After the Before (2 page)

Chapter Two

Jasmine

“After”

When I woke up, days had passed. I found my whole world ripped into tiny little pieces, sprinkled with dog crap. My brother, my twin, my other half, was dead. They said he hit his head so hard against the doorframe when it collapsed inward during the rollover that it caved in his skull, causing him to bleed out… no one could have saved him.

“Died on impact,” were their exact words.
Did it make me feel better knowing that it was a quick death for him? That he felt no pain in the end? All I knew was that he was gone, and even hearing that it was quick, that he didn’t suffer, couldn’t stop my grieving.

My
dad survived… if you want to call it that. The seatbelt had gotten so entangled with him during the rollover that it broke his neck and paralyzed him. His eyeballs were the only thing they expected to ever move. He would not be able to care for himself in any way; he would need medication, and twenty-four hour care. Even with all of that, because of his health and lowered immune system, his life expectancy was, at best, only five years. I love my dad beyond anything, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder if it would have been better for him to have died in the crash instead of living a short life, and never being able to do anything ever again.

As
for me, I walked away. Okay, I didn’t really walk away, but came out better than my dead brother and paralyzed dad. I broke my left arm and wrist, broke three ribs on my right side, two more on my left, and broke my right leg so severely that the bone split right through my skin, which was painful and gross to look at. I had a contusion and a gash near my temple where I hit something, just not sure what. I had a great deal of internal bleeding, too… but I survived. The doctor’s operated and took care of my injuries, and I was going to live while my brother was dead, and my dad was a Quadriplegic.

As if
my family’s fate wasn’t enough, the car that slammed into us was holding my best friend Marisol and her father; both died on impact. The doctors used the same exact words as they did when telling us of Jace once they realized we knew the people in the other car.

My
mom showed up in all her emotional glory, screaming about Jace and my dad. She expressed her concern about my wellbeing a few times for the doctor’s benefit, but I didn’t care. I was not the priority for her… Jace was, and we had both lost him. I believe she was worried about my dad because if my dad died, she would have nothing. My dad made a comfortable living, but most of our money came from his mother, my grandmother, who had been living in a retirement home for the past few years.

My
grandma insisted on entering the retirement home because she liked being with other people her age; she said it let her socialize without having to go out. In addition, Grandma hated my mother. Sure, she liked her at first, but after she noticed the way she treated me compared to Jace, and how she showed no love for my dad, she slowly came to loathe her.

During my time in the hospital, my mom
spent little time in my room. I think the time she did spend in my room was for show, so the hospital staff wouldn’t think badly of her… she couldn’t have that, of course. She played the sympathy card with as many people as possible, but it wouldn’t work with me.

One of the few times she graced me with her presence, Maria Navarro, Marisol’s mother
, stopped by to see how I was progressing. I was happy to see her and was on the verge of tears and hugs when my mother sprang through my door and began to scream at her.

“This is
your husband’s fault! The doctor told me he had been drinking! Your husband killed my baby boy.” Her words turned to sobs. There was no mention of Dad or me, but at least this time, I wasn’t the only one excluded in her concern.

Maria sank back against the wall of my room as if my
mom had punched her; her eyes and face were stricken with grief and disbelief. She ran from the room and never returned. Alex never came, so I assumed that his mother must have warned him to stay away. I couldn’t blame him, but it would have been nice to see him. I thought that he considered me, not only my brother, his friend. We all grew up together, and now we were the only two left. I wanted him around for support, but he stayed elusive.

So with that, it’s time
to get caught up to the present… my
After
.

T
he doctor’s released me from the hospital a little over a month after the accident. My right leg was in a cast, with metal pins and plates fusing the bone together. Also, my left arm was in a cast, making getting around extremely hard to do, but I made sure that I managed it. I didn’t want any help from my mom, not that she offered any. My ribs were doing well, and the doctor’s told me that coughing and laughter would cause some pain, and since neither occurred, it wasn’t a problem.

Yep,
I got patched me up nice and tidy… lucky me. They told me that I would be back to normal in no time; yeah, sure.

Doctor
s are obviously instructed to hand out these lame sayings to their patients. I’m guessing they must have missed the part where my twin died, and my dad would never get to
live
again. Nothing would ever be ‘
back to normal’
, let alone ‘
in no time
.’

About a month after I returned home,
Dad returned too. My mom hired a twenty-four hour nurse, and visited as little as possible. To her, he was already gone.

When I looked at him, I could see it in his
eyes; he was as there as he always was, just without the words or body movements. The doctor’s said that if he worked on it, he might be able to speak again. I can see in his eyes all the things he tries to say, “I’m so sorry honey… I love you… I’m sorry about Jace.” It breaks my heart to think that he blames himself, and I hate what the accident has done to him. This is his new normal; living, but not living, every day for the rest of his life. I would always tell him that none of it was his fault – that it wasn’t anyone’s fault – it was just a horrible accident.

At least that’s what I thought
, at first.

Come to find out, Mr. Navarro had a blood alcohol level three times the legal limit. Apparently, he was stressing out over the current layoffs at work, forgot about picking Marisol up from
Volleyball practice, and got behind the wheel to pick her up instead of calling us to give her a ride.

My entire life knowing the Navarro family, I had never seen Antonio Navarro drink
− Not once. Because of his decision to drink and drive, two families lost their loved ones that night.

The police said he made some wrong turns and was circling around to head back toward
his house when he ran a stop sign, plowing into our car going fifty miles an hour; twenty-five over the legal speed limit.

I couldn’t imagine what Marisol was thinking, or what was going on inside that car before he crashed into us. Had she tried to stop him
? Had she tried to drive for him? Did she even realize what was wrong until it was too late to stop it? I couldn’t imagine her letting him drive if she knew he was impaired, but that is just one of many things I would never know, or be able to ask her.

I missed the rest of my sophomore and my entire junior year, due to injury, rehabilitation, and depression. I couldn’t fathom seeing people, let alone talk to anyone. Physical therapy took a big chunk out of the year
because I had to learn to reuse my leg after it was out of the cast. Lucky for me, it was a ‘clean break.’

I wanted to do
nothing at all, but my mother wouldn’t have it. She hired a tutor and I was home schooled. That was one outcome that I was thankful for; she did care that I would graduate on time… so I could get into college, and get out of her sight.

Now
the Navarro family was down to two members, Mrs. Navarro, and Alex… and they were broke. Their bank foreclosed on their house, forcing them to move to the rougher side of town. My mom forbade me to speak to
that
family as soon as I returned home from the hospital, calling them every horrible name in the book. Mutual friends on Facebook claimed that Alex had went wild, by getting into fights, getting thrown into jail, and running with a gang after his sister and father died.

Apparently, Alex
had joined up with a gang of bikers, running as one of their recruiters – getting young members to pledge themselves to become future Prospects. The most recent story was that he had proven himself to the leader of the gang, which elevated his standings and allowed him free reign to lead the recruits. I have not seen or spoken to Alex since a few days before the accident… that was almost two years ago.

My doped up, alcoholic mo
m said that I needed to grow up and put the accident behind me now; that it was time for me to move on from sulking in my room and avoiding the future, even though she clearly stayed frozen in time.

She
forced me to start my senior year back at Oakboro High School. In many ways, I was excited about returning, yet I couldn’t help but think of how my brother and I looked forward to our senior year. Although I would have to go without him, the urge to do him proud inspired me. The senior trip was going to be at the beginning of the school year instead of the end, and all the seniors were eligible to go. The school had decided to pay for each person themselves, with the help of fundraisers and donations throughout the summer.

Our destination… Hawaii!

So here I am, in my
After
, waiting to start my senior year in two weeks. Even though it has been almost two years since the accident, each day is still a struggle. With my brother gone, it feels like phantom pains from a lost limb that are no longer a part of me, but I still experience the aches. His emotions that were so tied into my own are gone, and it’s as if half of me is missing − half of me died with him.

I still have my dad
. I love talking to him and spending time with him, but we aren’t able to hold any kind of conversation. He can only say my name, yes, and no. Speaking experts didn’t really offer much help, so we came up with our own way of communicating; one blink for yes, and two blinks for no. It’s not very original, but there isn’t much else we can do. The most important thing is that he’s here, and he remains the only person my mom controls her mood swings around. She continues to curse and scream at me every day as long as Dad is out of earshot. I don’t understand why that is, since he, unfortunately, cannot do or say anything to her.

So t
his is it… this is my life now, wrapped in a not so pretty little package for everyone to dissect.

Chapter Three

Alex

The past couple years have been a living hell
for me. I lost almost everyone I loved and cared for… I lost mi padre, mi Hermana, and my best friend, Jace. Mi Madre, my mother, is the only person I have left, and in the last year, I have even distanced myself from her.

If anyone told me in less than two
years’ time I would go from an average high school kid to recruiting for a biker gang, I would have called bullshit. I have been in jail more than five times, and I have beat the shit out of everyone who has pissed me off. If someone told me two years ago that this would be my life now, I wouldn’t have believed them.

Nevertheless, this is my life. I
lead the recruits of the
Infiernos Guerreros
, Hells Warriors. Most of the members in my recruiting gang are my age and attend school with me, that is if, and when, I decide to show up. In my neighborhood, you join a gang and they take care of you. They also taught me to take care of myself, too.

Getting my ass jumped to get in was easy since I knew all the previous recruits, but I’m able to take that kind of pain, and they all know it. Once
we lowly recruits prove our worth, we will be official. I had never even considered being in any gang until the accident, which was the worst night of my life. It’s not only because I lost my loved ones, but I suffered like hell. I lost too much that night that I could never get back.

After a week of going through the emotions of grieving, I found myself stuck at anger. For
months I couldn’t get myself past that stage; picking fights with anyone and everyone for no reason. The older recruits took notice of me, and began inviting me to hang with them.

Mi
Madre was beyond pissed off at me, but once she learned we had to move due to the bank foreclosing on our house, her complaints dwindled about me 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 wanders to reliving that night of the accident; why was dad drinking and driving? Why did I lose all the people in my life that 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 at 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 how she could love one more than the other; treating one with so much love, and the other, well, showing no emotion at all, unless you consider verbal abuse an emotion. I guess Margret warned Jasmine about never speaking to us again, but it never occurred to me that Jasmine would actually listen to her. Plus, we were friends for more than ten years, and I thought that we could grieve together. Instead, the blame ruined our long friendship, and I guess I was okay with that as much as I could be.

The vibrations begin while I’m
lying on my bunk as my cellmate snores so loud 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. The anger floods my body, goes through my veins, and up to my brain, where it consumes my whole being.

Who better to
kick the crap out of than the snoring pendejo below me?

I sit up, my body seeming
ly 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 up at me, just as I anticipated. I give him time to engage me before I swing again, because that’s what I want… I want someone to fight back. Fighting is my way to experience physical pain instead of what actually consumes me. I can escape from the emotional pain through blow after blow.

His fist
connects with my jaw and my teeth clank together. I re-engage him and punch him in the gut. He doubles over in pain and a gagging noise bursts past his lips, almost as if he’s going to throw up. 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 my ragged breaths. Blood covers my clenched knuckles and shirt as I stare down at my bloody cellmate and feel nothing… just emptiness. ‘
Is this really all I am now? Am I this hollow?’

Sound
s start to 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 my throat
at the thought of all this; 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 − distancing me from everyone around. 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
?” I ask him, trying to act like it’s only out of curiosity.

“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
really am, so I don’t say anything. All I know for sure is that mi Madre is going to kill me.