After the Before (6 page)

Chapter Ten

Alex

If someone told me Jasmine would be sitting in my living room today, I would have punched them in the face
, but here she is, on my couch.

When I looked out the window to see what all the hooting and hollering was about
, I saw Jasmine surrounded by members of
my
gang, and one of them had their filthy hands all over her, working his way up her waist, and my heart dropped to my stomach. Panic ran through me, followed shortly by anger. I barely remember flying out my door and smashing Jose’s face with my fist.

Jose is a member of my gang, but that gave him no right to put his hands on her. None of them should be touching her.

‘
I should be the only one touching her
.’

I shake that last thought from my mind.

When I guide her into the house, her legs are so weak, that I have to support most of her weight. She tries extremely hard to avoid crying in front of me, and I can see that she’s trying to keep up an, ‘
I have everything under control
,’ persona, when in reality, she is just like me – out of control, trying to get by any way she can to keep the past in the past. I know how it feels to move toward a future you can’t even see yet.

She breaks down another small piece of my wall when she apologizes to me. It was
my
father who killed her brother, her best friend, and paralyzed her father. I should be apologizing to her. She only spoke out of grief against what my father had done to both of our families.

For almost two years
, my insides have been dead, dull, and lifeless. The only emotions that remain now are sorrow, anger, and rage, so this protective and overwhelming need to be around her is the last thing I expected. I need to stomp this feeling out before it turns into anything important. I’ve spent the last year and a half forming a barricade around my heart; refusing to let another person in. I will never let myself feel that pain again. I might’ve been able to bare the pain a little more if I’d had my best friend to talk to, but my father killed him too. Some days I’m so angry with him that I’m glad he’s dead, but I don’t mean it; however, I can’t help but think about him being so careless.

Instead of dwelling on these feelings I keep bottled up
, I turn on the Navarro charm and become the culo I know I am. I’m leaning far too close to her, a lean that can only be interpreted one way, while she talks about our class project.

The problem with this is that
I’m unprepared for the way my body reacts to hers. Her proximity pulls me like a magnet; the closer I am, the closer I want to be to her. I’m not used to wanting things and not getting them, but complicating my life with my dead sister’s best friend is the last thing I need.

“Are you ready for me to walk you to your car?” I’m trying to
get her away from me, put distance between me and whatever is causing this reaction when I’m around her. 

I fail miserably when I see the
nervousness on her face when she glances between the door and me, and asks, “Can I stay for just a few more minutes?” I already know I can’t deny her anything.

I nod
… yes.

Chapter Eleven

Jasmine

After we discuss our project, we sit in silence. There are a million questions running through my mind, questions I’ve wanted to ask for so long. Why
did you join a gang? Why didn’t you ever come to see me in the hospital, or after? Why did you forget about me?

I ask none of them. I’m just grateful he let me stay a little longer
to finish working out the jitter bugs from earlier.

When I finally work up enough courage to go outside, Alex insists on walking me out
, and I want him to. On our way to my car, his eyes venture to all the people around us. I thought it safe, so I glance too. No one will meet his eyes. Everyone seems to know that a major infraction has occurred to someone the gang leader knows. I wonder if they think I am a lady friend of his. The thought doesn’t disgust me… it’s actually the opposite.

We make arrangements to walk down to the river after
our last period tomorrow and look for all the plants on the list. The more we are able to locate, the more points we will receive on the project.

Even though the evening
started out horribly, my visit ended relatively well, and my last smile stays plastered to my face as I drive back to the wealthier side of town. In ways, I wonder what it would be like to live in a lower class neighborhood. Everyone’s yards hold a bit of personality and most look like they take pride in their homes, while the wealthier yards are all the same manicured lawns, bushes, and shrubs, lining every sidewalk and house.

I pull into the driveway and tuck my car into the garage. The four, two story white pillars at the front of our house greet me. I’m returning home later than normal, but still hope to catch my dad before he goes down for the evening.

Once inside, I head straight for his room, ecstatic to find him still awake, and his nurse putting his night meds into his IV.

“Hey, Daddy!”

His eyes light up when he sees me. He puts on his strongest smile and blinks once.

“I was hoping you would still be awake. How was your day?”

He blinks once again.

“To tired to talk to me, huh?”

He blinks once.

“Well then, let me do all the talking.” I smile. I can tell by the look in eyes that he knows
something is up. There are weeks that go by that I don’t even smile, let alone within minutes apart from each other.

“My day at school went well. My teachers are still hounding me about getting all of my work done so I can graduate early
, which is going to be awesome!” I look at him and see the excitement in his eyes for me. I pause for a second before I spill my next bit of info. I don’t expect him to react badly, but if he does, who would he tell? “I’m lab partners with Alex Navarro in biology. We have a project together; it’s due a few days after we get back from the senior trip. What do you think about me talking to him Dad?” I’m concerned that it will bother him. Before he can blink, I look away and continue to talk, afraid of his scrutiny. “I know mom doesn’t want me anywhere near him, or his mother for that matter, but…I don’t know…I just can’t see how they should be blamed for any of it. They are living through the same nightmare we are and…”

“Jaaazzzz.”

His voice is stronger than I’ve heard it in a long time. He definitely achieves his goal of getting my attention, so I look at him, watching all the emotions in his eyes as he gives me one long, solid blink.

I wait for him to blink again. When he only stares back at me,
I ask. “Are you sure?” My voice thick with emotion, more than a conversation about Alex should elicit. On the other hand, relief sweeps through me – I can talk to him without feeling guilty.

My father blinks hard again.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the nurse says, “but he just received his nightly meds and I’m not sure how much longer he’ll be able to talk with you.”

I smile at Jenna,
my father’s nurse for the last nine months. We’d gone through about six before we found Jenna, and she’s been a Godsend. “Thank you, Jenna.”

“Well dad,
it looks like I should leave ya to it.”

My dad blinks twice rapidly
; His stubbornness makes me laugh.

“Now who’s the stubborn one? It used to be Jace and I who wouldn’t go to bed on time.”
The smile on my face fades slightly, realizing I mentioned Jace by name for the first time out loud, but then the smile slowly creeps back onto my face. I remember when we used to hide in each other’s blankets to stay awake all night. I meet my father’s shining eyes, a few tears forming in the corners.

I wipe away his tears before they can fall. “None of that now
. They’re happy times to remember. I love you, Dad.”

He
blinks one long blink, longer than normal, signaling his meds are kicking in for the night. I slide off his mattress after kissing his forehead and walk out the door, closing it quietly behind me. I head to the kitchen to see if there’s something to munch on. When I round the corner, I walk right into a clawed hand that’s waiting for me.

My mom
grabs my wrist, the bad one again, and tosses me to the ground. I smash my hands on the floor to keep from landing on my face. A shooting pain, like long splinters being shoved under my skin, consumes my entire wrist and forearm. I turn and reach for my left wrist instantly, when my mom saunters over to me, as if she hadn’t just thrown me to the floor.

“I told you to stay away
from him!” She yell-slurs the best she can.

“You were listening to my conversation?” I ask her accusingly. Who does she think she is?

“I will do what I please!” She stomps over to me and grabs my hair in her talons, with all her strength.

She drags me
through the kitchen toward the hall, throwing her glass of whatever alcohol she’s been drinking today on the floor, shattering it. She continues to drag me, grinding me through the broken glass, not caring that the fragments are ripping through my clothes and slicing up my side and my limp arm, while the other is holding onto the hand in my hair for dear life.

“Mom! Stop!” I scream at her. Pain is burning everywhere from the cuts blending with the alcohol. “Mom! You’re hurting me!”

She lets go of my hair, so I jump up as fast as I can, but I’m blocked into a corner. She looks at me with so much hate. Any love she may have felt for me was only out of pity to please Jace and Dad. Now that Jace is gone, and Dad is slowly getting there, pretending is a moot point. To prove her hate for me, she pulls back and slaps me as hard as she can, snapping my head back and to the side. She has never hit me before. My fingers find their way to my stinging cheek as tears form in my eyes. I look at my mother, hands shaking.

She regards me with an expression of shock.
It’s not regret, let’s get that straight right now − only shock that she actually hit me. I watch as she staggers back a couple of drunken paces.

Her hands begin to swing around about a minute before her words catch up to her gestures. “Clean up this mess. I meant what I said; you stay away from that boy.” I can hear the “Or else” in her tone.

I scoot along the wall away from her, even as I feel sharp glass digging into me. All I want to do is break down and cry. I’m even more stunned to see that there is actually blood on the floor. I’m bleeding and cut to hell, and my mother is the cause. I put my face in my hands to breathe and try to collect myself. I will not give that witch of a women the satisfaction of watching me cry.

After I clean the glass up, I head upstairs to take a bath. I stand
, concentrating in the bathroom mirror, naked, pulling out glass shards from my side and arm as blood continues to drip down my skin. I wince with every extraction of glass, the tweezers my worst enemy. My wrist is throbbing and swollen; I will probably have to wear my brace for a few days.

Once I finish with the glass,
I climb into the tub, where the water stings my cuts as I slowly sit down. Once I’m fully under, I try to release any tension that’s bottled up, but it’s easier said than done. I was just attacked by my own mother, and I am still in shock over it.

That one thought finally breaks
me. Silent tears slide down my face, so I let them fall free, refusing to swipe them away. I used to think my life couldn’t possibly get any worse, but boy, was I wrong.

The tears
finally subside as I attempt to wash my hair with both arms, but even that task is hard with all of my injuries. I climb out of the bathtub to dry off and look in the mirror again. Spending an hour in the bathtub has given the bruises time to form. My wrist is swollen, small cuts cover my left side and left arm, and there’s even a lump on my head where she pulled my hair. To top it all off, I can clearly see a hand print on the right side of my cheek.

“Never thought Mommy dearest would go this far
, did you Jace?” I ask out loud, his glass pendant glittering in the light against my chest.

I slip my tank top and shorts on, grab my brace from my top drawer, and slip into bed. The soft sheets are cool from the evening breeze coming through my open window.

I can’t wait to get out of this house. The only problem is, it’s impossible for me to escape. How can I leave my dad in that woman’s hands? She would ignore him, leaving him to eventually die all alone. When my father passes away, my grandma will cut her off, so the longer my father is alive, the longer she can live in purple pill heaven.

Life is so not
fair.

Chapter Twelve

Alex

I’m leaving third period when I catch my first glimpse of her. Her face is swollen and bruised,
and I think I seen small cuts on her arm, the same arm that she has a brace on. Even her eyes look empty and lifeless. 

‘
What the hell happened to her?’

A thought crosses my mind, instantly making me search the halls. If Jose touched her after I laid his ass out, he is in for a world of hurt. Searching for him, I find him leaving gym class
, about to enter the main building which is the perfect spot to confront him − nice and secluded. He’s repeated his senior year twice now, and his schedule is predictable. I don’t even know why he bothered coming back this year.

“
Culero!” I say as I grab his shirt and slam him against the brick wall. “Did you touch her?” I demand.

“Que?”
What? He asks, looking scared shitless.

“No te metas conmigo!” I tell him not to mess with me
. He knows that I’m seriously pissed.

“I’m not jefe.” His posture is cowardly
. He would submit on his knees if I wasn’t holding him up by his shirt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that she was your novia.”

His words cause me to pause. “She’s not my girlfriend.” As the retort leaves my lips, I realize how much I wish she
was
my girl. Her mother, my mother, or even I, would never allow it; however, that doesn’t explain why I’m about to kick Jose’s ass for the second time this week.

“Really, Alex
. I haven’t seen her since yesterday.”

I loosen my grip on his shirt. “Go.” I tell him, flicking my head to the side
, dismissing him.

He slides part way down the wall in surrender before ducking out and running away from me
. It leaves me to wonder, if none of my people messed with her, who did? Either way, when I find out who it is, they’ll regret they ever laid a hand on her.

I meander my way through the day, and yes, I watch her from a distance.
No, I’m not a stalker.

I would’ve spoken to her, but every time I thought of approaching her, Andrew was there, coddling her
.
Fucking Andrew!

By lunchtime, the rumor
was that she had fallen down the stairs in her house. I knew right away that she was lying. All the injuries I see do not look like a fall down the stairs, but not only that, something’s off. She looks…depressed, like she’s in a fog, not seeing anything around her.

During lunch
, I eat outside at one of the schools many provided tables. My gang eats out of paper sacks around me. Putting down my drink, I ask Carlos, “What have you heard about Jasmine?” He knows I’m referring to her injuries.

“Same as you,
I guess. She fell down her stairs. If you ask me though, those are loco cuts for falling down stairs, not to mention her swollen face.” He’s nodding as he takes a bite of his lunch, looking at me out the corner of his eye. If anyone knows what abuse looks like, Carlos is your guy. His mother left long ago, and his alcoholic father takes it out on him every day.

I nod, taking a bite of my own food. “You think that pendejo had anything to do with it?”

“Pendejo being…?” He trails off.

He understands exactly who I’m referring to
; I’ve mentioned Andrew to him, and he’s obviously hanging around her like a lost dog. I give Carlos a “cut the shit” look and wait for him to answer.

“No
sé. He could have, but she left your house late last night, right?” I recount the evening with Carlos, from then to this morning.

“Si.” I say.

“Was she supposed to go straight home?” He asks.

“Si. I made her promise because of what happened.” I take another bite of food, trying to act as if this is just casual conversation
, and not my protective side coming out to fight. I know that if I act on how I’m really feeling, I’ll kick Andrew’s ass, whether he had anything to do with her injuries or not. Just the fact that it crossed my mind is enough for me to act.

Carlos’s eyebrows knit together as though he’s deep in thought. “I don’t know. Why don’t you just ask her?”

“I don’t really care. I’m just curious, that’s all.” If word got around that I’m going soft for some girl, I would never live it down.

“Yeah, okay, Alejo.” Carlos laughs.

I give him a death glare that only subsides the laughter, but does nothing for the grin plastered on his face. Perhaps I’ve let one person get too close over the years. Carlos is the one person I’ve talked to before and after the accident.

“Man, whatever.” I toss my food in the garbage, trying to regain my hard
-ass composure. “You excited about this trip?” I have to admit, going to Hawaii is a plus in my shitty life.

“Hell, yes! When
will I ever be able afford to go to Hawaii?” I laugh at the high pitch sound of his excited voice. “Hot summer air, babes in bikinis, it couldn’t get better. You packed and ready?”

I planned on bringing my regular wear. Buying new clothes for the trip and
for school is out of the question. “I finished getting things together yesterday. Just have to toss it all in a bag.” I’d gone shopping, bought everything cheap, and still kept two bills in my pocket.

The bell rings, signaling the start of the second part of the day. “Adios.” I call back as I strut to my class.

The next two classes drag by, and I’m itching to get to biology. When I finally get there, there are only two minutes left until the tardy bell rings. I’m getting anxious while I wait for her to show up. When she finally does, she has Andrew next to her, handing over her books. He says something to her that makes her smile, and I’m unsure from where I sit, but I think I hear her laugh too.

When she turns around to walk to our table
, her face is slightly flush… embarrassed. Is she dating him? The thought warms my blood, almost causing me to fly down the hall after him to make sure he understands that she is off limits.

She catches me watching her as she places her books on the table. At this point, I could care
less if she sees me − deviating my eyes proves impossible. The bruises are worse up close. She’s taken steps to hide her injuries, using makeup to disguise the worst of them, but the closer I examine her, the more I notice the mark on her face looks like a handprint.

I take her in
… all of her, devouring every grievance. When she sits down, her shirt rides up, exposing the side of her midsection, which reveals more cuts. There is also the brace decorating the same wrist she injured in the accident. My notions of staying out of her business fly right out the window. I have to know… I need to protect her.

“What happened to you?” I ask quietly.

My voice carries thick emotions, more than I’ve exuded in a long time. Viewing her like this sets off an aching in my chest. Emotions I thought were dormant − incapable of experiencing again – surge to the forefront. She resembles the same girl I saw after the accident, when I watched her from my window coming home from the hospital, devastated and broken.