Their Broken Pieces by Jessica Gomez
Chapter Fifty
Jasmine
I chicken out.
Three days is only that… three days; not long enough to get over Alex. I was dreading Monday, and when it finally arrived, I called in sick. I’m hiding away in my room, coming out only for food and water. Avoiding Mommy Dearest is easier than expected once I figure out what I like to call her “pass out hours” are, and venture out in the safe zones.
Since I’ve been away for a week, most of the day is spent visiting Dad. His progress has not improved, but at least Margret’s threats were hollow. The way he studies me says he knows something’s wrong, but he has no way of asking, and I use that to my advantage. I play off the nerves and avoid acknowledging that he’s right, conversing about non-important topics, like the weather, and my trip, leaving Alex out of the details.
Continuing this routine for the rest of the week, I play hooky during my class time with Alex. I spoke with Mrs. Hubert after one of her morning classes and made something up about needing to assist my dad during that hour. She agreed and gave me the next few weeks of assignments to take home. All the extra time at home gets my homework done easily; I just couldn’t face Alex yet.
Spending so much time in my room, doing nothing but homework, has put me even further ahead of schedule. The homework for biology and the rest of my classes are complete, including an essay that is due next month. I’m completely on the ball.
The entire week passes without running into Alex, not that it matters. He’s made no attempts to talk or call, so his plan has worked. I’m done. I need to concentrate on myself and continue to move on without him.
When I make it home Friday with no encounters, I pat myself on the back. Up in my room, I toss my bag on my bed and crawl out of my school clothes, opting for workout pants and a thin tank top.
Breathing deeply, I stand in front of my full-length mirror. During the last couple of days, I’ve done this breathing exercise, and it’s helped to keep me calm. Nothing fancy, I made it up myself.
I look at myself through the mirror and breathe deeply, letting my thoughts drift wherever they desire, whether they are of Alex, or my dad. My thoughts seem more peaceful this way. It’s helping me relieve a lot of pent-up stress.
Heading downstairs, at what’s supposed to be one of Margret’s pass out hours, she stirs. She’s stealth; entering the kitchen as if on a breeze, quiet and unseen. I’m rummaging through the fridge when she speaks.
“What are you making for dinner?” She slurs.
I’ve seen that devilish gleam in her eyes before, twice as a matter of fact. Answering her is a moot point.
“I was just grabbing a snack; not really hungry,” I tell her, grabbing an apple off the counter.
She shakes her head back and forth, with a creepy lopsided grin. “Always thinking of yourself. That’s your problem, you know, you only think of yourself.” She continues her advance. At first, the movement is subtle, but now I’m losing ground as she moves in. “You’ve always been a selfish bitch, and you always will be.” The last sentence is spoken more to herself, rather than to me.
There’s nothing I can say or do to make her change her course. Her mind is made up, and she’s gunning for me. Backing away from her, my hip hits the island bar and slides around it toward the opposite side, using it as a barrier. She’s at arm’s length now. Her talon claws are twitching next to her body, waiting to reach out and strike at any moment.
The right moment is about thirty seconds after I have that thought. She reaches for my hair, closing her claws around a sizeable chunk, scraping her perfectly manicured nails down the left side of my jaw and neck so deep, that I feel like I’m being sliced with knives.
I screech and pull away, but her grip on my hair is like a vise and whips me around the counter until we’re face to face. Pure hatred covers every inch of her expression. I think in some ways, she’s convinced herself that I’m responsible for Jace’s death, that it should have been me instead of him.
“You can’t run from me, you little bitch.” She yells and throws me down to the floor, stepping in to kick me seconds later.
My ribs take the blow, burning and aching in the aftermath. I’m able to scramble into the next room on my hands and knees. My dad stays in this room, which used to be the den of the house, but I don’t know where else to go at this point. Stumbling against the door, I draw Dad’s attention to us.
She’s on me before I can move, slamming her weight into me, and smashing me against the doorjamb, causing me to bash my forehead against the wood. He stares at us with wild eyes. They’re confused, hurt, and very pissed off. My hair sticks to the blood from her claw marks on my face and neck, and the panicked expression on my face alerts him to the seriousness of the situation; Margret is beating me.
A second passes before my equilibrium settles, but it’s too long because her fist flies and blasts me right in the eye. I hit the floor like a sack of rocks, throwing my balance off completely. She’s approaching again to continue her assault when someone yells, “Nooo! Stttop!”
Margret freezes instantly, looking first at me, then at Dad. He’s sweating and red from the exertion. Margret lowers her arms, drops them to her sides, and continues to stare. I scoot backward, doing the crab walk until I hit the side of my dad’s bed.
My breathing is wild and heavy, and I’m weak and lightheaded.
“Jazzzz.” Dad’s voice comes through the now vacant room. Margret must have turned and left without me noticing.
My gaze snaps up to him, but the only thing I can see is his arm. I’m scared. I don’t want him to see me like this, beaten and bloodied by one of the two people who are supposed to love their child unconditionally. Courage flares as I lift myself off the ground and sit on the side of his bed.
A few heartbeats go by before I can look at him. Finally, I meet his eyes; they’re sad and worried, asking too many questions for me to interpret. Now that he’s seen her in action, I tell him everything. Why I think she does it, how long she’s been doing it, and the wounds she leaves behind. By the time I’m finished; tears are swelling and overflowing in his eyes.
“I… I’mmm ssorrrrry.” He squeaks out.
Now my own eyes are overflowing with tears as I lean down to kiss his forehead. “I love you, Daddy. I’ve been afraid to say anything because I don’t know what they’ll do with us. They’ll take us away from each other, and I won’t let that happen. As long as she can take her frustration out on me, she’ll leave you be, and you and I can stay together.”
He manages one more word, “Grammma.”
I understand him immediately, and I’m nervous. My grandma has control over his estate until she passes, so Margret has nothing unless my father or Grandma says she does. She’s about to be cut off.
I hesitate, but call and tell Grandma everything, too. After I finish, she is beyond pissed, but telling me I’ve finally done the right thing by telling her, and that if I had come to her sooner, it would have never gotten this far, that she would never allow anything to happen to Dad or me.
She reassures she’ll take care of everything, the tone of her voice fierce, a glimpse of the young, powerful woman she once was; the woman who made her fortune surges to the forefront.
She says that I should expect a couple of men to show up. That they’ll be here to escort Margret from our home and not to worry, that they’re from a security service she runs, and she’ll take it from here. Grandma’s always surprising me, especially since I thought she was retired.
A few hours later, those men wearing black suits show up to do just what Grandma said they would.
Margret had locked herself in her room, planning to go about her night as usual, when they arrived. I believe she was sure I wouldn’t tell anyone since I’d let her get away with it before. Even Dad was still of no consequence because he couldn’t speak. But now, as she’s being taken from the house, crying and begging for our forgiveness, her words fall on deaf ears. The suits give her a few of her things, along with an envelope, and shove her in a car, driving off to God only knows where. The entire incident is done quickly, wishing I’d called Grandma sooner, knowing now that it was foolish of me to wait and let the abuse continue.
My grandma calls a few minutes later to tell me that Margret will stay in a hotel and that she’ll be given the choice of rehab or jail. I had no hand in this decision, but I think that it’s a fair choice. I’m also informed that she’ll not receive a divorce settlement, but if she chooses rehab, it will be paid for her in full. But after that, she’s left on her own to put her life back together.
The word divorce freezes me in place. This is the news I’ve wanted to hear for so long, and my heart soars. I’ll be free of her nasty glares, her words of hatred, and worst of all, the beat downs. If this had happened two weeks ago, there would have been no reason for Alex and me to stay apart, but in that situation, what’s done is done.
~~~~~
I dedicate Saturday to Dad. We talk, well, I talk about what the divorce means for us, how much better things will be now that she’s gone. Grandma calls again in the evening to fill me in on a few things they neglected to inform me of, like the fact that once Grandma passes, all of her money will go to Dad.
However, in his current state, Grandma is his rep payee. Once she passes, he will need a new one until he passes, and that person is me. I’m going to be in charge of a sizeable sum of money. Her exact words are, “A very large sum of money.”
I’m speechless. Grandma has to call my name several times before I answer. All I can think of is that I don’t want this money. I want Dad and Grandma around more than I could ever want a dime. It makes me sick and sad to think I’ll lose them both too someday, so I need to spend every moment I can with them. To appreciate and cherish every second.
Sunday rolls around quickly, and I’ve started a Sunday routine. We used to enjoy family meals together, but since Jace’s passing and Dad’s injury, they’ve vanished. It’s high time I changed that, so I cook all our meals together while listening to music. This is how every Sunday is going to go from now on; with my father and the sound of the 80s in the background.
After dinner, I’m exhausted and change into PJs, a light pink tank, and dark pink shorts with four-leaf clovers sporadically placed on the fabric.
While I’m unsnapping my bra, there’s a knock at the door. The nurse has signed out for the evening, going to the guest house in the back, and Dad’s been in bed now for about an hour. I couldn’t imagine who else would stop by at ten at night?
Panic sweeps through my veins. Could Margret have come back? I ease my way toward the front door when another knock hits. The sound is calm, the knock casual, not rushed. Margret would try to tear the door down if it were her, so I creep down the stairs and try to peek out the side curtain. A partial profile and a white shirt sleeve are all I can see from this angle.
The person attached seems about my age, by height and weight. I unlock the door and open it an inch and immediately recognize the person on the other side… Mario.
From his appearance, he’s been knocked around again, badly. Why would he be here? Did something happen to Alex? Did Alex send him?
“Yes,”
“Hey, Jasmine, Alex asked me to stop by. Can I talk to you?” His facial features are straight and relaxed.
I open the door wider. “Why would he send you?” I ask bitterly.
In the blink of an eye, Mario’s face changes, turning triumphant and menacing as he steps toward me. “Oh, mamacita, it’s me who wants something.”
My heart hammers against my chest. What does he mean? Before my brain screams to run, Mario grabs the back of my head and threads his fingers through my hair to get a tight grip. He smashes a white rag over my mouth, muffling my screams, and it smells funny, like sweet almonds.
A few breaths in and my hearing sounds like it needs new batteries. Shortly after my hearing, my vision blurs and my body is floating, as light as air. My knees give out, and I can’t do anything about it. Before I hit the ground, Mario scoops me up and carries me to a waiting car next to the curb.
And just like that, I’m kidnapped.
My vision is blurring, my hearing dulls, as if I’m underwater. He lays me in the backseat and leans over me so we’re face to face. “I’m gonna have some fun with you.” He draws one hand from my knee up my leg until his fingertips are caressing my inner thigh, next to the elastic of my underwear. He tucks his fingers under the band and strokes my sensitive skin. I can’t speak or move to stop him. All I can do is lay here and let him do whatever he wants, but instead of going any further, he leans back, tucks my feet in, and slams the door. A few seconds later, another door opens and closes and I feel the car move. Where is he taking me, and why?
Unconsciousness wins and pulls me under. Even in the darkness, I’m pissed off. How much more could happen to me before I snap? I’ve just finished fighting my own battles, and now I’m being made a victim all over again by some crazy gang banger. I mean, really, what the hell?