“Thanks ma’am.” Anyway, I hastily put on the specs because I didn’t want the hag to stare, no matter how appealing my eyes seemed to her. She did, despite the sunglasses, without blinking or shutting her mouth. Bet she’d start drooling in no time. It was so freakin’ pathetic! I wanted to tell her to get lost. I raised my nose and tried to ignore her.
“She thinks you’re a boy, Alex, but you ain’t got a peepee,” Louis said in his goody-two-shoes kid voice. Then both twins started to giggle and I sighed.
Yes, I was aware I looked very much like a boy. From Jenny to the bullies, to my missing mom, to this old woman, everybody had volunteered the same observation within the last two weeks. I’d gotten mixed emotions each time somebody pointed it out. All my life I’d thought I enjoyed being a girl, yet this certainty had blurred lately. Being a girl was too complicated. Mom, for example. She kept dating guys and even moving in with them only to be ditched and start all over again with another guy. What for? Could that be called a life?
Makeup, fashion, flirting, boys and dating, the period—all that was way too complicated to deal with. Being a boy was easier. Clothes and fashion orbited far away from them. They only wore blue jeans and a tee, and most of them didn’t even bother to comb their hair. They never worried about girls, they just picked one, asked her for a date, and went back to their friends boasting how basic it’d been. Gossip was unknown to them—they didn’t even know the word ‘gossip’ existed.
I didn’t dislike being taken for a boy. Jenny hadn’t developed a crush on Clara, the hottest cheerleader of them all. Or on Sierra, the provocative, beach volleyball player ever in mini-shorts. No. She’d developed a crush on me, the tomboy.
After a while, the old woman stopped gawking at me and shut her mouth. A melancholic smile appeared on her face. Thank God. It sucked to have her staring at me with her pupils so enlarged. That was why I always wore dark sunglasses.
# # #
The rest of the day sucked. The twins took my dark sunglasses and I couldn’t find them. Being without them made me feel awkward and from time to time, the twins would stare at my eyes in reverie until I told them to get lost. Yago came home pissed from work and fussed all dinner long. He called me a bitch even when he asked me for the salt. It was pretty humiliating, but I silently endured. The twins behaved worse than ever, not willing to eat. They spilled their food, which amused their father rather than making him angry. Unbelievable! And my dark sunglasses remained missing.
Thank God, all that was over. Around ten in the evening, Yago locked himself in his room with a Budweiser six pack. Midnight found me in my berth and the twins snoring on the lower bed. An hour ago, I’d put on my blue shorts and a white tank top—pajamas were for li’l girls with Barbie dolls. Now, I spent my time trying to connect to the web using my cell phone, which was somewhat tricky because I needed somebody else’s Wi-Fi. A neighbor’s was powerful enough to reach our trailer, but it required a password. A while ago, I’d discovered he used combinations of his kids’ names as passwords so it was only matter of trying several times and being patient.
“Alexandra,” Yago called. Bet he wanted a pathetic slave to fetch another six-pack. That was not gonna happen.
Jenny hadn’t called me. No surprise, she’d said she couldn’t. The reason why I wanted to connect to the web was to check whether she’d sent me an email, or whether she’d posted anything on my Facebook wall. I was starving for news from her. Any news would have made my day.
“Alexandra, got a minute?” Yago again. I ignored him.
Mom hadn’t called either as if she’d disappeared from earth. No e-mails. No Facebook posts. Nothing. Whatever! If she didn’t care, neither did I. I didn’t need her. I had Jenny now, the girl of my dreams.
“Alexandra, are you there?”
I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut. A burning tear sprung out of each one, and I told to myself it was because of the dust. It hovered everywhere in that goddamn trailer park, irritating people’s eyes. Another reason to wear sunglasses even indoors. Happily, I’d found Mom’s in a drawer along with some other gadgets like her cell phone, fake eyelashes and boobs stuffing. Mom’s dark glasses were now safely tucked under my pillow.
“Alexandra, come, I need you.”
How freakin’ annoying! I jumped down from the bunk bed and my bare feet hit the worn out linoleum—they froze upon making contact. In three steps, I knocked at Yago’s door.
“Come in.” He was so drunk, he could barely pronounce his words.
I opened the door.
“Omigod!” I slammed the door closed. My face boiled. I released the doorknob like it was hot and backed off two steps, hugging myself. What on Earth had I just seen?
“It’s okay, darling. You can come in.”
Darling? I scowled. He’d never called me ‘darling’ before. I gulped. I’d just seen Yago lying on his bed, naked except for some tight red briefs. How should it be okay?
“Come in, baby,” he repeated from inside. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I just wanna talk to you. Don’t make me go out to look for you.”
For one moment, I imagined his humongous self in his mini-briefs after me. I shivered and decided it was better to play his game unless I wanted that image to become true. I opened the door.
Two candles barely lit the small bedroom, each on either bedside table. I’d been right the other day: seeing him almost naked was a most disgusting experience. Blonde hair covered him everywhere, he had a huge belly and even man-boobs. Hair stuck from under the mini briefs that made his thing appear bulky. Scary, to say the least.
“Come in and shut the door, Alexandra.”
I should have run away like hell, but I didn’t. Why? Because I couldn’t think straight and I was afraid. If I ran, I said to myself, I might find the door locked when I returned. So, the best thing to do was cooperate as long as he didn’t ask me to do something out of place. I entered, shut the door behind me and stuck my back to it. I wouldn’t go farther, I’ve already decided that.
“Did you call, Yago?”
I breathed in, but stopped. The fervent lavender-fragrant atmosphere made my eyes burn. Mom’s perfume bottle stood empty on one of the bedside tables.
“Come and sit here, baby.” His honeyed tone made my ears wince. Yago tapped the bed beside him. I gulped. It might not be a good idea. I shook my head. “Sweetheart, come here. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He tapped the sheets again.
Breathing was difficult. I glanced at the little window, but it was shut. Even the crack on the windowpane had been covered with a plastic bag, so the bedroom was as airtight as a panic room—since I was pretty much ready to panic, I might had arrived in the right place. I walked one step and sat on the bed’s corner—as far from him as possible—my hands on my lap and sitting very upright.
“Come closer, sweetheart.” He reached out, grabbed my hand and pulled me. I shook my head and bit my lip. Yago yanked me. “Come.”
I inched towards him until I sat where he wanted me. His skin shone as if he’d oiled himself for a suntan, which was disturbing on so many levels. I glanced back at the bedside table. Laura’s empty body oil bottle stood there too.
“Easy, you’re with good ‘ol Yago.” Each time he spoke, Yago reeked of alcohol. I tried to back off, yet his hand squeezed mine and I couldn’t move. “You know, Alexandra? I wish to apologize for being rude earlier. I didn’t mean it. Sorry.” He petted my hand, damping it with oil. The guy had to be extremely drunk to apologize, or else he wanted something. Neither one a good thing.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. My heartbeats throbbed in my brows and neck. I wiped my free hand on the bed sheets, then balled it up into a fist several times. “Can I leave?”
“You’ve just arrived, sweetheart. I wanna talk to you. Now that your dear Mommy is not with us, we must revisit our relationship.”
I raised my eyebrows. Did we have one?
“You’ve taken care of most of your mother’s house-chor
es and I appreciate it. However, there are some you’re neglecting.” I grimaced. What he was saying was unfair. I’d been in full slave mode during the last days doing my best. “Don’t worry about it, baby, it’s not your fault. Besides, we’ll catch up tonight.”
Yago placed my hand on his hairy, oily chest and took my fingers. With them, he stroked one of his coarse nipples, which hardened faster than any super glue. A bitter tang flooded my mouth.
“Can you feel my heart?” He pressed my hand. Of course I could, there was this one-million horse-power pump beating inside his chest. “It’s beating for you, baby.”
No way! My own heart missed four beats and I speedily withdrew my hand. The sole idea his heart was beating that hard for me was as repulsive as it was misplaced.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart. You’re with Daddy,” he sneered and took my hand back within his. He slurped from a beer can he picked up from the floor, wiping his mouth with his forearm.
“Do you know something?” He pointed a raised finger at me. “Sex with you is gonna be the most awesome experience ever. Wanna know why?”
Sex with me? The idea scared the hell out of me and my stomach sank. I shook my head super-fast, as if I were watching a high-speed tennis match. I had to bug out before breathing again, but I couldn’t because he kept my hand crushed in his.
“Don’t you wanna know why? Are you sure?”
No, no, no! I shook my head again, squeezing my eyes shut. When I opened them, he held the beer can and smirked.
“I’ll tell you anyway.” He dragged me close to him. “Sex with you is gonna be like having sex with a girl and a boy at the same time. Damn coolest experience on earth.”
My heart wanted to burst through my chest. Surely, Yago realized how my tank shirt flapped. He smirked, passed the tip of his tongue over his lips and fixed his gaze right on the tank shirt’s neckline. Saliva trickled down his mouth to his chin.
“You are so sexy.” He cupped my boob with a greasy, hot palm. “Practically no boobs… You’re not wearing a bra, are you?”
I wasn’t. His touch felt dirtier than—well I didn’t know—but this had to be the most wrongest thing in the world. I sprung and backed off, but I crashed after two steps against the little table on which the old, bulky TV stood. I couldn’t breathe. My hands shook. I clenched my fists several times at super speed. Omigod! This was not happening. I inhaled deep and tried to scream, yet no sound came out. I attempted over again, twice, and three times with no luck. I needed Jenny to knock Yago down as she’d done with Clara. I needed her badly and was trying to scream her name.
The effort sickened me. A bitter taste flooded my mouth. I retched.
“Are you okay, darling?” I couldn’t understand why Yago kept cajoling as if something nice was taking place.
“No, of course I’m not!”
The guy snorted and jumped off the bed. As his face tightened, he locked his eyes on me. “I’m getting tired of this game. Come here bitch! You’ll enjoy it like nothing before in your damned life and you’ll beg for more right away.”
Yago staggered with one arm extended towards me; with the other one he scratched his balls. I cringed and squatted under the TV table, curving my two arms over my head. “Go away, go away!”
“Come on bitch. Take your clothes off!” Yago clutched my arm and tugged at me. I hit my head with the TV table when he hauled me to my feet.
I screamed, jerked myself free and tried to run, but he grabbed my arm again and tugged at me once more. Then he stumbled. Something on the floor made him trip and he fell backwards like he’d just stepped on a banana. He hit his head against the bedside table and remained stunned for some seconds. I turned to run but crashed against the TV table behind me.
“Alexandra, give a hand.”
An idea flashed in my mind. I grabbed the TV and raised it over my head. Don’t ask me where I found the strength to lift it up, I just did it. Next, I hurled it at Yago as hard as I could.
The TV hit his face and exploded like a nuclear bomb. Shards flew everywhere. I covered my face with my arms. His face was gone. All I could see was blood, a lot of blood and reddish, pulpy flesh instead of his face. He was not moving at all.
Within seconds, everything blurred, yet something remained clear: I had to run. In a second, my shoulder struck the door and I fumbled about, searching for the knob. I kept my face turned towards the bed, fearing he might launch himself after me at any time.
Where was the damned knob? I couldn’t grab it. I looked down. The stupid knob waggled wildly, and I couldn’t seem to grab a hold of it. Why was it moving so much?
A weak moan bristled my hair. “Call the 911.”
His bloody arm raised from behind the bed. It grabbed and tugged at the bed sheets. Then it dropped. I stood still, training my ear to listen for his breath, not breathing myself, but—nothing. Omigod! He’d just dropped dead. I’d just killed him.
I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. Now the knob was steady. I grabbed it, turned it, opened the door wide, darted across the trailer and crashed against the front door. Unlocking it took half of a second.
Once outside, I gulped the hot night air desperately. My legs felt rubbery and tingled. I held on to the silvery trailer’s exterior, both hands on it, stooping, eyes facing the ground. A disgusting taste filled my mouth. I retched, and retched again. My throat closed. The sickness became totally unbearable, and I puked a bitter stream of liquids on the flowerbed. I ended up gasping for air and wiping my mouth with an arm.
“Are you okay girl?” Old Mrs. Olsen had stuck her head in hair-curlers out of her trailer’s window. Her Fran Drescher voice missed my ears, drilling through my forehead instead, booming inside my skull.
I whispered, “Shut up, please”.
No more retching. My nostrils flared while I inhaled, deep inside my lungs. Then I snorted the air out. Relief came by pressing my forehead against the cold, metallic trailer’s surface. A long sigh escaped my lips.
“Are you okay, girl?” repeated Mrs. Olsen.
“Of course I’m not okay!”
How could I be if I’d just killed Yago? I gazed downwards. So disgusting… my bare feet splashed in jelly puke. The sight summoned the bitter taste back, and I begged, Stop, just go away , but I knew it wouldn’t when I retched again.
# # #
I was still puking for the second time when I heard Mrs. Olsen’s door opening and closing behind me. Seconds afterwards, she was next to me dressed in her ridiculous pink pajamas and her stupid hair curlers. She smelled like mothballs. “Are you okay girl?”
“I’m not okay, I told you!” The taste of puke lingered in my mouth. I retched but without throwing for a third time.
“Is your mother in?” Her high pitched voice echoed inside my skull. All I wanted was her to shut up.
“No, she’s not.” Now I gasped for air.
“So, are you and the boys alone? How about your stepfather?”
I wanted her to leave me alone. I didn’t need anyone asking me stupid stuff. I’ve just killed Yago—my stepfather, according to her—and needed to figure out what to do next.
I inhaled a large puff of air that sank deep into my lungs. The air made me feel better despite my accelerated heartbeat. I wiped my mouth with my forearm and staggered back to the door feeling dizzy. My legs felt like Jell-O, shaking each step I walked.
“Wait girl,” Mrs. Olsen commanded. “Do you need a doctor? Where are you going?”
Where was I going? That was an excellent question. I couldn’t stay here any longer, not with Yago’s dead body lying in his bedroom. What would I tell the twins once they woke up tomorrow? ‘Come kids, let’s have breakfast. Oh, by the way, I killed your old man last night, just don’t step on the blood.’ I needed help. I needed a place where to hide away from this nightmare. Where did my grandmother live? It was written in Mom’s little green notebook. In Abercrombie? No, that was not even a town’s name. Abbeville. That was it. My
grandmother lived in Abbeville.
I leaned on the trailer seeking extra support for my Jell-O legs. I whispered, “I’m going to Abbeville to see my grandmother.”
Mrs. Olsen cocked her little head. “Right now?”
Right now? Or course right now. The police would be here sooner or later, and they’d take me to jail. Nobody would allow me explain what happened and even if they did, they’d never believe I had no other option. “Yes, right now.”
“You’re out of your mind, girl.” Mrs. Olsen scowled and scanned me from head to toes. “You can’t travel dressed liked that, and I bet you don’t have enough money to pay for the ticket.”
Not with me, but Yago had money. I knew where he hid it. Few days ago, he’d brought three hundred bucks, or so he said. I shut my eyes and rattled off. “I’ve got three hundred bucks. The Greyhound station is on Fulton. I only need to walk there.”
“But… why do you want to leave, girl? Aren’t you parents at home? What’s going on?”
I would have shouted, It’s none of your business! but the effort of shouting would have made me puke again. Mrs. Olsen placed herself between the door and me. “You’re going nowhere, girl. Tell me what’s going on here.”
“Nothing.” I was weeping bitterly, wanting to get away as soon as possible and that horrible woman was preventing me from doing so.
“There’s something wrong going on here. I’ll see for myself.” Before I was able to stop her, Mrs. Olsen climbed the trailer front steps and was about to go inside. I couldn’t allow her to do so. I couldn’t allow her to discover Yago’s dead body and scream until the whole trailer park would wake up. The police would come, and they’d throw me in jail and I’d never see Jenny again.
“Stop!” I reached for her and grabbed her hair curlers, yanking at her. Mrs. Olsen lost her balance and fell backwards. Her head hit a metallic lunchbox the twins had forgotten on the ground, breaking it. Suddenly, I’d just found my missing sunglasses. They’d been locked inside the lunchbox, but now they were broken.
Amber Eyes Page 4
