Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty One
#PrayForMiami was trending all over the world for almost a week.
Six nights ago, just as clubbers were beginning to pour into the hottest club in South Beach, five gunman opened fire on over five hundred unsuspecting young people. The Poseidon Massacre, was what they were calling it on CNN.
Seventy-three people died. Many were wounded.
It was the deadliest attack on American soil since September 11th, 2001.
Various news channels brought on panelists and commentators to speculate what might’ve been the cause for the bloodshed. They threw around ideas like gang violence, cartel wars, and even Islamic extremism. In truth, nobody knew what they were talking about.
The Poseidon Massacre was for one person. No one would believe me if I told them, but that was the truth. Seventy-three people died senselessly that night in June because the gunman were there for one person.
For six days since the attack, I stalked the news, learning every name of every victim who was no longer with us.
I was looking for his name. The one that mattered most to me.
After all my searching, I’d come to find that so far, I only knew one of the deceased.
Amir Kwame Ofori died on June 11th, 2016. He was found dead at the scene, body riddled with sixteen gunshots in the staffroom at Poseidon.
His last words to me felt so chilling now. ‘You keep staying alive, Princess.’
Investigators said that it was highly probable that the gunman weren’t even looking into the staff lounge as they fired their guns.
This was because there were so many bullet holes in the surrounding area.
It was said that whoever was in the staffroom, where all the money at Poseidon was kept, was clearly marked for death.
Interestingly enough, noted a reporter, it didn’t seem like any money was stolen.
The death of young Amir Ofori appeared to be one of the goals for the gunmen that night.
I knew better.
Those bullets weren’t for Amir. They were for Kain.
But where was Kain now?
Did he make it out alive? Or was he a member of the group of the other seventy-two people who perished that night?
I didn’t know. None of Kain’s friends were taking my calls, even when I blocked my number. I already knew Kain was never getting his old phone back. Sanaa had picked up once when I called, but at the sound of my voice, she hung up. That made me fear the worst.
But there was no way for me to know.
And so every day. Every hour. Every minute. I was checking the news.
My parents have given up on me. That was the best way I knew how to describe their behavior towards me in the days following my return. They didn’t ask me where I went, who I was with, or what I did while I was there.
They simply ignored me.
They didn’t even seem to care enough to confiscate the phone I checked religiously, either.
My parents had really given up.
Morgan was a little more forthcoming, but even she kept her distance. In the six days that I’d been home, she’d only said three words to me.
‘You selfish bitch.’
Honestly? It was just nice that someone in this house had said something to me.
It didn’t escape anyone’s notice that I coincidentally showed up home on the night of the deadliest mass shooting in American history. My eyes were bloodshot from crying when my father had opened the door from my knocking. Ha, knocking…
They’d changed the locks on me.
I thought my parents might ask me what happened to me, but two hours after I arrived, news started to hit about the massacre.
My family took one look at my unsurprised reaction to it all, and collectively decided they did not want to know a damn thing about anything I’d been through.
They left me alone to go insane in silence. In isolation.
I was sick with fear. Sick with grief. Sick with loneliness. Sick. Sick. Sick.
Nobody cared.
‘I don’t care’. For days, Kain’s final words to me echoed in my mind over and over and over, breaking me down a little more each time. ‘I don’t care’.
Nobody cared.
On the night of my sixth day home, my parents had invited some family friends over for dinner. Trusted members of The Beauvais, of course. The bougie ass Beauvais. My parents hadn’t told me anyone was coming. Well, to be honest, my parents still hadn’t spoken to me at all since I’d arrived.
I was coming down the stairs for a glass of water when I learned there was a full-on dinner party going on downstairs. It was formal. Is today someone’s birthday? I found myself trying to remember.
Someone called out my name in the middle of me trying to sneak back upstairs.
“Oh, is that Lauren I see!” The voice was chipper, happy to see me. Evidently, no one had told this man that I was public enemy number one.
I was just so happy that someone was talking to me.
Despite my better judgement. Despite the fact that I was wearing jeans and a hoodie. Despite the venomous looks my father was giving me…
I went back down the stairs and said hello.
“Hey, Mr. Jean-Baptiste.” I felt like a ghost in some cheesy horror movie shouting, ‘You can see me?’
My dad’s friend reached in to give me a hug. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Lori. How was your trip, dear?”
Confused, I asked, “My trip?”
Over Mr. Jean-Baptiste’s shoulder, I could see my father losing his patience.
“Well I suppose it’s normal to not see volunteering as a vacation. What I meant was, how did you like providing health aide in El Salvador?”
I had to smile at this. It was my first real smile in days. My parents were so pathetic. Instead of telling their friends the truth, they were out here telling them I was off volunteering in developing countries.
“I didn’t go to El Salvador, Mr. Jean-Baptiste. Actually, I ran away from home.”
I think I temporarily lost my mind.
The middle aged man cleared his throat, made uncomfortable by my sudden outburst of honesty. He was about to excuse himself from the awkward encounter, but I wasn’t having it. This was the first time I was being acknowledged in six days, and I was not ready to let that go.
I needed someone to talk to. Anyone.
“Yeah, it started as a date with my boyfriend. Kain Montgomery, son of Silas Montgomery, the crime magnate. Though he’s probably more like an ex-boyfriend now.
” My voice was getting louder. “He was really nice though. So I just up and decided to stay with him, I guess. And then on our seventh day together, he basically told me he didn’t care about me, and then ran into a burning building.
Figuratively, of course. It wasn’t really burning.
Though, according to the news, there were lots of bullets. I don’t even know if he’s dead or—”
The feeling of my mother violently tugging at my wrist, and dragging me away from the spectacle I was creating, cut me short. Trying to get out of everyone’s view, she pulled me outside and into the front yard. I expected her to yell at me. Perhaps I even craved it.
Instead, my left cheek was met with hard slap. Because she’d never hit me before, I was stunned into silence, grabbing at my stinging cheek in fear.
“Have you lost your mind?”
Before I could even process that question, my father had stepped from out of our home, eyes lit with rage. Again, my cheek was met with a hard strike. Only this time, the blow was so much harder, causing me to stumble backwards.
“When you showed up here six days ago, I had the right mind to tell you that you were no longer welcome in this house. But you come here looking like everything that could be done to you was done, and I opened up the door and let you in. For six days, you did not apologize for what you did. You just sulked and watched CNN all day. I left it alone because you were clearly suffering with your own problems. But after I open up my home, ask you no questions, and generally leave you alone—you seek to humiliate me in front of all my colleagues. On your mother’s birthday, no less!
I am ready to tell you what I couldn’t tell you six nights ago. ”
“Joshua…” Mom started to cut in, worried about where this was going.
“No, let her hear it, Tameka. She’s an adult. We don’t owe her anything and I’m sick of the disrespect. You can leave, Lauren.”
Mom tried to do damage control. “Lauren, he’s not kicking you—”
“Yes I am, goddammit! I am kicking her out. I don’t want her here. No more disrespect.”
Did this punishment fit my crime? I started to take a few steps backwards, putting some distance between my parents and I. Mom chastised Dad for his rash behavior before the growing distance between me and them caught her attention.
“Lauren, baby, come here.” Mom reached out, beckoning for me to come in closer. I continued to create space. She stepped forward. “Lauren, ignore your father, he’s…”
I didn’t get to hear the rest of my mother’s persuasive plea. My legs moved faster than she could speak.
I was running.
***
It was late, and I was still walking. Where – I had no idea. I could’ve been about four miles away from home, and my movements were directionless. I had no destination. I had no money. I had no phone.
If my best friend, Lux, wasn’t out of the country for the entire summer, perhaps I would have had some peace of mind. The worst part about having one friend is that when they’re unavailable, you have nothing.
Pride would not let me turn around, however. My father’s words cut into me, creating deep emotional wounds. He meant everything he said, and I would rather die than go back.
I wrapped my arms around myself, following the light of a bus station off in the distance. With pockets as empty as a fool’s head, I certainly didn’t have the money for a ticket. However, the brightly lit station was a place to sit. My legs were beginning to get sore from the walking.