Miscellaneous

XXI-Charmaine

Not a single cell in my body felt any ounce of empathy for Kyle Kenneth as he lied on that hospital bed. Clearly, he looked destructed with his busted face and swollen fingers. Anybody who took a look at him would infer that this was a crime of passion, which makes things easier for the cops. The problem is, there's countless people who have a thing against Kyle, meaning the suspects are endless.

Priscilla, though, is the main target right now.

Cops swarm the hallways with their hefty steps and menacing faces. Kyle is one of the kids who speaks cash in every language possible. He reeks of money and privilege, and his parents made sure to point every finger possible towards Priscilla, his most recent ex-girlfriend.

Police incompetence shines bright because when Priscilla sobbed in their countless stations, asking for a way out, they turned their backs. Now, they look at her, with clear dislike painted over their faces.

This is when she needs me most.

"I have not even talked to him in weeks, now. I was kind of hoping he'd reach out, so I let him." She explains, practically shoving her phone at their faces to prove her innocence. Under all that anger and distaste, I can see the sadness swimming in her eyes. It begs to be let out through her tears that are only minutes shy from streaming down her face.

"I have no reason to hurt him. It was never that way with us. He was the one who always hurt me, not the other way around."

The female officer stands there, almost helpless. I know jobs like this require no bias, but she's cracking like an egg with empathy subtly oozing from her. "I know, Ms. De La Mora, but it's just standard protocol to question suspects like you."

Priscilla looked down, and I took her hands into mine. I slightly squeeze her hand just to reassure her. "It'll be okay.

She looks at the cop, "They'll figure out that it's not me though, right? Because I swear, I didn't do it."

"If you didn't do it, then you didn't." The cop slightly smiles, "Don't let us scare you, buttercup. The truth always comes out."

Yeah, whatever.

After their lengthy, repeated interrogation, me and Priscilla leave the hospital hand in hand. She bursts into tears by the time we're almost at my door, and it's yesterday all over again. "I don't understand why anybody would do this. Under all that mess, he was a good person."

I'm hugging her tightly to prevent her from sinking to her knees. As if matters can't get any worse, I see that black Mercedes pulling up to my driveway and instantly knowing who's there to pester us. Of course, out of all people, he's got to be the one who hears and comes to "comfort" us.

"Hey, Cherry. I heard what happened." He says, gracing us with his sickly presence. He's in that coat again, and it contrasts his rich dark brown skin perfectly. I'll admit it. He looks good.

What did he say again? Cherry? He sure does think he's great with nicknames.

Priscilla looks up with her grief-stricken face and instantly looks back at me. "Why is your lover boy here? I thought-"

"I promise you, I don't know why. Go inside and lie down on my bed a little. I'll get rid of this pest and be right back."

She hesitates, "You dont need to. I can go over to Tomás' place and talk it out."

"Priscilla, you're my best friend. Does it look like I'll let Tomás be the one to support you right now? Go inside and wait for me, I promise to be there in no time, okay?"

She smiles, and I know she's grateful. Tomás might be our best friend, but ever since things got a little grey with him and Priscilla as feelings got involved, things haven't been the same. I can't expect her to just talk when she's grieving and put in the same room as Tomás. He's likely to just fuck the sadness away, temporarily.

Once she's gone, I turn back to James, who is standing directly in front of me like he's full of himself. Since when was he's supposed to drive to my place just because I'm sad? That's a new progression we haven't gotten to yet.

"What are you doing here?" I practically hiss.

He only smiles and wholeheartedly tells me, "I said you could always count on me. I meant it."

Now I'm the one flooded with pity for myself as I stand there feeling small. This isn't supposed to be as deep as I'm making it out to be. Yet, I look away and try to keep my composure in check. "Listen, whatever you've got in mind, now is not the" time. I ignore the slight dip in my voice as my throat contricts.

"I don't have anything in mind. I just wanted to check on you."

My fists ball up in anger. Me and my bestfriend are quite shaken, and yet he wants to use such weakness to his advantage. "James, cut the bullshit. You want to profit off my sadness."

His face falls, "I never said that." He says. "If you're upset, I can go and give you space."

A part of me hates the way I want to ask not to leave. It's very strong, the urge to make him stay and listen to me. I'm not the one who's grieving the most, though Priscilla is, and she needs me. She needs me more than I need him.

"That would be great, for now." I say. "It's not you, it's‐"

He stops me, "I know, Charmaine. I get it, it can be hard to talk to someone about it sometimes." He says. "If you change your mind, I'm a call or a text away."

I watch him climb into his car and settle behind the steering wheel. He regards me for a while before starting the car and steering it out of my driveway. I watch him like a child watching their parent leave to work. He flashes me a grin and a wave before driving away.

My heart aches as my eyes sting with tears. It's not like he's leaving forever, but it's the self-pity that's killing me. I turned out yet another perfectly good chance with a perfectly good guy. I took my words and buried them inside of me like I always do.

Still, I put on a reassuring smile when I walked into my bedroom to find Priscilla balled up on my bed. I wrap my arms around her and let her melt into me. She sobs, she curses, and she pleads, but at least somebody listens.

"It's okay, Priscilla. You'll be okay." I tell her.

But I'm not sure if I'll be okay.