Pain, Love & Despair

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I feel so guilty for what I did. I mean, what was I going to do when I saw T? Not tell him? I couldn’t! I can’t look into T’s rich brown eyes, seeing the burning passion and emotion in them, and lie to him. It just wouldn’t work.

But how would he know, anyway? It’s not like he’d come to me and ask, “Did you kiss that Spanish boy?”

Which I didn’t—Raquan kissed me, not the other way around.

I chanted in my head for the entire day: Don’t tell T, don’t tell T…

I’ve learned by now, though, that I always have a hard time listening to myself.

“T, I have to tell you something.” I say to him the next day. He’s sitting on a couch in a mansion-house in Queens. We got tired of being in Miami. It was hard to say goodbye to Dana and Travie, but I knew I’d be seeing more of them soon.

“Ga’head.” He says. I sigh. The same chant is still going through my head: Do. Not. Tell. T. 

I’m about to tell him, to apologize endlessly and beg for his forgiveness. But then I feel it—my stomach lurches itself around and around; the pain is almost unbearable. I squeeze the back of the couch, trying to stay focused.

Yesterday this happened. And you asked him if he protected. And he just denied it.

When this thought comes into my head, I don’t feel guilty anymore. I realize that I’m actually supposed to be angry at T right now. I look him up and down, envying how relaxed he looks while I’m going through this pain.

“You know what, T? Just forget it. Forget I ever said anything.” I say and storm off, not looking behind me. I can tell he’s confused though, because he doesn’t call to me. But I don’t care. I don’t feel like talking to him.

I march up the stairs and enter a random bedroom. The room is narrow and tiny, with off-white walls and two windows on the left wider wall. The windows don’t have curtains, but they have blinds. I close the blinds and lie down on the low, dilapidated bed.

I’m in a fetal position, holding my stomach and feeling it move beneath my fingers. I can’t be pregnant, right? I think. But then I shake my head—these are not pregnancy feelings; I’d feel a different kind of movement if I was pregnant.

But then what is it?

I sneeze; the room has many particles of dust floating around in it. I try my best to ignore my stomach, but the only thing I can think of besides that is Raquan.

This is the mental note I glue to my brain: It never happened. Forget about it. Act like it was simply a dream; and even if it was a dream, get that dream out of your head. Put it away in your pocket or something. Just bury it underground. This will be the last time you think about him or what you did, and you’ll never talk to him, think about him, or ask Keron about him again. If you ever see him again, punch him in the face and run away.

Surprisingly, it actually works. Because not only do I stop thinking about Raquan, but the pain in my stomach ceases and I end up falling asleep.

“Jaydi? Jaydi, wake up. Come on, get up.”

After a few more shakes to my shoulders, the person finally wakes me up. I sit up and rub my eyes; it takes a few seconds for everything to settle into sight and for me to remember where I am. The person that has woken me up is T.

He’s looking at me with a worried expression.

“What? I was just sleeping.” I say sharply. I’m still not on good terms with him.

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