After the Before

by Gomez, Jessica

  Six of us, including myself, work Mario over until he ceases to move. Luckily, Mario has hardwood floors, or the blood that’s all over him would be impossible to clean up. His face is a mess; swollen, bruised, and bloodied. His nose looks broken, and he’s holding his ribs.

  “That’s what you deserve traitor.” I spit at him. “Don’t show your face around here again.”

  He refuses to move, answer, or even open his eyes, but he receives the message.

  As I leave, the rest of my group follow. Outside, a heavy veil is lifted, taking some of the pressure and weight off my shoulders. My gang senses it as well. They’re laughing, giving high fives, and slapping one another on the backs. They enjoyed the beat down as much as I had.

  Carlos slaps a hand on my back, smiling. “Better?”

  “Mucho.”

  My life is heading in the wrong direction again. After Marisol and mi padre died, I self-destructed. The only way I could keep the pain from eating me alive and tearing me apart was to deliver pain to someone or something else. Beating my fists into Mario’s face is definitely a stress reliever.

  “Let’s get some cerveza.” Carlos leads me in the direction of his own house, knowing that no one will be home. His mother ran off with another man when he was two, and ever since then, his mean, drunk, asshole of a dad is barely home. When he is, he beats Carlos every chance he gets for reminding him of his mother.

  Looking at him now, I know if I left the gang, Carlos would have to come with me. Why had none of this occurred to me before? Even if we remain in the gang, I could speak with mi Madre on his behalf. She would say yes, and he could live with us.

  Once the beers begin to take hold of my senses, the rest of the night is a blur. The more beer I drink, the less I think about anything, especially Jasmine, which is the escape I’m looking for.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Jasmine

  I chickened out.

  Three days is only that… three days; definitely not long enough to get over Alex. I was dreading Monday, and when it finally arrived, I called in sick. I’m hiding myself away in my room, coming out for only food and water. Avoiding Mommy dearest is easier than expected once I figured out her what I like to call, “pass out hours” are, and ventured out in the safe zones.

  I made sure I visited my dad a couple of times a day. His progress has not improved, but at least Margret’s threats were hollow. The look in his eyes told me he knew something was wrong, but he has no way of asking. I played it off and avoided acknowledging that I understood him, but I conversed about non-important topics, like the weather, and my trip, leaving Alex out of the details.

  Continuing this routine for the rest of the week, I play hooky during my class time with Alex. I spoke with Mrs. Hubert after one of her morning classes and made something up about needing to assist my dad during that hour. She agreed and gave me the next few weeks of assignments to take home. I really did spend my time at home doing my homework; I just couldn’t face Alex yet.

  Spending so much time in my room, doing nothing but homework has put me even more ahead of schedule. The homework for biology and the rest of my classes are complete, including an essay that is due next month. I am completely on the ball.

  I manage to go an entire week without running into Alex, not that it really matters. He hasn’t made any attempts to talk, or call, so his plan has worked. I’m done. I need to concentrate on me, and continue to move on without him.

  When I make it home Friday without any encounters, I pat myself on the back. Up in my room, I toss my bag on my bed and crawl out of my school clothes, opting for workout pants and a thin tank top.

  Breathing deeply, I stand in front of my full-length mirror. During the last couple of days, I’ve done this breathing exercise, and it’s helped to keep me calm. Nothing fancy, I made it up myself.

  I look at myself through the mirror and breathe deeply, letting my thoughts drift wherever they desire, whether they are of Alex, or my dad, my thoughts seem more peaceful this way. It’s helping me relieve a lot of pent up stress.

  Heading downstairs, at what is supposed to be one of Margret’s pass out hours, she stirs. She’s stealth; entering the kitchen as if on a breeze, quiet and unseen. I’m rummaging through the fridge when she speaks.

  “What are you making for dinner?” She slurs.

  I’ve seen that devilish gleam in her eyes before, twice as a matter of fact. Answering her is a moot point.

  “I was just grabbing a snack; not really hungry.” I tell her, grabbing an apple off the counter.

  She begins to shake her head back and forth, with a creepy lopsided grin. “Always thinking of yourself. That’s your problem you know, you only think of yourself.” She continues her advance. At first the movement is subtle, but now I’m losing ground as she moves in. “You’ve always been so selfish, and you always will be.” The last sentence is spoken more to herself, rather than to me.

  There is nothing I can say or do to make her change her course. She has her mind made up, and she’s gunning for me. Backing away from her, I hit the island bar and slide around it toward the opposite side, using it as a barrier. She’s at arm’s length now; her talon claws are twitching next to her body, waiting to reach out and strike at the right moment.

  The right moment is about thirty seconds after I have that thought. She reaches for my hair, closing her claws around a large chunk, scraping her perfect manicured nails down the left side of my jaw and neck so deep, that I feel like I’m being sliced with knives.

  I screech and pull away, but she captures my hair like a vise and whips me around the counter until we are face to face. Pure hatred covers every inch of her expression. I think in some ways, she’s convinced herself that I’m responsible for Jace’s death, that it should have been me instead of him.

  “You can’t run from me you little bitch.” She yells and throws me down to the floor, stepping in to kick me seconds later.

  My ribs take the blow, burning and aching in the aftermath. I’m able to scramble into the next room on my hands and knees. My dad stays in this room, which used to be the den of the house, but I don’t know where else to go at this point. Stumbling against the door, I draw Dad’s attention to us.

  She’s on me before I can move, slamming her weight into me, smashing me against the doorjamb, causing me to bash my forehead against the door. He stares at us with wild eyes. They’re confused, hurt, and very pissed off. I feel my hair sticking to the blood from her claw marks on my face and neck, and the panic on my face alerts him to the seriousness of the situation; Margret is beating me.

  I turn to find her, when her fist flies and blasts me right in the eye. I hit the floor and it takes me too long to regain my balance. She’s approaching me again to continue her assault, when someone yells, “Nnooo! Stttop!”

  Margret freezes instantly, looking first at me, then to dad. He’s sweating and red from the exertion. Margret lowers her arms, drops them to her sides and continues to stare. I scoot backwards, doing the crab walk until I hit the side of my dad’s bed.

  My breathing is wild and heavy, and I’m weak and lightheaded.

  “Jazzzz.” Dad’s voice comes through the now vacant room. Margret must have turned and left without me noticing.

  My gaze snaps up to him and the only thing I can see is his arm. I’m scared. I don’t want him to see me like this, beaten and bloodied by one of the two people who are supposed to love me most. I start to gain my courage, and lift myself to sit on the side of his bed.

  A few heartbeats go by before I can look at him. Finally, I meet his eyes; they are sad and worried, asking too many questions for me to interpret. Now that he has seen her in action, l tell him everything. Why I think she does it, how long she has done it, the wounds she leaves behind. By the time I’m finished; tears are swelling and overflowing in his eyes.

  “I…I’mmm ssorrrrry.” He manages to squeak out.

  Now my own eyes are overflowing with tears as I lean down t
o kiss his forehead. “I love you, Daddy. I’ve been afraid to say anything because I don’t know what they will do with us. They will take us away from each other, and I won’t let that happen. As long as she can take her frustration out on me, she will leave you be, and you and I can remain together.”

  He manages one more word, “Granmmma.”

  I understand him immediately, and I’m nervous. My grandma has control over his estate until she passes, which means that Margret has nothing unless my father or grandma says she does… She’s about to be cut off.

  I hesitate, but call and tell Grandma everything too. After I finish, she is beyond pissed, but telling me that I’ve finally done the right thing by telling her, and that if I had come to her sooner, it would have never gotten this far, that she would never allow anything to happen to Dad or I.

  She reassures me that she will take care of everything, the tone of her voice fierce, a glimpse of the young, powerful women she once was; the women who made her own fortune surges to the forefront.

  She goes on to say that I should expect a couple of men to show up. They will be here to escort Margret from our home and not to worry, that they are from a security service that a friend of hers runs, and she would be calling in a favor to have them get her out.

  A few hours later, those men, wearing black suits, show up to do just what Grandma said they would.

  Margret hadn’t left, but she had locked herself in her room. I believe that she was sure I wouldn’t tell anyone since I had let her get away with it before; even Dad was still of no consequence to her with him not being able to do anything to help, but now, as she is being taken from the house, she begins crying and begging for our forgiveness, but her words fall on deaf ears. The suits give her a few of her things, along with an envelope, and shove her in a car, taking her to God only knows where. It’s all done quickly, making me feel a bit shocked that this is all I had to do, but if Grandma didn’t have the pull or financial resources at her disposal, I know that it would be a much different outcome, so how could I have really known what would happen?

  My grandma calls a few minutes later to tell me that Margret would be staying in a hotel, and that she will be given the choice of rehab or jail. I had no hand in this decision, but I think that it’s a fair choice. I’m also informed that she will not receive any divorce settlement, but if she chooses rehab, it will be paid for her in full, but after that, she will be left on her own to put her life back together.

  The word divorce stills me. This is the news I have wanted to hear for so long, and my heart soars. I will be free of her nasty glares, her words of hatred toward me, and the beat downs. My mind flies. If this had happened two weeks ago, there would have been no reason for Alex and me to stay apart, but in that situation, what’s done is done. Who knows what could possibly happen in the future.

  I dedicate Saturday to my dad. We talk, well, I talk about what the divorce means for us, how much better things will be now that she is gone. Grandma calls again in the evening to fill me in on a few things they neglected to inform me of, like the fact that once Grandma passes, all of her money will go to Dad.

  However, in his current state, Grandma is his rep payee. Once she passes, he will need a new one until he passes, and that person, she informs me, is me. I am going to be in charge of a very large sum of money. Those are her exact words, “very large sum of money.”

  I have no clue as to what to say to this. Grandma has to call my name several times before I can answer. All I can think of is that I don’t want this money. I want Dad and Grandma around more than I could ever want a dime of it. It makes me sick and sad to think I will lose them both too someday, so I need to spend every moment I can with them, to appreciate and cherish every moment I get to have with them.

  It’s Sunday, and I have decided to start a Sunday routine. I wake up early and make breakfast, and sit next to my father while we listen to music. I want to eat every meal like this; with my father and the sound of the 80’s in the background.

  After dinner I change into my pj’s, a light pink tank and dark pink shorts with four leaf clovers sporadically placed on the fabric.

  While I’m unsnapping my bra, there’s a knock at the door. The nurse has signed out for the evening, going to the guest house in the back, and Dad’s been in bed now for about an hour. I couldn’t imagine who else would be stopping by at ten at night?

  Panic sweeps through my veins. Could Margret have come back? I ease my way toward the front door as another knock hits when I’m at the top of the railing. The sound is calm, the knock casual, not rushed. Margret would be trying to tear the door down if it were her, so I creep down the stairs and try to peek out the side curtain. I can only see the sleeve of a white shirt.

  The person attached seems to look about my age, by height and weight. I unlock the door and open it an inch, and immediately recognize the person on the other side right away… Mario.

  From his appearance, he’s been knocked around again, badly. Why would he be here? Did something happen to Alex? Did Alex send him?

  “Yes.” I say.

  “Hey, Jasmine, Alex asked me to stop by. Can I talk to you?” His facial features are straight and relaxed.

  I open the door wider. “Why would he send you?” I ask bitterly.

  In the blink of an eye, Mario’s face changes, turning triumphant and menacing as he steps toward me. “Oh, mamacita, it’s me who wants something.”

  My heart begins hammering against my chest. What does he mean? Before my brain screams for me to run, Mario grabs the back of my head and threads his hand through my hair to get a tight grip. He smashes a white rag over my mouth, covering my screams, and it smells funny; like sweet antiseptic.

  A few breaths in and my hearing is starting to sound like it needs new batteries. Shortly after my hearing, my vision begins to blur and my body is beginning to float and feel light. My knees give out on me, and I can’t do anything about it. Before I hit the ground, Mario scoops me up and carries me to a waiting car next to the curb.

  And just like that, I’m being kidnapped.

  My vision is blurring, my hearing begins to muffle, as if I’m under water. He lays me in the backseat and leans over me so we’re face to face. “I’m gonna have some fun with you.” He draws one hand from my knee up my leg, until his fingertips are caressing my inner thigh, next to the elastic of my underwear. He tucks his fingers under and begins to rub me. I can’t speak or move to stop him. All I can do is lay here and let him do whatever he wants to do to me, but instead of going any further, he leans back, tucks my feet in and slams the door. A few seconds later, another door opens and closes and I feel the car begin to move. Where is he taking me, and why?

  Unconsciousness wins out and pulls me under. Even blacked out, I’m pissed off. How much more could happen to me before I snap? I’ve just finished fighting my own battles, and now I’m being made a victim all over again by some crazy gang banger. I mean really, what the hell?

  Chapter Fifty

  Alex

  My entire week went by without seeing Jasmine. She missed school Monday, and apparently skipped out on biology, the only class we have together for the entire week. I asked Mrs. Hubert, just out of curiosity, but she wouldn’t tell me. Purposely taking the long way around the parking lot, I tried to run into Jasmine, but her car was always gone by the time I reached the lot.

  When I leave school Friday, going home is not in the cards. Time alone causes me to think, and thinking is the last thing I want to do. I call Carlos and have him meet me at the river; there is business to take care of and beers to drink.

  Carlos says he’ll get the beer, call the rest of the guys, and meet me at the river. The only thing I have to do is drag my sorry culo there.

  Two hours later, I’m five beers down and on my way to feeling better. A week has passed since the last time I saw Jasmine. Each morning waking up without her is like reliving the first; painful and depressing.

  Music is thumping thro
ugh my entire body, the base vibrating my seat, enhancing the effect of the alcohol. I’m messing with the stereo when Carlos sneaks in unnoticed, taking up residence in the passenger seat. My body posture stiffens; I know what he’s going to do, so I just wait for him to bring her up. The fact of the matter is, I know I’ve been fucking up lately, I just can’t muster up enough emotion to care. Without Jasmine in my life, nothing seems important anymore. Not that being in a gang has anything important to accomplish; it’s a gang for shits sake. Maybe, I’m getting tired of all the mierda that living this life entails.

  Carlos decides to remain silent, making a nice companion for the moment. I appreciate him being non-opinionated, and having him here without speaking is also some welcomed support. He understands without words.

  Carlos’s phone must be vibrating, because he pulls it out of his pocket, reading a message that pops up on the lit screen. His brow wrinkles as he leans in closer to read the message. Without a word, he steps out of the car, closing it behind him.

  What the hell was that about?

  Seconds later, I get my answer. He gestures for me to turn the radio down. “Mario has a retaliation ordered. Word is, they’re planning something, but it’s being kept on the DL, nobody has heard any details.”

  I sit silently in my seat, soaking up this new bit of information. Good old Mario, out causing havoc, trying to get his revenge. Back and forth, back and forth, that’s all this life is and ever will be.

  “Keep an ear out for what’s coming. It’s better if we’re prepared.” I inform him, then turn the music back up.

  Carlos sends out a couple of texts, then leans back and enjoys the music. There’s nothing we’re able to do about it right now, especially with no information available. As soon as I hear something, we’ll deal.

  The night wears on; people disappear or pass out in the cars around us. Carlos and I are still in the car with the music down. We both know that we are sleeping the night off in the car, because neither one of are even close enough to being able to drive.