Bumped - Completed Novel

Bumped - Chapter Seventeen

Funny how things evolved. It went from me to we to us to he, him and his. He is so selfish. I don't understand him. This is his fault. He, he, he, he. Ha hahaha. Cracking up like a lunatic. The dissolution of sanity never happens all at once. They say art is in the details. Well, lunacy starts out with the small, ordinary thoughts that spiral out of control like viral marketing. Next thing you know you're howling like Eddie Murphy's Raw is looped continuously in your head.

A loud knock on the door startled me out of my thoughts. "Come in!"

My father strode in and dropped his car keys on my nightstand.

"What's this? You're bequeathing me your prized possessions already?"

"Go to the store and pick up some milk and here's a list of stuff your mom needs."

"You're lactose intolerant."

"It's good for the baby, you need it."

I looked at the scrap of paper he dropped on the bed. Kale. Squash. Tofu. Zucchini. Eggplant.

"You're kidding right? Can't you get this stuff? You're already dressed."

"You have to get out of this house. Been locked up in this room too long now. Who are you hiding from?"

"Everybody." I turned over on my other side and pulled the sheet up to my chin. The same posters that I had hung so lovingly in high school, now yellowed, stared back at me. Prince and Michael Jackson seemed to be saying, "Get your fat ass out of bed. We're tired of looking at you."

"Pick up my prescription from Walgreen's while you're out. Money's on the table."

He closed the door behind him. I was left feeling like a frustrated woman-child yet again. Which wasn't that hard of a stretch seeing as everything in my room was exactly how I left it. Banana clips, Wet "˜N Wild nail polish, curl activator and stuffed animals littered my dresser. A bunch of wallet photos lined the edge of my mirror. My cell phone chimed. I threw out an arm and groped the nightstand, knocking over the keys in the process. Finally, I heaved myself into a sitting position.

It was Detective Moran from Mariner's Pike PD. The LAPD had asked him to follow up with me about the shooting; he had a photo line-up to show me.

"I told you, I didn't see anyone."

"The memory is a funny thing Ms. Nixon, seeing these pictures might trigger something."

I hung up after agreeing to meet him tomorrow at the local police station in Mariner's Pike.

Barely here a week and already my problems were following me from California. I tried calling Casey, Cameron's manager, but his number was disconnected. Just like I felt. I had no idea what was going on with Cameron, the masters, if he knew who tried to shoot us. I grabbed my robe and headed to the bathroom to take a shower.

I still needed to find an ob/gyn, find a job and figure out what life was going to be like after the baby. I had cobbled enough money to pay for medical expenses, at this point; I could afford a drive-thru vaginal birth. Or if I did stay in the hospital, it would have to be a la carte; maybe I could bring my own meals and meds with me. At the end of the day, it all came down to dollars. I didn't have enough and Diego had too much of someone else's.

An hour later, I was driving past rows of cookie cutter bungalows with neat little postage stamp lawns. In a matter of blocks, I was at the Shop Rite debating whether to get the Hohos or the Yodels. I had just tossed them both in the cart when I heard my name.

"Elle? Elle Nixon? Is that you?"

I looked to my right and I saw what could only be a former a classmate of mine. Even though weight and time were generously distributed across her face, I could still see a shadow of the instigating teenager I once knew.