The Appraisal

by Brielle Montgomery

  “Jayla.”

  Jayla didn’t turn, but she heard Melanie’s voice lift as she rose from the chair.

  “You shouldn’t blame yourself,” she said. “You know you would never do anything intentionally to hurt your sister.”

  “No, it’s never intentional to hurt someone,” Jayla admitted. “It’s always selfish.”

  “Jayla, you act like you’re the only one who can be selfish,” Melanie said. “We all can be selfish. Stop trying to make yourself out to be some evil, conniving bitch with no heart. You obviously care. Look at you now.”

  “Yeah, it’s easy to care when no one else cares about you.”

  “No, it’s easy to care when you’ve cared all along. Now it’s just more prevalent since you’ve lost everything, so there is nothing for you to be selfish with. There’s no attention on you.”

  Jayla took a seat. Her sigh revealed her accumulated exhaustion. “I don’t know what to do now,” she admitted, resting her head on the back of the couch. “I don’t know where to go from here.”

  “How about up?” Melanie’s suggestion was light but hopeful. “They say it’s good to hit rock bottom, because you have no choice but to go up. Start living again.”

  Jayla thought again about how she’d pondered suicide the night before. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Let me ask you something. Do you play games?”

  Jayla frowned and looked at Melanie for what seemed like the first time since the session started. “Excuse me?”

  “Games. Scrabble, Taboo, Charades . . .”

  “Um, no, not really.”

  “Well, I’ll use this analogy, anyway. They’re all pretty similar when it comes to setbacks. If you play Sorry! another player can knock you back to the beginning. If you play Chutes and Ladders, luck can have you land on a ladder to take you to the next level, or a chute to knock you lower. Hell, if you play Monopoly, the lucky roll of the dice or taking a chance can be the difference between passing Go and collecting two hundred dollars or going to jail.”

  Jayla frowned and watched Melanie laugh.

  “I mean that in life,” she continued, “you’re going to have setbacks. You’re going to have times when decisions or other people or just luck will knock you on your ass. It may seem like you’re starting over, but the advantage this time is you’re starting over as a new person. You’ve learned from your mistakes, and you’ve been through hell and back, it seems. But that has made you a better player. Now, do you want to keep wasting time by regretting the life you had? Or do you want to finally start living the life you want?”

  Jayla finished up her session, and when she stepped outside an hour later, the blinding sun had her squinting at the downtown traffic. One day at a time, she murmured.

  She caught sight of a familiar face and watched as Heather tossed her blond hair behind her shoulder and disappeared into a store. She cursed herself for how she had treated her. Hell, how she had treated everyone. She hadn’t been able to relate fully, but after losing everybody, even Derrick, Jayla could see how Heather had lapsed into desperate pleading and groveling in the street. If karma was really a bitch, Jayla had been raped by that shit ten times over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  Jayla placed her toiletries in one of the smaller tote bags as Patricia leaned against the bathroom counter, looking on.

  “You can stay as long as you want,” she continued. “You know that, right?”

  “Yes, I know,” Jayla answered. “But I’ve been here nearly a month. Plus, your friend in Chicago wants me to fly out next week for the interview. So I need to get home and start getting myself together.” Not only was she tired of living out of suitcases, but she was also tired of her having her life on pause. She crossed into the bedroom and placed the tote bag next to the two matching suitcases in the set.

  “At least stay for dinner,” Patricia suggested, absently brushing at invisible lint on the comforter.

  “Aw, is that Patricia-ese for you don’t want me to go?”

  Patricia laughed. “I enjoyed having you around,” she said. “I must admit, it does get lonely sometimes. And when you get the job in Chicago, then I will really have nobody.” She attempted to make the confession out to be a joke, but Jayla knew better.

  “Hey. You know I will still come visit and we’ll keep in touch.” Jayla grabbed Patricia’s hand, placed it to her cheek with a smile. “You know I’ve just got to do what’s best for me. Isn’t that what you’ve been saying?”

  Patricia nodded and feigned a smile as she tossed one of Jayla’s bags on her shoulder.

  Jayla felt better. Much better than she had in what seemed like forever. Of course, she still battled the pain, the loneliness, and the guilt, but only time could reel in her numerous emotions—well, time and meds, but she preferred not to bother with the latter. So she took each day one at a time.

  They headed outside with Jayla’s luggage and stowed in the trunk of her truck.

  “You’ll call me to let me know you made it home?” Patricia said as Jayla slid into her truck.

  “Please, don’t worry about me, Patricia,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  Patricia sighed and patted Jayla’s leg. “I know you are. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll call you,” Jayla said with a smile. “And thank you. For everything.” Patricia’s kiss on her cheek was reassuring. She shut the door, waved once more, and headed down the driveway.

  Just as she was getting home, the storm started. The rainfall was a steady stream that dampened her clothes and hair, so she hurriedly slipped her tote on her shoulder with her purse and pulled out her rolling suitcases. She wheeled everything to the front door and, after fumbling with the keys for a moment, managed to get it open and stumbled into the living room. After knocking the door closed behind her with her foot, she locked it and peeled the slick shirt from her body. Soaked. She’d worry about her suitcases tomorrow. For now, she needed a bath and maybe some hot chocolate or something.

  After tossing her wet clothes in the laundry room as she passed by it, Jayla crossed to the bathroom to take a quick shower. She found some shorts and a T-shirt and attempted to towel dry her hair as best she could. By the time she was done, the rain was coming down in sheets. Slightly unnerved by the silence, she flicked on the TV and allowed the noise to fill the room.

  She headed to the kitchen and pulled the hot chocolate from the pantry. Boxes still were scattered about the house. Whether it was hope or a lack of care, she hadn’t bothered to unpack them. Now, with the strong possibility of relocation in her future, she was glad she hadn’t.

  The doorbell rang and had Jayla spilling a little of the water in the pot as she carried it to the stove. Uncertainty creased her brow as she dried her hands on the dish towel. She crossed back into the living room, where the televised laughter echoed off the walls. Her hand reached for the switch to the porch light as she angled her face to peer through the peephole. Surprised recognition had her leaning back, a deep-set frown on her face. What was she doing here? Then anger had her unlocking the door and pulling it open, observing the figure illuminated by the shadowy glow of the porch light.

  “You’ve got some fucking nerve, showing up to my house after—” Jayla froze when the woman lifted the gun. A split second later, the barrel stared her right in the face.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “Get back inside, bitch.” Lauren’s menacing voice was ripe with hatred.

  Jayla felt the fear suck the color from her cheeks. Tracy’s sister. The woman who had accompanied Tracy during several evaluations. The woman who was with her sister when Jayla had handed over the tape. Never would she have expected the woman to resort to something like this.

  Jayla lifted her hands and stepped back, nearly tripping over the suitcases she had left there just a half hour earlier. Lauren kept the gun in place as she walked in and threw her wet umbrella near the TV. She didn’t shift he
r eyes or the gun as she reached behind her and shut the door.

  Jayla heard the lock echo as it clicked into place, and her heart stopped. She could hear her breath roaring so loud, it was a wonder Lauren didn’t hear it. She swallowed and concentrated on steadying herself.

  “Lauren, what are you doing?”

  “Your bedroom,” she barked, her voice rising, as she motioned with the gun. “Don’t fucking talk to me. Don’t open your fucking mouth, you nasty-ass bitch. Get your ass into your bedroom before I kill you right here.”

  Fear had Jayla inching backward. She couldn’t take her eyes from the gun, as if she would see the bullet in the chamber when it was released. She backed into her bedroom, as instructed. With one hand, her eyes still on Jayla, Lauren shimmied out of the bookbag that was on her back. She tossed it on the bed.

  “Open it,” she said, her voice deadly calm.

  Jayla moved in slow motion as she fumbled for the zipper to unzip the bag.

  “Handcuffs,” Lauren demanded.

  Jayla swallowed. Her heart pounded so quickly, it didn’t feel like it was beating at all. She hated having to take her eyes off Lauren, but the way the woman stared, her finger unwavering on the trigger, Jayla knew she had better oblige. So she snatched her eyes from the gun and ignored the panic as she felt around inside the bag for handcuffs.

  Her fingers brushed rope, the blade of a knife nicked her knuckle, and she felt the slick surface of a vibrator. The contents of the bookbag unnerved her, and her horror must have been evident on her face, because to her surprise, Lauren laughed.

  “I wasn’t sure what to do with you,” she said, as if the explanation would help. “So I just came prepared.”

  Jayla shut her eyes, pushed aside some small tubs of some kind of cream, felt the metal of the cuffs, and pulled them out.

  “Put them on your ankles,” Lauren barked.

  With each order, Jayla felt like she was spiraling even further down in this madness, and she wasn’t sure if she would make it out alive. Panic had her mind racing. She needed to find a way out. She eased down onto the bed and leaned over to do as she was told.

  The butt of the gun rammed into her shoulder, and Jayla toppled over onto the floor, a stinging pain shooting up her neck and down the length of her arm. Jayla shut her eyes against the throbbing pain in her shoulder, grimaced when she heard the subsequent laughter.

  “Whew. I feel a lot better,” Lauren sighed. “I’ve been wanting to do that since you gave my sister that tape of you fucking Marcus.”

  More shooting pain, so raw that Jayla couldn’t help the tears that stung her eyes. “She asked me to,” she managed to say between gritted teeth. She heard Lauren smack her lips. Jayla was confused.

  “Yeah, but you’re the nasty bitch who did it,” she shot back. “What the hell does that say about you? Going around fucking people’s men for money? You like that disgusting shit, don’t you? You get off on that kind of shit?”

  Lauren leaned over to push the gun against Jayla’s temple. “Answer me, bitch.” Her voice was ragged. The alcohol on her breath was strong as she hunched an inch away from Jayla’s ear. “Do you get off on that kind of shit?”

  “I don’t do it anymore,” Jayla answered, nearly whispering, as she sat there. Time seemed to stand still.

  “Oh, I guess that’s supposed to make me feel better.” Lauren used the force of the gun to push Jayla’s head against the floor. It felt like she was trying to push the barrel through her skull. “Oh, so I guess I’m just supposed to forget the nasty-ass shit that went down. ‘Baby, don’t you want to sample it first?’” she said, throwing Jayla’s own words in her face. “‘Yes, yes, Marcus. Eat your pussy, baby.’” She lifted the barrel and punched Jayla in the temple with the butt of the gun. Jayla gasped at the impact, the pain like a dagger through one side of her head to the other.

  She heard Lauren move away, heard her rummaging through the bookbag. Then silence. Then the click and whir of a tape recorder. Jayla squeezed her eyes as her own moans filled the air.

  Yes, please fuck me, Marcus. Her own voice sounded unfamiliar to her.

  Oh yeah, baby, I’m gone fuck the shit outa you. Marcus’s jagged breathing followed. Then the squeaking of the seats and muffled movement.

  Baby, don’t you want to sample it first? Yes, yes. Eat that shit, Marcus. Eat your pussy, baby.

  Lauren clicked off the recorder, and a mix of disgust and anger had her heaving it at the wall.

  Jayla jumped when she heard it crash against the plaster right above her head before the pieces fell on the floor beside her.

  “You don’t know how deep that shit hurt to hear that,” Lauren said. “Do you know how many times she made me listen to that shit? How many times I wanted to kill you after playing it? I know the fucking words by heart.”

  Lauren was on a drunken rant, and the way she paced back and forth, it looked like something else was in her system too. Drugs maybe? “Marcus is mine.” She whispered the words, as if confirming this with herself. “Do you hear me? Mine.” And there it was. Jayla caught the quick scratch and jolt of her fingers as she tried to restrain herself. Drugs, through and through. The bitch was on some other type of shit.

  “Get on the bed.” Lauren motioned with the gun.

  Jayla ignored the pain and managed to open her eyes. She struggled to rise. Her legs were weak, so she pulled herself up with her arms and crawled across the mattress, tears flooding her eyes.

  Lauren was pacing, nearly stomping her feet with each stride, the barrel of the gun pressed against her open palm. “I can almost see exactly what happens,” she went on. “He eats your pussy. You ride his dick. Oh.” Lauren turned, amused by her next thought, and pointed the gun in Jayla’s direction again. “And I can tell you faked it. You’re a terrible actress.” The laugh was psychotic. “But I understand. I’ve had to do that too. As much as I love that man, he can’t fuck for shit.” Lauren waited, as if she really expected a response. She just wanted it to be clear to Jayla that she was his number one mistress.

  Shit. Jayla shut her eyes as the realization hit. “You’re having an affair with Marcus,” she whispered.

  Lauren half shrugged, like it was no big deal she was fucking her sister’s man.

  “Tracy doesn’t know what to do with him,” she said. “Doesn’t know how to please him like I do. He loves me, but the bastard insists on staying with her, like she’s some damn body. So yeah, I fucked him. Good. Often. Hell, I’d sleep over and sneak a quick fuck while she was in the shower or cooking dinner.” Lauren laughed again and had Jayla cringing. She was obviously enjoying this confession. Jayla struggled to sit up against the headboard. Her movements were slow, but she had to get away from this bitch. Lauren was crazy and was having no problem proving it.

  “Then she got suspicious,” Lauren continued. “Confided in me that she thought he was sleeping around. I tried to reason with her. ‘He’s a good man. He would never do that to you . . .’ Shit like that. But she wasn’t hearing it. So she found you. The Heartbreaker. You would be the one to prove once and for all what kind of man Marcus was. You got a taste of my man, and that shit will never happen again. For your information, he is mine, and I just share him with Tracy.”

  Lauren sighed and collapsed on the bed, holding the gun between both hands. Jayla saw the tears streaming down her cheeks and started to panic once more. It was obvious this girl had some sort of mental issue, which made her even more unstable. And dangerous.

  “It hurt m-me.” Lauren’s voice hitched with the flood of emotions. “The longer she stayed with him, the more it hurt. It hurt me that asshole chose her over me. I threatened to tell her everything, so he said he would leave her. He promised he would. But lo and behold, she gets pregnant.”

  Lauren’s eyes were downcast, so Jayla glanced around the room. Looked for a weapon, a phone. Something.

  “But after you, he wasn’t the same. Started cheating on me. Can you believe it? He started cheating on me a
nd Tracy. Out sleeping with some nasty bitch.” She paused, and her eyes were accusatory as she looked at Jayla.

  “Lauren.” Jayla held up her hands again, so this crazy girl would believe her. She couldn’t believe she was tangled in this bullshit because of some sordid threesome between two sisters and the man they shared. “I’ve never had anything else to do with Marcus after that. I swear.”

  “That’s not the fucking point!” Lauren yelled. “The point is, you were Pandora. You opened the damn box.” Her rising temper had her getting to her feet, waving the gun for emphasis. “You were the bitch that brought that shit to him, and after that, he couldn’t leave it alone.” She turned, pointed the gun at Jayla once more. “Tracy came to you. She came to you weak and scared, knowing that asshole was a cheater, and what did you do? You took advantage. You put a price on her insecurity, her doubts, her fears, and you threw yourself at him to prove you really weren’t taking advantage of her.”

  The whirlwind had Jayla’s pain escalating. Now the crazy girl was concerned about her sister again? Even though she was sleeping with the woman’s man?

  “We joked about killing you.” Lauren’s sneer had Jayla shuddering. She spoke too casually, as if they were old friends catching up over coffee. She started to pace again, twirling the gun idly as she spoke. “We did. We joked, but I knew my sister would never try something so serious. She was always the weaker one between us. So, I said I would do it for her. Yeah, you fucked her over, but I felt just as betrayed. So I started looking for you. Started watching you. When he started cheating, I didn’t necessarily think it was you, but I wanted you for all the nasty-ass skanks he was out there cheating with. Started sending you the little notes and presents, because it was just fun to freak you out, honestly.” She shrugged.