Rose Bridges

Fifty five

Love, Romero

It feels like the air has been knocked out of my chest as I sit still on the edge of my bed.

"Oh my," I mutter to myself.

The first entry is dated back to Christmas of last year when I got it for him.

Sliding down to the side of my bed, the journal sits propped up on my knees.

And I open the door he's given me the key for.

~

The sound of heels tapping against hardwood floors stir me awake.

"Carmen, honey, do you want to come with your father and I to brunch or-" I open my eyes and see my mother's patin black heels stop short in my peripheral vision.

"Ma?" I ask groggily as I move away from the pillow I was cuddling.

The next second her worried face is an inch away from mine. "Carmen what happened? Why are you" She looks me up and down. "...laying on the floor? And why are you still in your clothes from yesterday." Her hand smoothes some fallen hair off my forehead. Her thumb wipes under my eye. "Carmen you look like a raccoon with all this mascara. Did you cry yourself to sleep or something?"

Still feeling half asleep and out of sorts, I look around and take in my surroundings. Used tissues are scattered around me along with an empty tissue box. The journal sits closed and right next to my hip. I'm still wearing my clothes from yesterday.

Oh. Sitting up, I snap out of my sleepy haze and scramble upwards.

"Sorry," I start as I lean down to pick up the journal and collect the used tissues.

Ma's hand reaches out to stop me. "Espérate espérate."

I sigh and lean against the side of my bed, feeling dejected once again as I remember.

"Why did you cry yourself to sleep?" she asks with concern.

I look to the journal. "I read the whole thing last night."

Her eyebrows pinch as she looks at me.

A look of subtle realization pulls over her face and her eyes soften.

"Oh muchachita." Lifting her hand, she rubs my my back.

His mother never truly gave a crap about him. He's felt guilty for going against her in court and not helping her. He caught her buying drugs. He grew up with obvious depression and anxiety. First time he ever cut himself he was eleven. He's been dealing with shitty people and bullies his whole life. He lived for three years in Brazil with his dad. His goddamn dad sucks too and never gave a true shit about him either; leaving him and Karine to take care of themselves. His grandmother became his guardian. He started selling drugs when he was thirteen. He was sexually assaulted at thirteen. All he's felt for the past few years has been shame, desolate, and worthlessness.

A small cry leaves my lips as everything I read hits me all over again.

Ma pulls me into her as she kneels on the floor next to me.

"Ma I want him home so bad," I croak out as I keep my arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

Her lips press against the side of my head. "I know. I know. Soon my love, soon."

She sends me off to my bathroom to go shower and clean myself up.

After turning on the shower, I shred off my clothes that I accidentally fell asleep in, and with growing goosebumps I step into the warm running water.