Their Broken Pieces by Jessica Gomez
Chapter Three
Alex
The past couple of years have been a living hell. I lost almost everyone I loved and cared for. I lost mi padre, mi hermana, and my best friend, Jace. Mi madre is the only person I have left, and in the last year, I have even distanced myself from her.
If someone had told me two years ago, I would go from an average high school kid to a recruiter for a biker gang, I would have called bullshit. I’ve been in jail more time than I care to admit, and I don’t tolerate bullshit from anyone.
This is my new life. I lead the recruits of the Infiernos Guerreros. Hells Warriors. Most of the prospects attend school with me, if we decide to show.
The accident was the worst night of my life, and it triggered a downward spiral of unrecoverable events. I’d never considered joining a gang until the accident. Getting my ass jumped in was rough, but the physical pain brought on a welcomed emotional numbness.
After weeks of going through the stages of grieving, I found myself stuck in anger, picking fights with anyone and for any reason. The older members took notice and invited me to hang.
Mi madre was beyond pissed, but once she learned we had to move because of the bank foreclosing on our house, her complaints dwindled into nothingness; she knew what kind of neighborhood we were moving to, and a resident either belonged to a gang or became their target.
Lying in a cell at the Oakboro County Jail gives me too much time to think. My mind often relives that night of the accident. Why was Dad drinking and driving? Why did I lose all the people in my life I loved the most? Why didn’t Jasmine, Jace’s sister, ever come to see us after the accident?
Mi madre told me about her visit to the hospital, where Margret, Jasmine, and Jace’s mom verbally assaulted her. I knew how Margret treated the twins. Jace was gold, and Jasmine was dirt. I never understood the full extent. The twins hid that portion of their lives from us well. Margret must have warned Jasmine against speaking to us, but it never occurred to me she would listen. We were friends for a long time. I thought we could grieve together. Help each other heal. Instead, the blame ruined our long friendship.
The vibrations begin while I’m lying on my bunk as my cellmate snores loudly below me, that the restlessness sets in and seizes me. The overwhelming urge to release my anger about what happened to me, to Jasmine—to both of our families—makes me want to kick someone’s ass. Anger floods my body, driving through my veins, straight to my brain, where it consumes my whole being.
Who better to fuck up than the snoring pendejo below me?
I sit up, my body seemingly possessed, and jump down off the bunk. My regulated flip-flops smack the floor loud enough to wake my bunkmate out of his stupor. His groggy eyes have less than a second to register my fist before it slams into his face.
A loud crack ricochets off the small cell walls as blood spurts and gushes down Mr. Naptime’s face. His head snaps back, the full brunt of the blow cushioned by his pillow.
After a few shakes of his head, he springs at me, just as I expected. I give him time to engage before I swing again because that’s what I want… I want someone to fight back. Fighting is my way of experiencing physical pain, instead of what consumes me. This gives me an escape from the emotional pain through blow after blow.
His fist connects with my jaw and my teeth clank together. I re-engaged and punch him in the gut. He doubles over in pain and a gagging noise bursts past his lips; the sound is music to my ears. Ignorant to his lethargy, I plant another punch to his face, finally bringing him down to the ground, writhing in pain.
I stand over him, my chest heaving with ragged breaths. Blood covers my clenched knuckles and shirt as I stare down at my bloody cellmate and feel nothing… just emptiness. Is this all I am now? Am I this hollow?
Sounds impede my eardrums, announcing guards running to our cell. I turn to the wall, put my hands out flat, and spread my legs wide. Without hesitation, they grab and slam me to the ground, which causes more damage to my face than the pendejo I just punched.
They cuff my hands behind my back, haul me out of the cell, and slam me into a lockdown chair. Taking little care in strapping down my chest, thighs, ankles, and wrists, they shove a netted hood over my head, which is cinched closed around my neck. The guards wheel me down the hall and place me in an unoccupied cell, like I’m a fucking child needing a time out.
Hysterical laughter bubbles up through my throat at the thought; I’m incapable of stopping myself, sounding like a wild hyena. I earned this time out—I earned it.
An undetermined amount of time tics by… hours, maybe even days. All I do is sit in the corner, and I couldn’t care less. Finally, George, the guard, comes to let me out and back into my cell.
“Hey,” he says. His Mexican accent reminds me of my father, and it makes me want to lose control all over again.
I dip down my chin in acknowledgment.
“You really messed that guy up, Alejandro,” he informs me.
I remain silent.
“He’s gonna be in the hospital wing for a while…” He’s watching me to see if I react. I know my cellmate didn’t deserve the beat-down, but fighting is a way to warn others not to fuck with me, and to distance myself from those around me. My lips remain sealed, face hard, and I make sure that any remorse eating at me stays hidden.
“Assault while in jail is a more serious charge than the assault you’re in here for. The victim outside has refused to say anything against you because you’re in a gang… However, the officers here have a tape of you punching your cellmate. He doesn’t have to press charges because the state will do it for him.” He watches me again for any reaction.
My adrenaline is in overdrive. As badass as I want people to think I am, I know that getting locked away would become another kind of hell.
“What’s going to happen now?”
“The judge has moved your court date up to next week.”
Oh shit, that can’t be good.
“You’re looking at about five years, hombre.” He informs me.
If I speak, my shaking voice will give away how panicked I am, so I say nothing. All I know for sure is that mi madre is going to kill me.