♪ How much can a heart take - Lucky Daye and Yebba ♪
One, two, three. Three thousand dollars. That's all I have to my name. Pathetic, I know, but I'm trying; I've been trying for a couple of years now, on my own. But what do you expect when you leave a 16-year-old girl to fend for herself.
Fuck them, fuck my parents; this is all their fault. They just decided to abandon me because they couldn't handle me. Yeah, I know I'm irresponsible and a handful, but they were supposed to help me through that, not kick me out. Well, it was more so us fighting and then me leaving, but they didn't stop me and never spoke to me after that like they didn't care. And it hurts even more because my Father and I were so close before we drifted apart. I can't pretend I don't miss them now and then. But it's been three years now, and I'm over it-ish. I'm a grown-ass woman now, I'm 19, and it'll be a cold day in hell before I call them to ask for help even though I desperately need it. Living on my own and desperately trying to make ends might was a drastic change from when I was living under my parents, we were pretty well off, seeing as both my parents were successful lawyers. I aspired to be like them and I could always reach out when I needed help, but that has changed now. They probably wouldn't answer anyway; they have a knack for ignoring their problems.
I got up from the spot on my bedroom floor where I took out all the money left in my little box—many questions running through my head.
What do I do now?
Who do I call?
Where do I go?
Am I ever going to get out of this?
Can I still get my degree?
"Ah, Mi Vida apesta," I sigh. (my life sucks.)
Because it's only a matter of days before I lose my apartment, Harold has been friendly enough to let me pay a couple of hundred dollars below my fixed rent for helping him with some tasks, but that's only helped a little. He doesn't own the building, only manages it, and the owners are fed up with my broke ass. And it doesn't help that the rent was recently increased; I was barely keeping up before, there's no hope now.
I grab my phone, deciding to drown my indignation with some music; I connect it to my Bluetooth speaker. Lucky Daye's sultry voice took the shape of a warm, comfortable blanket enveloping my being. How might I say it? Music causes me to forget my circumstances. It transports me into a state which isn't my own. It makes me feel what I usually don't in real life. It always seems to create a place of solace when my life is being uprooted, grabbed by the balls, chucked about, and dragged through the muds of sorrow and fucking despair. But I'm good, or I will be.
"Shit," I said, looking at my bedside clock, soon I might not even have a bedside.
Jesus, snap out of it, V, the way I'm heading, I might end up being this cloud of darkness hovering over everyone I meet. I have got to stop pitying myself. I quickly head towards my bathroom with my speaker in hand to take a quick shower because I'm on a fast track to being late for work.
I take off my tank top, throwing it behind me blindly while fondling with my Jean button. Once I'm entirely naked, I put my curly brown hair in a high bun, more like I tried and failed multiple times because, as my natural hair constantly reminded me, it's going to do whatever the fuck it wants to do, and I can't tame it. So I decided to shower with my hair out. I also made a mental note to straighten my hair when I have the time, not because I hate my natural hair; quite the contrary, I just want to change it up a bit. I step into the shower, steam surrounding me, hoping and praying my distress washes off my body along with the beads of warm water hitting me. I noticed the light stubble of hair on my leg and sighed loudly. I need to shave; better yet, I need to wax. I also made a mental note to do that after work tomorrow.
Once I was done, I moved to step out, and the moment my feet landed on the cream-coloured walnut tiles of the bathroom floor, an Idea hit. I wasn't entirely out of luck, I still had hope.
There are times misfortune comes, and afterward, you hold on to perceive what the universe and you can make of it, how you can make something good happen from something so terrible. Then, you can either sit and cry or grab life by the balls and let it know who is in control. I rushed out of the bathroom, catching myself before my face connected with the ground, towards my phone, which was currently on the third song of my shower playlist. I picked it up from my bed, contemplating if I should do what I was about to do. I didn't particularly appreciate burdening people with my problems, but this was someone I could go to with any situation, and he'd miraculously always have a solution.
Tapping on my phone frantically, I pulled up his contact and sent the message, anxiously biting my bottom lip.
SOS
I threw my phone back onto the bed and strolled to my closet to find clothes to wear. I finally settled on a pair of black denim shorts and a red cropped top.
I raised softly curved arms over my head in an attempt to guide the maroon fabric down my torso. But, unfortunately, the red top stuck to my person, outlining every crevice of my being. I pivoted abruptly and dashed towards the bed in the middle of my room upon hearing the sound of a message being received. This was my last hope. But I know he always comes through for me.
Where and when? The message said.
I texted back immediately—Murray's diner, at 12:30.
I had prayed multiple times. I never not prayed, but this time I asked forgiveness for things I usually wouldn't. Anything to get me out of this predicament because I reasoned that perhaps all the bad shit- sorry, things, all the bad things I've done is what hindered good things from happening to me. I asked Dios to forgive me for calling that old lady who cut the line at the Walmart a Puta. And for thinking dirty thoughts about my neighbour, Mike; however, once I walked into my kitchen, I imagined him taking me on the counter. I quickly realized I had and would continue to sin more times than I could ask for forgiveness.
"Ah Dios mío."
I grabbed my phone and headed towards the kitchen for a quick snack. I made a bee-line to the refrigerator when I stopped. What the fuck is the point anyway? All I had in there was ice, expired milk, and some other shit that'll probably make me cry. I decided to stop at Jimmies, to get a burrito on my way to work.
Walking out of the kitchen, I headed towards the front door, stopping in front of the circular mirror hanging on the wall. I took in my appearance, and I looked visibly tired; I mean, I was, that doesn't mean I want to look like it.
My usually vibrant dark brown skin had lost its glow, and my typically bright brown eyes were dull; I noticed eye bags forming. I sighed, running my hands over my face. Then proceeded to scold myself for doing that. I didn't like touching my face to avoid breakouts. To prevent myself from staring into the mirror for hours on end, I slipped on my vans in a rush. I grabbed my keys and turned off the lights before stepping out the door.
I spun around quickly when I heard footsteps behind me, only to slam into someone's chest.
Oh, Dios mío, Hard, muscular, defined chest belonging to none other than the man standing in the way of my blossoming relationship with God, Mike.
The dirty thoughts came crashing like waves in my mind once again as I strained my neck to look at his chiseled, angular face, skin lightly sprinkled with freckles across his cheek and roman nose. He had a kind face, and his hair was cut short with a fade at the sides. He wore a black baggy Nike shirt, grey sweatpants, and sneakers. He looked comfortable but also fucking hot as usual.
He was saying something, multiple things. His lips were moving, but I did not register a single word, nor did I care to. I was lost in my imagination.
"Val!"
"Valencia?"
"Val, are you ok?" He tilted his head to the side and furrowed his eyebrows.
Snapping out of my haze, I gathered myself quickly.
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" I feigned concern while struggling to insert the key to my door in the keyhole. After successfully locking my apartment door, I turned around to face him fully; I looked anywhere but his face. I'm typically not shy; in fact, I'm never shy, but I just embarrassed myself by visibly eye-fucking him a second ago, so...
"Oh Ok, good," he smiled. "Um, I ran into Harold while coming up, and he asked me to give this to you." He held his large hand out with a letter in it.
I already knew what it was before I even read it. I could've sworn I had a few more days. My face visibly fell as I reached out to grasp the white, rectangular envelope in his hand. He noticed this.
"Hey," His voice softened. He steps in closer, putting his hand on my shoulder and leaning down to look me in the eye. "What's wrong?" He asked concern etched on his face. If it weren't for my situation right now, I would've melted from having his hand on any part of my body.
I was still gazing at the letter that rendered me homeless.....again. It took a few seconds before I responded. "Uh, nothing, I've just been feeling a little under the weather; it's been bringing my spirits down." A tight-lipped smile found its way on my face, and I tried to hold the tears back, not that I even had to try. With the number of times I've cried this week, I probably have no tears left to cry.
"Sorry, but I have to leave now, or I'm going to be late for work." I sniffed, stuffing the letter into my denim jacket pocket, and swiftly moved past him, walking away quickly before he could even reply. "I'll see you around," I said as I left without turning back.
********
7:45 pm.
I had made it to the Hotel I bartend at, Atlas, with fifteen minutes to spare.
I stood in front of the door for the staff; behind the building, the corners had just about disappeared into the shadows. A thin layer of clouds masked the full moon, filling the streets with a blue tint. I sighed, taking in the velvety darkness. Sometimes beneath the noble starry night, I liked to observe the beauty of the moon as she graces earth's sky to glow for all.
If I could, I would stay out all night in the friendly blackness that allows my eyes to rest and let my dreams take center stage. I wish I could forget all my problems.
Fuck. I wish I didn't have them in the first fucking place. I walked over to the trash can by the giant wall cutting off access to the building from the other side and disposed of my burrito wrapper. Walking towards the door, I dragged my feet, dreading having to work.
Pulling the metal door open, I strode in quietly and was greeted by Mark, my boss/manager/ex-ish. I mean, we messed around a little, and I know fucking your boss isn't a good idea, but he was cute and friendly, and I could be a horny bitch sometimes. It wasn't anything serious, for me at least, and I decided to break it off because I didn't want to be that girl who was fucking her boss. But we're cool.
"Wow, it must be my lucky day; you actually came in early for your shift today!" I rolled my eyes at his statement, pushing past him to gain access to the lockers. He trailed behind.
"Well, hello to you too; my day was good, thanks for asking." I said as I opened my locker to retrieve my uniform before pulling my shirt over my shoulders. A slight shiver went through me due to my bare skin being exposed.
Mark chuckled before leaning on the lockers beside mine, his face right next to my locker door with a stupid smirk on his face. His blonde hair fell onto his face, and he took that opportunity to run his hands through his hair, pushing it back. I rolled my eyes and adjusted my bra. "Hello Valencia, how was your day?" He smiled.
"Kinda shitty, not gonna lie, but honestly, I don't wanna talk about it." He nodded as I threw my white button-up uniform shirt over my shoulder and buttoned it up quickly. I took off my shoes to replace them with those I wore when working on the main floor.
"Hey, I also wanted to ask for a favor," I spoke up after a few seconds and looked up to face him from tucking my shirt into my pants.
"Anything for you" he pushed himself from the lockers and made his way through the double doors that led to the bar. I followed behind him while simultaneously tying my hair in a low ponytail and maneuvering through the six other workers stationed at the bar.
"I was wondering if I could get off early today; it's an emergency."
"How early and how emergent is this emergency?" He stopped to face me.
"Um, around 12:15, and I've already got a handle on it; you don't need to worry." I smiled.
"Ok fine." He started, "And hey," he stepped in closer. "You know if you need help with anything, all you need to do is ask, right?" He reassured me.
"I know, Gracias, Eres el mejor." I hugged him. (You're the best)
"Yeah Yeah, get to work now; the patrons are already pouring in." He rolled his eyes, prying me off his body.
I gave him a goofy smile before finding my way behind the bar and rolling up my sleeves.
************
I checked my phone for what felt like the hundredth time now. It was 12:35 am, and I sat alone in Murray's, a 24-hour retro diner. From the '50s jukebox to the vintage bar stools and classic green, red and orange colors, you'll be transported back in time. I shifted in my seat, the exposed part of my thighs plastered to the squeaky vinyl seat, as I waited for him.
I was playing with the striped straw from my almost finished milkshake when I heard the bell atop the door jingle. I shot up and ran to envelop him in a hug.
Hermano Meyer.
"Marco," I tried to wrap my arm around his sizeable 6'4 body but quickly found it impossible. I nuzzled into his chest. He put his large arms around me. "I missed you," I exclaimed, looking up to meet his gaze.
Marco was like the older, overbearing, over-protective brother I never had. He had saved me from almost probably getting raped in an alleyway. I was freshly disowned and wandering about Los Angeles with a few of my belongings when I was approached by two men who proceeded to grab me. Marco just happened to be passing when he noticed and shot the perpetrators right in front of me. Even though I was severely shaken up from being attacked by two grown men and witnessing said men get shot, I knew from that moment I could trust Marco with my life. When he was made aware of my situation, he booked me a hotel room at Atlas, paying for the room and continuously doing so until I got my own source of income and was able to stand on my own two feet. He was the closest thing I had to a family after getting disowned.
"I know, if I didn't see me for months, I'd miss me too." He quipped and brought me out of my reverie.
"Don't flatter yourself, and you're still annoying as hell." It was the truth. Despite being stupendously reliable, he was still annoying when he wanted to be.
"Yet you requested my presence." A smirk spread across his face as he took a seat opposite me, the vinyl seat making a ruckus as it shifted under his large form. I giggled because it made it seem like he farted.
"Jesus, Marco, if you need to use the bathroom, just go, I don't need a preview." This made him frown deeply, which just made it all the funnier.
"You're a child" I smiled at his statement. "Now," his aura changed entirely, letting me know he was done joking. "SOS? What's the problem?" He inquired.
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could find the right words, my cheeks were damp with tears; I frantically wiped my face looking anywhere but at Marco. He took both my hands in a single hand and softly ran his knuckles over my cheeks to wipe my tears. I peered into his blue eyes and finally spoke.
"I tried, I really tried to get my life together without involving you, but the money I was getting from the bar wasn't enough, I even tried to take extra shifts, but that did nothing. Despite the fact I had convinced Harold to knock a couple of hundred dollars off my rent in exchange for doing some tasks for him, I was still lagging," I sniffed. "And it was already hard enough paying the rent, but then the landlords decided to raise the rent because they had to match market rates. And I don't even know what the fuck that means." I cried harder, burying my face in my hands to hopefully drown out my hysterical sobs.
"So you don't have a place to stay?" I nodded.
"That's what you're making a fuss about?" He scoffed, leaning back into his chair folding his arms over his chest. I lifted my head from my hand, mouth slightly agape. What the fuck is wrong with this man, I just told him I'm homeless, and he says I shouldn't be making a fuss about it, the audacity, the nerve, the gumption!
"Shit, my bad, I forgot to jump for joy, come on; let's celebrate my ass being homeless now," I deadpanned, with my mascara still tuning down my face. I lifted my now empty milkshake glass. "To quite literally belonging to the streets."
"I always did tell you that" he laughed at his joke, and I laughed too, but not at his joke; I laughed because someone's about to get popped. But I'll calm myself for now, till after he helps me out.
"First of all, If I belong to the streets? you might as well be the golden state freeway." I said, pointing at him, this causing him to laugh. "And secondly, this isn't the time to determine the winner of the hoe-lympics."
"Look, it's no big deal; you'll come stay with me till we figure something out." I was going to protest, but beggars can't be choosers. So I resorted to figuring out how that'll work. Because I am very aware of his living situation, he lives in his boss's mansion along with all the other men he works with; after all, he's in some mafia group of some sorts; I kinda figured that out for myself after meeting some of the men he worked with and eavesdropping on some of his conversations on the phone. I know it's not ideal; I can already feel the suffocating amount of testosterone I'm going to have to endure. He could see the hesitation on my face.
"You know I'm not gonna take no for an answer, plus......" he leaned in closer as if to tell me a secret. "You get to see Boss almost every day." Marco knew I had the biggest crush on his boss, Damien Emilio Vicente, who, I might add, pays me absolutely no mind. Like, I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know my name. I've only met him twice, but I have already imagined what our babies would look like. I'm not crazy; if you saw him, you'd understand. And I'm also not dumb. I know anything happening between us is absolutely unrealistic; I mean, he looks like he has models just lining up for him. So I settled on the next best, more realistic option, Mike. However, I couldn't pass up on the opportunity to see Damien every day, even if it's to marvel from afar.
"You know now that I think about it, a new environment would do me good." My smile widened. "But wouldn't you need to ask him first?" I continued.
"Don't worry; he wouldn't give a shit that you're there, as usual." He casually said, turning to look at the jukebox beside the gumball machine by the wall.
"Jódete" I smacked him with my menu, and both laughed, but quieted down. (Fuck you)
"We're gonna figure everything out, ok?" He looked straight at me, his eyes boring into mine as if he were searching for any shred of doubt in there so he could eradicate it. I knew I could come to him, and one day I hope, no scratch that, I know I'm going to pay him back for his kindness.
"I know; I trust you."
*******
Whew, Chile, imagine getting disowned, almost raped, and witnessing a murder all in the span of 24 hours. At least it led her to meet her big brother.
I have so many ideas for this book, and I'm hoping you stick around to read them.
Also, I just binge-watched my favorite show for the fourth time, Doom patrol. If you haven't seen it, you need to check it out; it's by HBO, so it's good. Anyways I binge-watched that, and I now have nothing to watch. If y'all have any recommendations, please comment on them, anything at all (mini-series, anime, old movies, documentaries, k-drama, reality tv). I'll check em out.
THANK YOU FOR READING. COMMENT, VOTE AND SHARE PLEASE.
*KISSES*