Quince
The noise from my stomach sounds like thunder, and the hunger pain strikes like lightning. My eyes are still closed, and I squeeze them together while curling my body into a tight ball, waiting for the daily storm to pass.
I wake up like this most mornings now, and I think it’s because I got used to eating regularly and sleeping in a fucking bed when I was in the hospital and then in that state rehab facility for sick people.
Since I’ve been back here, I can’t get my eating schedule to readjust to what it was.
I could usually plan for one big meal with some snacks for the rest of the day.
This school has food everywhere, and I make sure to help myself whenever possible.
It’s not enough to live off of, but it’s something.
My stomach growls again, and I sit up on the couch. I spot my stuff on the floor and reach for my phone. Oh shit, it’s after eight. Wait… I slept for five hours.
I never sleep the first time I’m somewhere new. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, when I got back on the couch after my run-in with Sleeping Beauty, I shut my eyes and that was it. That’s so weird. Esa no soy yo. That's not like me.
I need to get outta here. Amy’ll have some breakfast stuff out at the shelter.
A few bakeries take turns donating unsold prepared food to her community partnership programs. One day, I’m gonna send her a fat-ass check to thank her for all the blueberry-lemon muffins and orange-cranberry scones I’ve eaten.
Even if most of the time they taste like dust and are as hard as fucking rocks, it’s still food in my stomach. And right now, I need one of each.
“I can’t believe I slept here,” I think to myself while rummaging around in my new backpack for a makeup bag I have. Qué carajo, wey, por supuesto, está en el fondo, of course it’s all the way at the bottom.
I pull out the pink bag I found last year and take out what I need. Some girl left it in the bathroom at the library for not one, but two whole days. Like hello? Did you forget you left a bag of your shit somewhere, or did you just not care?
It’s why I didn’t feel bad when I swiped it. It’s not my fault she couldn’t retrace her steps back to the bathroom. I detest pink with a passion, but for now, it works. I’ve been looking for a black one but haven’t had any luck yet.
I may not have a place to live, but I refuse to be crusty and smelly. I get these baby bath wipes and mini deodorants from the dollar store, and right now, they’re all I have to freshen myself up.
I should probably clean off my blade while I’m giving myself the equivalent of a bird bath, and fish around for my hand sanitizer, Lysol wipes, tissues, my knock-off ziplock bags, and a pair of gloves.
I took whatever was left in my hospital room before I was transferred out to rehab, and I use these medical-grade disposable gloves all the time.
It’s way too nasty out here for me to be doing shit with my bare hands. As if.
I squirt a few drops of hand sanitizer onto a wipe to clean off the blood from the night before.
I should really pick up some rubbing alcohol, but for now, this will have to fucking do.
I really shoulda done this hours ago, but I got distracted earlier.
I’m blaming it on those veins, y abs, y dimples.
“Bien, todo limpio. (Good, all clean.)” I say to myself and set my girl down. I’ll dunk her in some bleach when I shower at the Athletic Center. I know where the supplies are.
I wrap the dirty wipes and contaminated gloves into two balls, use the tissues to pick each one up, and stuff each set into two bags before closing them up.
When I get to campus, I’ll make sure to bury them deep in two separate trash bins on opposite sides of the school.
Nunca lo sabrá nadie. No one will ever know.
I cover my hands in more sanitizer before throwing on a fresh sweatshirt. I quickly undo my braid and finger-comb my hair out before redoing it. Senora úrsula taught me how to braid and set intentions for my day by doing this.
I focus on my goals and concentrate while folding over the three chunks to either create one braid or a few little ones. It’s how I add a little magic - and protection - into my routine before facing the world. And then I pull my beanie over my head to hide from it.
I step into my boots, put my arms through my coat, and throw my bag on my back. I make sure my blade is in my pocket and easily accessible if I need it. I’m ready to go. Vamos.
It’s freakishly quiet as I slowly twist the doorknob, and I hope it stays like that. I need to get the hell outta here and start my day. I need to stick to my routine and stay on track. Plus gangbangers aren’t known for getting up early, so I’ll probably be alright if I can get my ass to campus.
I readjust the straps of my backpack and stabilize myself before opening the office door. But it’s not this big-ass bag that throws me off balance – no, it’s this cabrón , who is once again sleeping on the shop floor in front of the door.
I roll my eyes and shake my head while looking down at him sleeping away. Is he for real right now? Even sleeping, he looks this good? Uh, he makes me so fucking mad by just existing.
I’m stuck staring at his parted pink lips, and mine start to tingle.
I immediately cover my mouth with my hand to stop myself from having another existential crisis and kissing him.
I have no idea what the fuck that was and why I felt compelled to do it.
?Y por qué me gustó tanto? And why I liked it so much.
I don’t understand why he does half the shit that he does, and this is exactly what I mean. Like, what is this all about? He had no fucking problem running out and avoiding our sessions all of last year. And now he’s sprawled out in front of the door. Pinche, cabrón.
Another thing I don’t understand is why he keeps taking math classes.
This man didn’t need to take another semester of fucking math for his Communications major.
He hates math. And he’s fucking terrible at it.
But here he is, once again on the schedule for math tutoring.
Por qué?! Why? He makes no fucking sense.
You know what else doesn’t make any sense to me?
Why the hell all these girls tolerate how he acts?
! I thought I was gonna be fucking sick when I overheard him talking about how he fucks more than one at the same time, like he’s some kinda player out here.
Gross. ?Qué puerco! Whatta pig! I should kick him in the dick.
He’s probably kissed hundreds of women, and mine probably ranks lower than the worst kiss he’s ever had.
I’m sure he’s trying to erase it from his brain, just like all the math I’ve tried to teach him.
I had no idea what I was doing and just pressed my mouth as hard as I could against him.
Ay, diosas, soy tan estúpida. ?Por qué hice eso?
Oh my Goddesses, I'm so stupid. Why did I do that?
So now that I’ve established that our kiss was clearly the most embarrassing moment of my life, I need to fucking leave.
I try to be as graceful as I can - and resist the urge to stomp on his huevos - when stepping over his big-ass body.
The last thing I need is for him to wake up or for me to trip and land on top of him.
When I make it to the other side, I look around the room and try to decide which door to go out of. If I go out the back, I can–
“Morning.” The sound of tattoo guy’s voice startles me, and I nearly fall over.
“?Ahh, qué carajo, wey! I whisper-shout into the quiet room. What the?!
“Are you leaving?”
“No, I’m baking a fucking cake. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Looks like you’re trying to sneak out.”
“Wow, you’re so observant. Congratulations on your incredible eyesight.” The urge to roll my eyeballs until they're permanently stuck behind my head is fucking strong.
“I bet you were hoping Hunt and I were still knocked out so you could leave without having to do this,” he says, motioning his finger between us. “Plus, I don’t think it’s considered sneaking out if I already unlocked the door for you.”
“Thanks, that’ll make it easier to leave,” I tell him and roll my eyes. He saved me a whole nano-second by flipping the lock, and is now wasting minutes of my time by having this conversation with me.
“I did it so you wouldn’t feel trapped in here when you eventually left,” he says, sipping his hot coffee. “I also left you a cup on the desk.”
“Uh… thanks, but I don’t drink coffee.” I don’t start habits I can’t maintain. And getting addicted to a daily cup of coffee is just something I can’t afford. Just like kissing athletes, I’m supposed to be tutoring.
“Now that’s fucking weird, how do you get through the day?” Adrenaline, anger, and witchcraft.
“With hope, a wish, and a spell, usually.” He tilts his head back and raises his eyebrows. Yeah, tattoo guy, you heard that right. I’m a bruja from the BX. Fucking try me.
“How’s that working out for you?” I roll my eyes once more at his dumbass question.
“Great, can’t you tell?” I’m obviously living the dream.
“Where are you headed today?” What is this, another fucking interrogation?
“Right now? To the shelter and then to campus.” Carajo, wey, why do you fucking care?
“You ever see, Amy?” He looks into his mug when he asks and takes a longer gulp of his coffee to avoid looking at me. That’s weird…?Por qué pregunta por ella? Why is he asking about her?
“Yeah, all the time.” She’s the fucking Director and the only social worker the shelter has, of course, I fucking see, Amy. He swallows hard and nods his head.
Her job isn’t fucking easy, and she does the best she can with what she has. As the Mayor’s daughter, you'd think the shelter would get some special treatment or accommodations, but that’s not the case. It’s like he goes out of his way to make things harder for her – and all of us who stay there.
“Why you asking?” I stare him down, trying to figure him out. She doesn’t seem like the type who would mess around with tattoo guy.
“No reason,” he holds up his free hand like he’s fucking innocent and smiles a little. Pff, as if.
“There’s always a reason.” And you'd better have a good one. This man would be a fucking nightmare for Amy. His ass would fucking ruin her.
“Same reason he’s passed out on the floor over there,” he nods toward the sleeping beauty. Oh Diosas, his arms are above his head, and his abs are showing again. And there’s his cute as hell belly button . Mi azúcar debe estar baja. My sugar must be low.
“Stupidity?” I question because that’s clearly the only correct answer.
“Yeah,” he pauses and takes another sip, “Let’s call it that.” Uh-huh. Speaking of stupidity, it’s already been a fucking day and I’m starting to run outta patience.
“Glad we could agree. I’m gonna go now. I’ll see ya around.” I nod my head to tattoo guy to let him know I’m done talking. But he doesn’t get the fucking hint when he clears his coffee-clogged throat.
“You need anything? Cash or?” His question activates my defense system, and I’m ready to launch a full-on attack.
“I don’t take anything free from men. There’s always a price to pay.” I snap with as much resistance as possible. Nunca más. Never again.
“Then come back tonight and earn it. Thursday nights are always crazy here. I could use the help. You like numbers, right?” Numbers are predictable, and I know what to do with them. People, not so much.
“Yeah, but I don’t like crazy.” Ya he pasado por suficientes mamadas. I’ve been through enough shit.
“Consider the office yours then. It’s quiet in there, and you can look at the books. You’ll have a desk, a computer, the couch to crash on, and the mini fridge that I’ll stock.” ?Qué lo qué? What the?!
“Uh, I didn’t apply to work here.” This man’s lost his fucking mind.
“I’ll pay you cash money, twenty an hour, you set your schedule.” Maybe he’s fucking crazy. Why would he offer me all that?
“ ?Por qué haces esto? Why are you doing this? You don’t fucking know me,” I snarl and bare my teeth while glaring at him. I don’t like it when men try to be nice like this. There’s always a catch.
“Easy now, I know you're one of Amy’s, which means you need some help.” And there it is.
Sí, no. Yeah, no. “I also know that you're someone to him,” he says while chin pointing to the snores coming from the floor. “And that dumb fuck is the closest thing I have to a stupid little brother, so… that’s all I need to know.”
“So, what do you want me to put in a good word for you with Amy? Because that’s not happening. You’ll chew her up and spit her out, and she doesn’t need shit like that. She’s way too fucking nice for you, tattoo guy. Stay the fuck away.”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t mention me at all to her.
She doesn’t need to hear my name, old wounds cut deep, and neither of us needs to be bleeding right now.
” I don’t know how to respond to that. I’ve never gone on a date, let alone been romantically involved with someone. It sounds fucking terrible.
“And for the record, she’s the one who did the chewing and the spitting.” He looks heartbroken, standing here talking about it, and it’s making me feel weird. So many fucking feelings.
“Did you forget about last night?” I question and try to get him back on fucking track instead of strolling through memory lane.
“Last night’s another reason I want you to take the offer.”
“I don’t wanna add any heat.” I really don’t. It’s bad juju, and I don’t need any more fucking negativity.
“Sounds like an excuse to me; I already told you the neighborhood takes care of its own.” He’s right, it is an excuse, and I know that the smart thing to do would be to take him up on his offer and play into the script. I just have a hard fucking time taking shit like this when it’s offered to me.
“So we good?” He sticks out his hand, and I stare at it as the wheels in my brain grind together. I’m standing at a crossroad; I hear the goddesses I trust more than any fucking human being, urging me to take the opportunity that I’m being offered.
“Yeah, we’re good.” We dap hands, and he nods his head in agreement. He turns around and lets me leave in private, which I appreciate.
Especially when some deep and embedded, intrinsic feeling starts to gnaw at my core until I give it what it wants, I quickly sneak one last glance at that sleepy, fine ass man on the floor. He looks so peaceful, like he’s in the deepest sleep, having the sweetest fucking dreams.
I bet they’re all full of unicorns, rainbows, and fucking happiness. And here I am pushing open the door, double-checking to make sure all my armour is in place so that I can go out into the cruel world and face another day of hell. Alone. Sola.