Let Me Live

by Shirley Anne Edwards

  I punched the bag harder than I wanted to and a wrenching pain traveled up my arm. I stepped back and waved my arm from side to side. “It’s the only thing you found when you googled me?”

  He straightened but still held the bag. “I know why the world thinks you’re a hero. I also read the Times article about the shooting.”

  I tore off the gloves and leaned over my knees as I grew dizzy. Benny said my name and came to my side, but I waved him away and fell down on my ass on the mat. He joined me and placed his hand on the back of my head.

  I lay my head on my knees I tucked to my chest. My stomach let out a horrible rumble, and I groaned, embarrassed. “I think I need something to eat.”

  “Stay here. I’ll get you something.” He squeezed my neck and then left.

  I would have lain on the mat, but I didn’t want him to find me that way. I inched back until I was supported by a weight-lifting bench. I kept my forehead on my knees, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

  Benny returned and gave me a water and something wrapped in plastic. “How does water and a granola bar sound?”

  “Good.” I unscrewed the cap from the water and gulped the liquid. Benny unwrapped the bar, and I quickly bit off a huge chunk of it.

  He sat next to me with his knees tucked in and his arms hanging over them. He stayed quiet while I ate and drank. Within a minute or two, I felt much better.

  “I also got you an apple.” He held it up for me to take.

  “I’m not a fan of apples.” I finished off the bar.

  “Your loss.” He took a bite and chewed. “You sure?” He lifted the apple to my mouth.

  “I’ve never shared half-eaten fruit with someone before.” I took a small bite while he held it.

  He kept the apple near my mouth. I stared at him and took another bite.

  “Shit, man.” He dropped the apple in my hand and pulled on his bottom lip.

  Some of the juice from the half-eaten apple wet my fingers. I sat the apple on the wrapper. “I guess we’re done with the bag for now.”

  “I didn’t expect you to almost pass out. Was it from too much exercise too fast or because I mentioned the article?”

  “For some reason whenever the… shooting is mentioned or anyone involved in it, I end up having a bad reaction.” I dropped one leg but rested my arm on my other knee. “It doesn’t always happen, but when it does, I feel like I’m going to pass out and everything around me spins. But maybe it’s a good thing it happened now because it’s the excuse I need to talk to you about it.”

  “You’re probably sick of talking about it.” He placed his arm on the back of the bench, his hand an inch from my shoulder.

  I usually didn’t like to be boxed in by someone, but with Benny, I didn’t have that problem. He made me feel safe.

  “It’s been a while since I talked about what happened at school with anyone. Well, no, I’m wrong. The reason I was in such a foul mood and needed to get rid of my rage is because of my mother. She made me have lunch with her today to talk about the article. Like most interactions with her, this one didn’t go well, and I ended up disowning her.”

  “Disowning her? How?”

  “I told her to pretend I died the day of the shooting.”

  He whistled low. “That’s… shit.”

  I let out a combination snort-huff. “Shit as in I’m a shit for treating my mother like shit? Or, holy shit, you’re shocked by what I just told you?”

  “Shit as in shocked.”

  “We’re talking about a lot of shit.”

  He laughed, and I joined in. Mine was a full-blown, deep from the belly one. I didn’t stop laughing until I became light-headed.

  “Whoa.” I closed my eyes and laid my forehead on my raised knee.

  “Dizzy again?” His fingers brushed my shoulder.

  “Light-headed this time. Laughing pushed me over the edge.” I jabbed the side of my face near my ear where it was sensitive. Wincing from the pain, I backed off before I ended up flat on the mat.

  “You don’t laugh or eat often, do you?”

  “I haven’t done much of either.” I spoke into my leg.

  “You don’t have an eating problem.”

  His sounded more like a statement than a question. I tucked my other leg upward and turned my head to rest my cheek on both knees. Benny stared ahead while his fingers continued brushing my arm. His hand moved until he found my scar.

  “Does it hurt or is it just a reminder now of what you went through?” He circled my scar with his finger.

  I shut my eyes as I allowed him to get to know a piece of me that would stay with me forever. He was the first one, besides the doctors and nurses at the hospital, to touch my gunshot wound.

  “Sometimes it throbs, but I think it’s more of a mind trick. That’s where I want to get a tattoo.” I lifted my head, blinking from the suddenly too-bright light in the room.

  He stilled his hand, covering my scar. “I didn’t notice your scar until you got out of the pool. I was trying not to stare, but I couldn’t help it.”

  “I thought you were staring at my chest and my former six-pack.” I snickered but with little energy.

  “I can help you gain back muscle mass and your appetite.” He lifted his hand and spread his fingers on the back of my head. “Let’s go out to dinner tonight.”

  “Like a date?” I closed my eyes again as he massaged my head.

  “This will convince you it’s a date.”

  He kissed me.

  I opened my mouth and let him take control. He sucked on my bottom lip and then pumped his tongue a few times toward the roof of my mouth. His fingers tightened in my hair, and I gripped the wrist he had raised to hold my face still.

  Whoa, I couldn’t catch my breath. I wanted more than just his mouth on mine.

  He ended the kiss before I could give back the same as he had given me. He rested his forehead against mine and said my name.

  From somewhere in the room a voice filtered through a speaker, asking Benny to come to the main office.

  “That’s Zyrell. I forgot he’d be here this afternoon.” He ran his fingers along the crown of my head.

  “What would have happened if we weren’t interrupted?” I pressed my palm to his cheek, mainly to see what his beard felt like.

  He took my hand and kissed the side of it. “We would be sweating more, and this time your light-headedness would be a good thing.” He let me go and stood. “I’ll pick you up at your house at six, if that’s okay? You can text me your address.”

  I wanted another kiss, but one I would give instead of just receiving. But I still felt shaky, and I didn’t think it was from the lack of food and too much exercise.

  “I never finished telling you about lunch with my mother, and about the article.” Those were two things I really didn’t want to talk about, but in order for me to have something real with Benny, we had to talk about it. I wanted to be honest with him since it was hard to be the same with so many other people in my life.

  “We will, but for tonight let’s keep it chill.” He bent down but then jerked up and said something under his breath. “If I touch you, I won’t stop, and I really don’t want Zyrell to catch us in a compromising situation.”

  “Are the security cameras recording yet?” I pointed to one in the corner.

  “Not until tomorrow.” He grinned and stepped off the mat. “Be ready by six and wear the black shirt you wore to the party. You looked hot in it.”

  I gave him a thumbs-up. He returned the gesture and then exited the room.

  I then sent my reflection in the glass across from me two thumbs-up and the cheesiest smile possible. What started as a craptastic day had switched to something much better. I felt like I won the lottery. Yes! Go me.

  Chapter Twelve

  “HEY, DAD, staying in tonight?” I entered his office while he typed on his laptop.

  He took off his glasses and sat back in his chair. “I am, but apparently you’re not.” He
pointed to the chair across from him. “You have time to talk?”

  “I have a few minutes.” I sat and crossed my leg over the other to show him I wasn’t wound up. I was nervous as hell about going out with Benny.

  “Who are you going out with, and does this include dinner? I hope so because I heard you didn’t eat much during your lunch with your mother,” he said.

  “She told you what happened?” They never talked this much before about me. Why did the shooting change things for them? I understood his concern, but all Mom cared about was what the public thought about her role as a loving mother to help with her television pundit career.

  “She called me upset—”

  “She called to complain about me because I won’t bow down to her like everyone else,” I snapped, barely holding back my temper.

  “Do you feel I kowtow to your mother, or rather Faith as you want to call her now?” He folded his leg on top of his knee as he rocked in his chair. He didn’t look uncomfortable with our discussion. We usually didn’t have discussions about Mom. The last time she was the center of a conversation was when he told me why they were divorcing. Her cheating was to blame, not my sexuality, or so he said. I’d like to think he was honest with me because he always had been. But with their divorce, I always felt he lied to me so I wouldn’t blame myself. Years later I never asked him to confirm the truth.

  “She pissed me off. Did she tell you how she thinks I lent John the money to buy the bullets for his gun just because he said so in the stupid interview?”

  “Have you read the interview yet?” He took out a folded New York Times and plopped it on the desk between us.

  “Some of it.” If I had a lighter, I would have set the paper on fire.

  “I hate how the Times gave a platform to this piece of—” He squeezed his stress ball so hard his knuckles jutted out. “But this person and what he did is still big news. It’s going to be a long time until it dies down.”

  “You don’t think I can handle it? I’m trying.” I really didn’t want him to bring up therapy, so I decided to direct the conversation away with some manipulation to show I was improving. “I’m doing fine. I did laps for an hour today. There’s this new gym in town I might join.”

  “Laps?” He stopped squeezing the stress ball. “Where? At this gym?”

  I nodded and smiled. “I know one of the investors, or rather one of the owners. He runs another business in town. He voted for you.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Does the gym give month-by-month memberships?”

  “Something like that. But it got me back in the pool.” I stood when I noticed the time. Benny would be here in a few minutes. I wanted to catch him outside so he didn’t ring the doorbell and wouldn’t have to meet Dad. I wasn’t ready for that just yet.

  “It’s good for you to return to your usual routines. Maybe swimming is a way to start training again when you go back—”

  “I’m not ready to go back to school yet.” I spotted one of the pictures on Dad’s desk. It was of me and him on my high school graduation. That day had been one of my proudest behind winning the state’s swim team championship and getting into NCU. The possibility of him not having a picture of me graduating from college in the next four years gutted me.

  He picked up his stress ball again and squeezed it. “It’s still early in the summer to see if you should go back and where.”

  “I’m not going to NCU. I don’t want to be anywhere near there.” The area near my scar spasmed.

  “It was always your dream to go to school in DC and live there.” He couldn’t hide his emotions as well as Mom did. Or maybe he let them come to the surface because it was just me to witness them. I hated how disappointed he was. I had tried my hardest to make him proud of me since I came out. All the hard work I had done didn’t matter because of a guy with a gun who wanted to cause as much damage as he could. He had done that and much more.

  “Things have changed. I better get going. My ride will be here soon.” I stood.

  “Anyone I know?” He lounged farther back in his chair.

  “A friend. Theo knows him.” For now, I wanted to keep my relationship with Benny on the DL. Dad knew I dated guys, but I didn’t want him to jump to conclusions.

  “Theo’s really making a name for himself with his radio job and freelance reporting.” He set the stress ball down and lifted the side of the newspaper I wanted to light on fire. “I don’t expect you to reread the interview, but you might want to think about a response.”

  “Response?” I checked my cell for the time. Less than five minutes and Benny would be here.

  “This interview will bring out the media hounds again. Your mother and I started getting questions from reporters and other media outlets. What if Theo—”

  “Stop, Dad. I’m not interested in speaking to anyone, even Theo, about the shooting and the stupid interview John gave.” I backed away to leave the room.

  “Shiri’s father called me this afternoon. She’s going to do an interview with Vanity Fair or the New Yorker,” he announced, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “You haven’t spoken to her since she saw you in the hospital.”

  “Not since then.” I barely got the words out. Every time I thought of Shiri, I saw Jordan covered in blood, and his stomach ripped apart by gunfire.

  “You may want to call her. It may help you both to talk.” It sounded like a suggestion, but there was a push underneath that was more like an instruction. I wouldn’t say an order, because even though Dad might want me to do something, he would never force me to. Not making me see a therapist yet was an example of that.

  A text came through my cell from Benny telling me he was less than a minute away.

  “I won’t be out too late.” I quickly left the room before Dad asked more questions or offered suggestions on how I should live my life.

  The moment I walked outside and saw Benny standing in front of his silver sedan, the tension jammed in between my shoulders vanished. And when he waved and opened the passenger door for me, I took him by his arms and kissed him hard.

  He kissed me back and hugged me tight, making me feel safe, something I’d missed for too long.

  “BREAD IS not the enemy.” Benny dropped his hand on mine to stop me from tearing apart a piece of garlic bread I’d taken from the basket.

  “Sorry.” I stopped turning my bread to crumbs. But my embarrassment vanished because he continued to hold my hand.

  “Why are you playing with your food? What has you upset?” He sipped his water.

  I pulled away one of my hands as I flipped over the other and linked my fingers with his. He stopped drinking and then licked his bottom lip as a smile emerged.

  “I made the mistake of talking to my dad about the Times article before you picked me up.” I kept his hand for a few more seconds and then let him go.

  “Have you read it yet?” He finished eating his piece of bread and nodded at someone or something behind me.

  “Um, I did—”

  “Bernard!” An older man with silver hair and a noticeable Italian accent held out his arms as he approached our table. Benny jumped out of his seat and embraced the man. The man in turn kissed Benny’s cheeks.

  “I didn’t know you would be here tonight.” He slapped the man on his back. “Thanks for getting us in on such short notice.”

  “Anything for you, mio figlio.” The man looked at me and held out his hand. “Hello, I’m Elio.”

  I stood and shook his hand. “I’m Marshall.”

  “Elio is the owner. He named Felicite after his mother,” Benny explained and took his seat.

  Elio patted Benny’s shoulder. “I just spoke to my mama this morning.” He turned to me. “She lives outside of Milan. Was born there.”

  “It’s a place I hope to visit one day,” I said.

  “Milan is known for risotto. I will bring you some of my porcini risotto.” He snapped his fingers. “On the house.”

  Benny rubbed his palms
together. “You better have an appetite tonight because Elio is going to feed us well.”

  “Anything for you and your friend.” He squeezed Benny’s shoulder. “Anika isn’t here tonight. Give her a call. She would love to see you.”

  “Will do,” Benny said, and after he and Elio shared another hug, Elio waved at me and left to go to the kitchen.

  “Was Elio’s daughter one of your customers?” I wouldn’t be surprised if Benny said yes. He had a way with people, including those least likely to get a tattoo.

  “His eldest son, Elio Jr., was one of my first customers. Junior invited me for dinner here, and that’s how I met his father.” He poured water in his glass and then in mine. “Elio’s wife, Meena, owns the Indian restaurant around the corner.”

  “Rama?” It was one of the most popular restaurants in town.

  He sent me a somewhat sneaky smile, as if he knew something I didn’t. “Meena is Indian.”

  “Seriously? That’s… interesting.” I would have thought Elio would have married an Italian woman because he came from Italy and seemed to embrace his culture by the way he talked, dressed, and the restaurant he operated here.

  “Meena is his second wife. They have thirteen-year-old twins, a boy and a girl. Elio has two sons and a daughter from his first marriage. They’re living the American dream.” He wiggled his eyebrows, making me laugh.

  “Do they have a dog or a cat?”

  “Horses.” He waved at someone behind me. “Elio also owns a stable because Meena loves to ride.”

  I glanced behind me and noticed a table with a group of people, a mix of men and women, probably couples, who all smiled and said Benny’s name in hello. Right after a man and woman walked by with their server. The man stopped and shook Benny’s hand before he went to his table.

  “How many people do you know here?” I asked.

  Our server came out with a huge antipasto platter, including a dish of risotto, and explained it was compliments of the owner.

  Benny rapped his knuckles on the table and then rubbed his palms together. The scent of the cheese and meats rose up, making my stomach growl. The slightly uncomfortable reaction actually made me happy. It had a been such a long time since I enjoyed food.