shots - spooky

seventeen - aftershock

Yajel

"I don't care where you go Cesar but it can't be here", Oscar screamed at his brother. The newly "enlightened" part of me would've told him he was being to harsh, that a kid shouldn't be cast onto the streets.

But the part of me had blood covering her hands that she couldn't wash off. So as the good parts of me crumbled, the bad parts stumbled home from the hospital into Oscar's front door. After a major mental breakdown he and I compared notes on the events of tonight, this morning, whichever.

Cesar has never shot Latrell, just scared him away on a promise that Latrell would go far away. But he didn't. And thus, Cesar was now packing what little he could and pleading for Oscar to reconsider. But he wasn't budging, his face scrunched up in a deep snarl at his younger sibling.

"Yajel please, try to convince him", Cesar turns to me and I give him no response. His shoulders drop in defeat.

"Goodbye", he huffs hiking the bag up his shoulder and exiting the house.

We don't speak for what feels like hours, me going through the ways tonight went wrong. I should've spent more time with her, I should've went to her stupid party months ago, I should've been to more sleepovers. I should've been on the dance floor with her. It should've been me.

She had a full life, a strong family, and loving friends who would've given her the world.

"How about you take a shower and head to sleep", Oscar states, grabbing his keys and his coat, "I should be back in an hour or so."

He doesn't give me to time to relish in what he said before he's out of the door and in his car. Even with that I still sit in the chair for a few minutes looking at the blood drying in the creases of my hands.

I get up grab my own things and lock the house up. I cross the street and enter my own house, seeming a little less cold.

"King", I call out into the house and he pops his head from his room, phone to ear. I smile at the familiar face and walk down the hall to my own room. One wall full of a design I was so adamant about finishing a few days ago. Canvases litter my bed, and different color paints are stacked neatly in the left corner.
If I didn't live here I would think the room belonged to some uppity college art student with a passion for colors.

I strip my clothes and throw them cleanly into the trash basket. I grab a freshly towel and walk to the bathroom turning on the hottest water. I don't bother removing my jewelry before I step into the shower.

Quickly I scrub at my skin trying to not only remove the physical stains but the mental ones as well. I want so badly to forget everything, I want so badly to not feel so traumatized.

I haven't felt this pain since the night my parents passed. I remember how much I cried into King's chest as we sat in that police station waiting for an answer. But now it was different, every ounce of sadness so quickly seemed to stem out into hatred and blame.

With a newly cleansed body and semi-clear mind I step onto my plush black mat and dry off. A soft knock raps at my bathroom door.

"Mm", I hum in response and King opens the door.

"I heard, you want to...um...talk about it?", he asks.

"No I'm going to finish up and go to bed", I spit out toothpaste and rinse my mouth.

"Okay, goodnight...I love you", he says when I reach for the door to leave.

"Love you too big bro", I give him a small smile and turn off the light heading for my room.