Luxe (4 page)

She rested her head atop her folded arms as she stuck her butt out in the chair while scraping the crust off of the table with her fingernail. She had cried so much that her tears had left salty residue behind. Nobody seemed to care that she had just seen her father gunned down. Her hollow stomach was sick, partly from hunger, mostly from grief. The police were trying to reach her mother, but Sienna wasn't the type of woman who could be tracked down. If she didn't want to be found, she wouldn't be. She was probably out on a crack binge, sucking dicks for a fix, and until the police located her, Bleu wasn't going anywhere. Bleu didn't even know if she wanted to go home. Everything would be different now that her father was gone. It would just be her and Sienna, an inevitable recipe for disaster. She was her mother's greatest mistake. Wayne wouldn't be around to take the brunt of Sienna's bitterness over her failed life; Bleu undoubtedly would become the new victim. She dreaded it like the plague. She feared it because the extent of Sienna's resentment would be revealed. Bleu was a motherless child. It didn't always take death to create a maternal disconnect. Bleu lived right under the same roof as her mother and had never felt anything other than indifference from the woman who had birthed her. With her father dead she was doomed. The worst was yet to come.

When the door opened, more men in black uniforms with shiny badges entered, but this time they were followed by a familiar face.

“Oh, baby,” Ms. Monica, Noah's mother, whispered as she looked at Bleu with tears in her eyes. She was covered in dried blood; it was on her face, her hands, soaked into her clothes. She was a disaster and Ms. Monica's heart broke at first sight.

“You all should be ashamed of yourselves,” she said as she walked over to Bleu, large leather Coach purse hanging from her shoulders. “Come on, Bleu. I'm gonna take you home, baby,” she said.

Bleu took Ms. Monica's hand and followed her out of the room. Noah was waiting in the hall and jumped to his feet, hustling to Bleu's side as soon as he saw her.

“You all right?” he asked, concerned. They had both witnessed something that eyes that young should never see, but such is life in a city like Flint. Kids never truly got the chance to be young. There were too many uphill battles along the way to adulthood, which aged them before their time.

She nodded, but he could tell that she was lying. They didn't speak as Ms. Monica led them to the car. Bleu was traumatized into introversion, and Noah just didn't know what to say to make it better, so he opted for saying nothing at all.

*   *   *

“Bleu, why the hell you with Ms. Monica? Is that blood? Where the hell is your daddy?” Sienna asked as she peeked out of the cracked door of her apartment.

“Sienna, we need to talk,” Ms. Monica said as she stood behind Bleu and Noah, her hands protectively placed on each of their shoulders.

“Talk for what? What this damned girl done did now?” Sienna asked. “Didn't you leave here with Wayne's ass? Where the hell he at?”

Sienna's eyes were bloodshot red and dilated, her hair all over her head, and she let her satin robe fall open slightly, revealing herself unabashedly.

The smell of crack invaded Bleu's nose. She didn't know if Noah or his mother could smell it, but she had been around it enough to know exactly what it smelled like. Her mother's sweaty skin and disheveled appearance was a dead giveaway that she was high. She was vulgar as she flashed her personals, not even feeling the draft between her legs as she stood there. Bleu was filled with an embarrassment so great that she wanted to cry.

“Sienna. Pull yourself together. Something has happened,” Ms. Monica stated with disdain in her voice. Bleu heard the cynical tone that Ms. Monica used. She was judging Bleu's mother. Everyone judged her. Sienna made it easy for people to talk shit because her shit was never together. She was a disgrace of a mother … a disgrace of a woman … a waste of perfectly good air. In that moment Bleu hated her. Sienna stood, high as a kite, probably fresh off the block, and she was oblivious to the fact that their lives had been changed forever. Bleu doubted if the news would even affect her.

“Excuse me?” Sienna countered.

“Wayne was killed, Sienna,” Ms. Monica revealed.

The news hit Sienna like a ton of bricks as devastation destroyed the smug expression on her face. The revelation had blown her high, grounding her, as it felt like a fist was squeezing her chest. Bleu could never understand the unusual bond that Sienna and Wayne shared. They had grown up together, gotten money together, and fallen from grace together. Their fights were bad, and they had gotten trapped in the clutches of addiction, but through it all they had done so together. Wayne had been a life companion … one who forgave her indiscretions because he had had a few of his own. They had a closet full of skeletons that they had filled together. The only reason why she and Wayne ever fought was because of their history. He reminded her of how good life used to be, before she had ever taken her first hit. He knew how amazing she once was, and it reminded her of how worthless she was now. They had once been a young couple with dreams, but life had turned them into two people linked by a love for a common drug. Crackheads. It was all they would ever be. There was no rewriting their fate. Tears accumulated in her eyes.

“How?” she asked.

“They said he tried to rob a bank. The police shot him. The kids were in the car,” Ms. Monica replied.

“Get in the house,” Sienna said to Bleu.

Bleu timidly stepped forward, but Ms. Monica pulled her back.

“Sienna, so help me I will call CPS on you. Get your act together and leave that shit alone. You take care of this little girl,” Ms. Monica threatened.

Sienna was pulsing with hostility and anger as Wayne's death haunted her. She needed a release and the rocks she had in her pocket were more than enough to compensate, but Ms. Monica wanted to put herself in the line of fire. “Stay out of my business. What I do with my child is none of your concern. Don't turn your nose up at me, Ms. Holier than Thou. You ain't no saint. You ever bring CPS to my door and I'll bust your little food stamp scam right on up,” Sienna threatened. She pointed her finger inside the apartment. “Now, Bleu, get your little ass in this muthafuckin' house.”

Bleu rushed inside, running to her room, overwhelmed, afraid, angry, hungry, worried … she felt so many things. She hated her life. Why had she been given such a miserable existence? She would never understand. Where was her white picket fence? Her loving mom? Her hardworking dad? Bleu had been dealt a bad hand … a hand that made it impossible for her to win. She heard the sound of Teena Marie as her mother turned up the speakers full blast. There would be no hugs of reassurance for Bleu, no time spent together to process this loss. Bleu had never felt so alone. Her father had just died, but Bleu knew that it wouldn't be long before the next man came to take his place. She wouldn't be surprised if her mother called one of the dope boys over so that she could smoke her own pain away. Bleu walked over to her window and lifted it and snuck out onto the fire escape. She climbed up the two stories and tapped on Noah's window, catching his attention. He rushed over to let her in.

“What's up, B? You okay?” he asked, concerned as he helped her inside.

Ms. Monica knocked on the door, and Noah placed his finger over his lips, signaling Bleu to be quiet. He hurriedly pushed her toward the closet, hiding her before he ran to the door. He opened it. “What's up, Ma?”

“Boy, you ain't slick. Don't ‘what's up, Ma'?' me,” Ms. Monica said. “Bleu, you can come on out, baby. You ain't got to hide. You're welcome here anytime.” Bleu climbed out of the closet, embarrassed, as she kept her head lowered.

Ms. Monica walked over to her once she saw that Bleu was still dressed in the bloody clothes. Her heart ached for Bleu. She bent down and said, “I'm sorry about your daddy, baby. He made some bad choices … so did your mama, but you don't have to. You can be better than them. Just because they were caught up and addicted doesn't mean you have to grow up and be that way too. Okay?”

Bleu nodded.

“Now go on in the bathroom and take a hot bath. I'll have some clothes for you when you get out, and there's dinner on the stove. Y'all come down and fix some plates when you're ready and keep this door open,” Ms. Monica preached.

Bleu was grateful for Noah and Ms. Monica. They were the closest thing to normal in her life … the only people who truly cared.

 

2

“Hey, hey, B, wake up for me,” Noah said when he saw the signs of movement as she stirred in her sleep. She came out of her restless sleep, grateful that reality had interrupted the memories of her past. Noah sat anxiously at her side. She could tell he was forcing the smile that was on his face in an attempt to hide his concern. The smile on his face didn't match the look of despair in his eyes. She could see the worry written all over him. Bleu lazily fluttered her eyes open and gave Noah a weak smile. He was a sight for sore eyes, but she could see the sadness in him as he stared at her over the long lashes that guarded his light brown eyes. His dark skin was reminiscent of night and wrapped over his ballplayer's frame like Saran Wrap. He was usually so strong … so confident, and on her weakest days he always held her down. One smile from him was like charging a battery in her back because she knew that he smiled for no one else. She owned it. Bleu was the only person he gifted it to, but as he sat before her, rubbing his hands over his fresh fade, she saw nothing but worry and grief. It shrank him so much that it looked as though his broad shoulders were weighed down by emotion alone. He rushed to her bedside and she placed a weak hand on his cheek as he gripped her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist.

“You're all right, B. You're going to be good. I promise you.”

She cleared her throat, preparing herself to respond. She winced in pain as she brought her hand up to her bandaged throat.

“You had a breathing and feeding tube in. There were tubes everywhere, B. It'll hurt to talk for a while. You don't have to say anything. Just rest. I'm here,” Noah said as he reached out and grabbed her hand.

She held on to him for dear life, intertwining her fingers with his as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Tears snuck out of her eyes. Everything hurt. It hurt like nothing she had ever felt before. Her entire frame was sore, stiff, and it felt as if her insides were hollow. She held out her hand, motioning to all of the flowers.

“I know, right?” Noah said. “You get shot and all of a sudden you're the most popular girl in town.”

She smirked.

“It's from the teachers and some of the people we graduated with. The shooting was on the news; the police are making it a big deal. Straight-A student and valedictorian gunned down in her own neighborhood. It's all over the place. You were touch-and-go for a while there. A lot of people were worried,” he told her. “I've been here every day.”

“He hasn't left … in fact, he refused to leave. Day and night he has been here for two weeks.”

Bleu and Noah looked up as the head nurse walked in. He lowered his head and blushed slightly as he shook his head dismissively. “Nah, you know I had to make sure you were okay. That's all.”

“You are a very lucky young girl,” the nurse said. “Had you arrived even a few minutes later, you wouldn't have made it.”

“When will she be able to talk?” Noah asked.

“You can speak now. It will hurt, but we actually encourage you to begin speaking so we can make sure that the trach we put in didn't damage your vocal cords. Just take it easy. The doctor will be in to make his rounds. In the meantime just hit your button if you need anything. My name is Nurse Rhoda,” she said before making her departure.

When Bleu and Noah were alone she finally spoke. “So where is my mama? Did she even bother to come?” Bleu asked, grimacing. Every word that left her mouth felt like razor blades slicing her throat.

“We don't got to talk, just rest,” Noah said, switching the subject.

Bleu snaked her head and widened her eyes. She didn't need to repeat the question in order for Noah to know she was demanding answers. Even shot up and injured, she was a spoiled brat. During their ten-year friendship he had always catered to her. There wasn't much he wouldn't do for his best friend and she knew it.

“She's been around, B. She was here for the first few days. She was worried and crying, but you know how she is. She could only stay so long before—”

Bleu turned her head away from Noah as tears clouded her vision. She knew the end of his sentence. He didn't even have to speak the words. Her mother had been addicted to crack cocaine Bleu's entire life. She was surprised that Sienna had even shown up at all.
She left me here to chase her next high,
Bleu thought in despair. “Your pops came by too,” Noah said.

“He's not my pops,” Bleu shot back, referring to Larry, the man her mother had married a month after Bleu's father had died. The thought of Larry made her cringe. He had moved into her and Sienna's apartment and made himself at home too quickly. When he had first come around Bleu had thought he was okay. He kept food in their refrigerator. He had a stable job and Sienna seemed to be happy. Of course she was, because instead of tricking for her next high with multiple men she only had to suck one dick for it now. Larry kept her high, supporting her habit, because when Sienna was high she was easy to persuade. He was a wolf in sheep's clothing and the night that he had snuck into Bleu's bedroom was the night when his true colors had been revealed. He had raped her while her mother was passed out in her room and afterward he had cried like a baby while begging Bleu not to tell anyone. He had told her that if she did CPS would take her, and the last thing she wanted was to be separated from Noah. So she remained quiet and kept the ugly secret. Larry had never touched her again and they hadn't spoken of it, but she had never forgotten. She hated him, but with her mother strung out and in the streets more than ever, he was all that Bleu had. In some sick way she had come to depend on him.