Boycotting Blue

27/Lou

Lou

Queen of Bad Decisions’ should’ve been tattooed for my forehead.

    All because I didn’t want to walk by Juan’s house. I could’ve sprinted past it like a madman. Hell, I would’ve rather had been though crazy than to be… here.

   The only thing separating the rich and the poor down here in Napoleon was a pair of railroad tracks at the edge of Mr. Edmond’s yard. From right at the edge of his yard, you could see four homeless people who dared not cross the tracks into our “gated” community. Everybody knew what would happen if you crossed the track—you would get robbed, or stabbed, or raped, or something bad. But no one ever came out unharmed. You could only cross the track and hope and pray you got in and out unscathed. Which was why I had always stuck to my side of Napoleon.

   Except now I was feeling quite rebellious, and I was still angry.

   Sighing, I trudged across the track against my better judgment. I hadn’t stopped to grab a jacket. Or my phone. Or anything. Basically, the only thing I had with me were the clothes on my back. And Jesus. I hoped He wasn’t too far behind me.

   As soon as I was on the other side, it seemed like I heard a soft whoosh behind me.

   Everything in me screamed to go back, cuddle within the confinements of my favorite blanket, and, most importantly, leave. But I kept on, ignoring my good senses.

  “It’s Mom’s fault I’m here anyway,” I muttered to myself, sticking my hands into the pockets of my sweatpants. I’d need another shower when I got home.

  I was 98% sure I looked like a crazy person, talking to myself and walking in the cold. Oh well. People left crazy people alone.

   Now that I had nothing to distract me, I could think.

   And the more I thought, the faster I walked, my footsteps carrying me further into the more dangerous part of Napoleon.

   She was my rapist’s child.

   I clenched my fist together. That was no reason to hate Daisy. She hadn’t been alive to do it. Daisy had had no part in the rape except having the bad luck to be the sperm that made it. How was that her fault? My sister didn’t deserve all the shit Mom had given her. She had deserved two parents that loved her and cared for her. Not a mom who hated her and a step-dad that was rarely present.

   And if Mom had been raped, she knew what it was like. She knew how horrible it was, and she hadn’t believed my sister. Or tried to care for her. Was that her revenge on Daisy? A way to show how much she hated her? Mom can’t be that mean, I thought, but her words came running back to my mind, desperate to prove me wrong.

   Daisy wasn’t strong enough to handle what happened to her. I was sure she could’ve been, had she had someone to help her. I was fifteen at the time, not old enough to do much but sit there and hold her. And being put on that stand with those lies behind told hadn’t helped. People yelling out “slut” every time she passed had only worsened the affect. Mom was wrong. Daisy was strong enough to handle being raped—it was everything else that had worn her down.

    Tears had sprung to my eyes. I wiped them away, not wanting to cry.

    I glanced up, realizing I was at the edge of the town. Nothing else was in front of me except trees and a bayou. I spun around on my toes, running into someone. “Whoa!” I said, stumbling backwards and landing on my butt. I looked up, but instead of seeing who I had run into, a bag was placed over my head.

   Okay, don’t panic.

   A shrill scream escaped my mouth, despite my inner monologue to not panic.

   Never mind, panic if you want to.

    Heart pounding, I flailed out, catching someone in the nose. Whoever it was swore, grabbing my hands. As if it was going to be that easy.

   I swung my feet, moving and kicking until my hands were released. I tried to remove the bag, but whoever it was kicked me in the back.

   “OW!” I squeaked out, arching my back against the ground. A few swear words left my mouth as I curled into a ball, holding my back. Tears leaked out the corners of my eyes and down my face. Everything was black. “What do you want from me?”

    I didn’t receive an answer.

    Instead, something hard was pressed against my forehead. “If you try to move or fight back, I will put this bullet through your head.”

   I didn’t recognize the voice. Terror seized my heart. “Okay,” I agreed calmly, keeping still.

   Hands gripped me, pulling me up. The weight remained on my forehead. Someone patted me down. “She ain’t got nothin’ to her. No phone, no money, nada.”

   Good. Then please let me go.

   “Good,” the first voice said. “Let’s go.”

    I was carried for a few steps before I heard, “Boss, she’s makin’ too much noise carryin’ on like that.” I hadn’t even realized I was heaving my chest in hard sobs until he mentioned it.

   “Knock her out.” The answer was flippant, unaffected.

    “No—“ I started to say, but something came hard against the back of my head, and the last thing I remember was spinning.