“You’re not even a person!” she yelled. “You’re not human! A human, a decent human would ask if I was okay! A decent human would make sure there was food in the house! A decent human would come to my rescue after I was followed home with a flat tire! You don’t even remember my birthday? I told you yesterday! I told you at dinner! And you said okay!”
That brief conversation flashed through my mind. She’d been wearing short shorts, and I’d been having fantasies about picking her up by the ass and screwing her on the counter.
And then the guilt happened.
Because I saw a vision of Andi on the counter.
And the memory was faded, not as strong. So I’d said yes to get her to stop talking and then excused myself.
I was still in my position on the ground, cheek throbbing. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” Val’s eyes blurred with tears. “I’ve tried!” she yelled louder. “I text you. I try talking to you at night. You ignore me! All the time! I just… the only reason that I’m not on antidepressants is because of the girls!” She pointed back at the house. “Even the guys talk to me more than you do!”
I opened my mouth but she held up her hand.
“No,” she seethed. “You don’t get to talk to me. In fact, I don’t want you here. At all. It’s my birthday, right? Did you get me a gift?”
“I would have but—”
“Here’s the perfect opportunity.” Tears streamed down her face. “Give me the gift of your absence. Because looking at you hurts too much, and I want to be happy on my birthday.”
“You want me to leave?” My chest cracked open. Hell, I was bloodied, bruised, dying inside. “As a birthday present?”
“Yes.”
I had no choice. I stood and nodded slowly. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”
“You lost the right to ask what I wanted a long time ago, and the sad thing is, I’m easy, Sergio. I’m a really easy person to please. Really, it’s pathetic, being so starved for any sort of affection that had you even smiled at me once since we got here I’d want nothing more than to have you at my side.”
She might as well have picked up a gun and fired direct hits into my heart, I was dead, flailing, falling.
How had I messed up so horribly?
Not seen her hurt?
Because I’d been so focused on me.
On keeping a memory alive that was long ago dead.
Shame. Shame was worse than anger.
I swam in it, I embraced it, I was shame.
The anger was gone.
And what replaced it was worse, because at least you can justify anger, but shame?
There’s no justifying shame.
It is what it is.
Horrifying.
Val stomped off and rejoined my family —her family, and I numbly went to the garage to grant Val her wish.
Over hill, over dale, thorough bush, thorough briar, over park, over pale, thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander everywhere. Swifter than the moon’s sphere. –A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Valentina
I WANTED DANTE.
And Gio.
And Sal.
And Papi.
And oddly enough, at times like this, I wanted my best friend from high school, the one who’d moved away without a word. She’d always understood me and had been so kind when I was frustrated, almost like she knew me better than I knew myself.
But people get busy.
And we lost touch.
I stared at the door to the house and took a deep breath only to have it open before I even had the chance to touch the knob.
“So.” Nixon smiled. “How are things in Jackass Land? Do I need to bury a Sergio sized body?”
Nixon never really spoke to me much, I mean he did, but not like the rest of the guys; he was constantly watching, calculating. Funny how I used to be afraid of Phoenix and now it was Nixon that had me uneasy, probably because the girls talked way too much, and I learned just how brutal he could be, how brutal he wanted to be when he was angry.
He reminded me a lot of my twin.
Hah, maybe because he was a twin himself. Who knew?
I shrugged.
“Not the shrug.” Nixon sighed, and opened his arms. “Anything but the shrug. When Trace shrugs, I hide the guns.”
I smirked.
“Ah, a smile?”
“I didn’t kill him.”
Sergio’s car peeled out of the driveway, making my ears hurt, but my heart hurt worse.
Nixon swore under his breath. “What did you say to him?”
“After I punched him?” I offered.
His eyes widened. “You punched him?”
“It felt right.”
“Atta girl!” He rubbed his scruffy chin and laughed harder, his lip ring drawing attention to his young face. Even though they were twins, he and Mo looked nothing alike. She was gorgeous, but there was a harsh beauty about Nixon, one that told people like me that we could look all we wanted but to touch was taking our lives into our own hands. “So what happened after the punch, Rocky?”
“I yelled… a lot.” Slumping my shoulders, I moved forward into his embrace and pressed my head against his strong chest as he rubbed my back. He wasn’t Dante, but again, it felt like Dante. “And told him that since he didn’t get me anything for my birthday, my present could be his absence.”
“Harsh,” Nixon whispered.