed, but Alex trails behind closely. We reach the hall together and just before I turn to walk away, Alex grazes his fingers over my upper arm, gaining my attention.
“See you later tonight.” A secret smile plays on his lips. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s anticipating our time together.
“I’ll call you,” I reassure.
His fingers slide away just as smoothly as they found me, then he goes in the opposite direction, leaving me breathless for a moment before heading to my car. If I were to arrive home early enough, I could spend quality time with Dad before finishing my homework and heading to Alex’s.
When I arrive home, Dad’s doing physical therapy. The therapy is more to keep his muscles loose since he’s not able to move. He’s doing good and in the groove, so I grab a snack and plop onto the chair next to his bed. As the physical therapist bends and twists Dad into a pretzel, we visit. He listens intently as I tell him about school and how excited I am about the upcoming senior trip. My chest aches, wishing that Marisol and Jace could be there with us. Jace and I always wanted to learn to surf. I’ll just have to have enough fun for all of us.
After a while, I kiss Dad’s head and go to my room to finish up my homework. When I’m done, I find myself looking for an outfit to wear. I shouldn’t care, but this proves that I do. I enjoy spending time with Alex, even though Mom has forbidden me from seeing them. He’s the only one I’m comfortable with. Our pasts intertwine, no matter how much we’ve changed, and with every encounter it feels like he’s mending my broken pieces. Someone that I need in my life–a link to my past that’s not a faulty memory. I’m just so tired of feeling alone all the time.
The doorbell rings, breaking through these heavy thoughts as reality slams back into focus, and my heart sinks to my stomach like lead.
“I told him not to come here,” the panicked whisper echoes throughout my empty room. He can’t be here. This can’t be happening. The clock reads half-past seven. Early for an impromptu arrival.
I’m down the stairs in a flash, hoping Mom’s too incapacitated to hear the bell and pull the door open. To my utter surprise, Andrew is standing on my porch, not Alex. He’s honestly the last person I expected on my doorstep.
“Andrew.” Shock colors my tone. “What are you doing here?” The question comes out sounding accusatory.
“It’s nice to see you, too,” he remarks, but the smile on his face is genuine. “Your math book was in with mine and I figured you might need it.”
“Thank you.”
He hands the book back as I shift uncomfortably, giving him a look that asks if there’s anything else.
“Yeah, so… that’s all. I’ll see you to…”
Then she steps out.
“Jasmine, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” My mom’s words slur, making it apparent that she’s smashed.
Inwardly cringing, she’s left me no other choice, because refusing will only escalate the situation into one of her famous tantrums. “Mom, this is Andrew. We have a few classes together and he was bringing me my math book. Andrew, this is my mom, Margret.”
“Nice to meet you.” Andrew steps closer to the entryway to shake her hand. She surprises me when she has one to spare that’s not gripping a bottle of alcohol.
“It’s lovely to meet you.” Is she flirting? Oh. My. God. She’s flirting. “Leaving so soon?” The singsong quality of her voice lets him know he’s more than welcome to do more than stay. Her R’s and S’s are unrecognizable, turning the sentence into one long slur.
Andrew glances from her to me, then back to her before answering. “Yeah, I have to get back home for dinner.”
My face heats and is no doubt blazing red with embarrassment. The only people who have met my mom were Marisol and Alex, and they were our best friends for years, not some random from school.
Andrew turns back to me, and where I expect to see pity or remorse, I see neither. My inner voice is raising an alarm, setting off warning bells, and asking if his lack of concern is a good thing. Pity is an emotion I can do without, but wonder what kind of person remains stoic after meeting my mom.
“Thanks for the book. I’ll see you in the morning, right?” I’m using his offer for a ride to school as a hint to get him to leave.
“Yes, you will. See you in the morning.” He’s a couple of steps down the porch when he turns back, “Oh, and have fun studying with Alex tonight.”
My entire being freezes, including the air in my lungs… instantly suffocating, and cinching my windpipe. Mom tenses as an electric current thickens the air; a forbore warning foretelling my future. Each breath emanates in surround sound, overlaying Andrew’s retreat.
The reverberation of his door closing is like a gunshot, slicing through muscle and skin as he pulls away, oblivious to the hell on earth he’s unknowingly created.
As the car disappears, sealing the sentence that lies in wait, resolve encompasses me, straightening my backbone. A deep breath in helps prepare for war as I turn to face the onslaught, otherwise known as my mom. She may beat me, but she’ll never get the best of me.
Her face is a mask of horror, pure hatred, and rage, solidifying what I’ve always feared. One: she detests my presence, wishing Jace had been the surviving twin; her golden child. Two: her addictions have finally driven her absolutely, positively insane. With her wild hair whipping in the wind, the bloodshot eyes blown out like saucers, she’s the perfect picture of a loony bin patient. And three: that I should not, in any way, have seen Alex again.
“I warned you to stay away from him!” she screams, stalking forward, backing me into the house before slamming the door closed behind us, and cornering me against the foyer.
“I know, but…” I begin to explain, but those three words are all I can emit before she hits me. Half slap, half punch, curling her fingers down, as if serving a volleyball. My ear absorbs the impact and rings like the Liberty Bell.
The blow causes me to stumble sideways, further down the hall while holding the side of my head, attempting to regain balance. “Mom,” I protest with a whimper. “He’s my biology partner. We have an assignment. I have to work with him to graduate.”
She digests the information, pausing her advance. “So when I asked you where you were yesterday, and you said collecting stuff for biology, you were with him, weren’t you?”
How the hell did she put that together? With her inebriated state, it’s practically impossible for her to piece two sentences together, let alone two days. She can barely recall her name half the time; let alone conversations we’ve held.
My silence gives her the answer she’s looking for… the excuse.
For being a soused-up zombie, her reflexes are fast. Which is why I didn’t see her grab the crystal vase and chuck it at me until it was too late. The sparkly glass catches the side of my head, just above the right temple, and ringing ear. The floor rushes up like a linebacker, knocking the air from my lungs on impact, and causing the hallway to lurch with discombobulation as my fingers probe the fresh wound. They come away warm and wet, and when I bring them to my face, red. There’s little time to dwell on the hot liquid trailing slowly down my neck and soaking the collar of my shirt.
“How dare you!” she shrieks, kicking me in the side while I’m down, and can barely function to block. “How could you? That family is solely responsible for killing your brother!” Her fingers fumble as she pulls the belt off her pants and snaps it forward—a whip striking like a snake. “You never loved him like I loved him! I haven’t forgotten about him as you have!” The leather makes contact with my back, buckle first.
The metal prong pierces the skin as if fired from a nail gun, burrowing into tissue and muscle, the pain ripping a shriek from my lungs.
She continues the assault, deaf to my tear filled protests, threshing, barely breathing to recharge and recoil for the next strike.
“Mom, please.” Blood and tears streak my face, mixing with the sobbing plea.
My words penetrate enough for her to slow her rampage and stare down at me. Her chest is heaving, her eyes looking wild. “Are you going to forget again?” Her voice is a soothing, mocking tone.
I shake my head.
“Answer me!” she screams.
“No, Mommy.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
“Don’t you ever call me that again. And if you ever see that boy again, I won’t only beat the living shit out of you, I’ll smother your pathetic crippled father while he sleeps.”
A shocked gasp burst free, and my eyes widen in horror. I can’t believe what she said, and by her expression, she’s serious.
Her maniacal laughter echoes behind her like a hyena as she walks away, a threat trailing in her wake. “Remember what I said. There will be no other warning.”
Without a backward glance, she rounds the corner to the stairs, heading back to her room and leaving me lying on the floor in blood, surrounded by broken glass. A form of déjà vu sets in, only this time, I’m in the hallway instead of the kitchen.
Hours seem to pass as I wait for the dizziness to stop. The vase to the temple has left lethargy at the forefront, making getting off the floor difficult, as if my legs were that of a newborn fawn. My ribs and back ache and burn like the fiery pits of hell, rendering every lungful taken useless as each breath knocks the next away, fighting an oncoming panic attack. The entire left side of my head and face is numb, tingling, covering the sensation of blood seeping from my wound.
When my equilibrium returns and my feet are steady enough, I retrieve towels from the linen closet to clean up the blood and glass. My father’s nurse is running errands around town for a few hours, and I want the mess clean before she returns.
After I return everything to its pristine condition, I practically crawl up the stairs, exuding more time and energy than expected. From head to toe, every inch of my body hurt, as if I’d gone twelve rounds with a heavyweight. Dizziness overwhelms my vision as I enter my room and strip off my clothes, heading straight toward the bathroom to sit under the warm spray of the shower, ridding the evidence of Mom’s abuse.
The water runs reddish pink for a few minutes before clearing. Once the glass and blood are rinsed, shampoo and conditioner are lathered on, both stinging like a bitch, but it’s the only way to get the matted blood out. The water runs cold and my fingers prune before I decide to exit the temporary reprieve the shower offered.
Two more days.
Two more days, then I can escape this hell, if only for a week. What else can I do? If I turn her in, who knows what she’ll do to my dad. She’s already threatened to kill him. I’d like to believe that she doesn’t have the guts to follow-through with her threat, but she’s getting braver with her anger, and demonstrating what she’s capable of against me. The only option I see is to submit to her demands. Hopefully, then she’ll leave both of us alone and search for a new crusade. Besides, where else do we have to go?
While dressing for bed, I catalog each grievance, deciding if they’re worthy of an ER visit. Bruises are already forming, deep blue and purple splotches litter my body, blanketing my ribcage and stomach. The new colors mix with the yellow and green bruises from the first incident, the beginnings of a broken rainbow. My back is thoroughly covered with red and black lashes that burn a fiery dance across my skin, accompanied by gouged pock marks from the metal prong, some of which are still bleeding. My ear is crimson and bruising, but the discoloration doesn’t stretch to my face, a minor victory in an already lost war. The gash—the worst of the injuries—borderline requires stitches, but luckily the bleeding’s stopped, allowing me to seal the wound with clear butterfly strips.
As reality sets in, a sob escapes and I sink to the floor in front of my mirror, unable to look at myself any longer. I want Jace so badly, my heart clenches. He’d reassure me—defend me. If he were alive, Mom wouldn’t have the lady balls to do this; he would never allow her to lay a finger on me. Jace dying was the catalyst to her insanity. Understanding her love for Jace is an enigma, bordering on obsessive our entire lives. She’s always held him in the spotlight.
When I’m satisfied that I’ll survive the night without a trip to the doctor, I gingerly climb into bed and pull the blankets to my chin. Eventually, my tears dry, and I’m grateful for the coolness the sheets provide against the hot abrasions that adorn my skin. The adrenaline is wearing off, tugging my eyelids closed, drawing sleep closer and closer with each breath when suddenly, I remember…
Alex.
His name is like a trigger, shooting me straight up in bed, and causing pain to radiate through my limbs with the sudden movement.
We were supposed to meet at eight.
A glance at the nightstand holding my alarm clock says it’s now a quarter to one in the morning.
My stomach sinks as I analyze my options while staring at my cell. What am I going to do, call him? What would I say, “Sorry I couldn’t make it, but my mom kicked my ass.” After this evening’s deathmatch, calling him should be a low priority, but I can’t seem to get him far from my thoughts.
Instead, I opt to do nothing, placing my phone back on the stand. More than likely, he’s not thought twice about my absence, settling the nerves that’re sprouting. Once the decision’s made, sleep finishes the job, and drags me down to the dark.
~~~~~
It feels as if I just closed my eyes, and in no time at all, my alarm wakes me the next morning.
Reaching over to shut it off causes my entire body to scream in protest, tightening up as if it’s rebelling against itself. There’s no way I’ll be able to move around well enough to attend school, let alone have a new excuse for my pain. If I rest today, I’ll be ready for tomorrow… for Hawaii. It’s then I realize that wearing a swimsuit is out of the question, or showing any skin. The grievances covering my body are not going away soon, and certainly not before the trip.
Once the decision is settled, I punch in Andrew’s number to let him know he doesn’t need to pick me up for school.
“Hey, Jasmine, I was just getting ready to head your way. What’s up?”
“Andrew, I’m glad I caught you before you left. Don’t worry about picking me up, I’m not feeling well, and won’t be going to school.” Sounding sick wasn’t an issue with the pain siphoning my energy.
He’s quiet for a moment. “You seemed fine when I talked to you last night.” His words are accusatory.
“Yeah, I know. It’s weird. It just came on suddenly… I even had to cancel on Alex.” For some reason, I feel compelled to tell him this.
“That’s all right, and I hope you feel better. You’re still coming on the trip, right?” he asks nervously, as if he just realized I may be too sick to go.
“Yes. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
I have to get away from here, even if I spend all of my time with Andrew, trying to ignore Alex. He’s going to want to know why I no-showed on him, so at least this will provide me some cover until I can face him again.
“Great! You want me to pick you up. We have an assembly first thing in the morning, then we get on the shuttle bus to the airport. I think our flight leaves at one.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right. Hey, I’ve got to let you go,” I tell him, not wanting to discuss plane schedules.
“Oh, right… sick. Sorry, I’m excited,” he chuckles.
“See you Friday morning then?” I confirm.
“Yep, I’ll be there at eight to pick you up.”
“All right. See you then.” I hang up and drift back to sleep.