When Love Hurts (10 page)

“You can stay the night here if you want,” she says, looking back at the long crowd still lining up to get some food. I’ve seen some of them in the line before who are now trying to get seconds.

“I know. They told me,” I say. I look down and watch an ant walk across my shoe. “How it’s looking, I might have to do that.”

“Well, if you do, you gon’ have to show up early and get your spot. They go fast, girl,” Compella says. “I should know. I’ve been staying at Peace Tribe since my husband died. The bastard. Who dies out of nowhere? I mean, he just collapsed on me.” Compella’s voice gets darker at the mention of her husband.

“I can relate to that. I lost my parents too. Well, I guess I never really had parents. My grandmother raised me.”

“What happened to your parents?” Compella asks.
 

“Both died or disappeared. Something like that. I never did find out what happened to them. My grandma raised me, but she’s dead now too. She died the day of my high school graduation from heart failure. I moved up here to go to school, but that didn’t work out, and in the end I was staying with a man that really wasn’t a man at all,” I say.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sweetie. Yes, we’ve all come across hard times one way or another. I’m just lucky I still have my youth,” Compella says, flicking the little bit of hair she has with her hand.

“So, enough of the sad talk,” she continues, stretching out her legs from the curb. “What are your plans for today?”

I stare down at the pavement, then look around my area, which is populated with people and traffic going by fast in front of us. “Nowhere, I guess.”

“Oh, come on. You’re young and hot. You can get out there and find a job somewhere now, can’t you?”

I don’t know what being young and hot has to do with me finding a job, but I sure as hell know no one will hire me with my head banged up and my eye busted. I shake my head and avoid looking at her. She takes my non-reply as a no and pats my knee.
 

“You know, you have to try at something to get ahead. You never know, you might succeed at something.”

“I tried at something I really wanted to do, but it didn’t work out.” I turn to look at her face when I say this to see if her reaction will change, but it remains still. I continue. “About two years ago I dropped out of Chicago State University to focus all of my time on my photography business I just started up. I figured that school and homework took up all of my time, and since I was going to start my business when I left school anyway, why shouldn’t I start right then?”

I pause and turn back to the traffic of vehicles sweeping by paying no attention to two women sitting on the curb in front of a homeless shelter. I stare down at my feet and continue. “I left the university and moved in with my boyfriend, Chris. Somehow my business never really took off.”

“Well, that’s no reason to stop trying,” Compella says, sounding too much like one of those high-paid motivational speakers. “Never give up on your dreams, sweetheart.”

I chuckle at that. “It’s okay, Compella. I’m over it.”

Compella’s quiet for a while before she speaks again. “What made you want to be a photographer in the first place?”

I smile at the memory that springs up inside my head. “My grandmother, Grandma Mae, loved to take pictures. She had millions of pictures of me growing up, and one day when I was about five or six years old she let me take pictures of my own with her camera. It was an old-fashioned camera probably worth around a hundred bucks now, but she got it from her mother, and she let me use it. I think I fell in love with taking pictures that day. It was like the world stayed still for me when I went to look back at them. I’ll never forget anything that happens to me in this life because of pictures, so I liked to take as many of them as I could.”

“Why’d you stop?” Compella asks.

“It hurt really bad when I gave up on my business, and I guess I never wanted to pick up another camera again. I felt that I couldn’t do it, and maybe the world was trying to tell me something.”

“Yeah, to buck up!” Compella laughs and nudges me with her elbow. “Look, most people say they’re going to start their own business and never do. At least you gave it a shot, right? Hey, you have a lot to be proud of, and you can always try again or go back to school. Like I said, you’re young.” She stares off into the sky like she’s being showered by the sun. “You and I have all the time in the world.”

Compella and I talk until lunch is served. We get in line and eat outside again. I tell her about my situation with Jaylen, and how I’m trying to find a place to stay with my friend Malcolm when he comes back in town. I also tell her a little bit about Chris, but she has already guessed that he’s the abusive type by my bloody appearance. She listens to me and gives her two cents, which I listen to.

We stay at the shelter all day even though after lunch the crowd gets smaller. Some stand across the street with signs and cups, and others go farther down to mark their own territory. Compella suggests that if I want a guaranteed spot I better stay close by, so that’s what I do. Malcolm isn’t coming back for another three or four days, and I can’t see Jaylen, so this is the last choice I have. I think back to Helen, who helped me out this morning. She probably only has one bedroom, and I refuse to share a couch with a dog that hates me. It really doesn’t matter because she lives across town anyway, and I don’t have any bus fare to go back to her.

I figure my situation could be worse, but I still feel like crap. I want to lie down and sleep, but the only place to rest is on the curb. Compella doesn’t say anything as she sits next to me and watches me lay my head in my arms. Just as I’m about to zone out, Compella leans over to my ear. “Just don’t sleep for too long. Someone might try to pick your pockets.”

PART FOUR

Jaylen

I’m satisfied with the condition of the building I plan to get for the bar. It has a grand space area and, two separate rooms for a break room and my office, and all that’s left to do is go over the leasing contract. I’m doing just that as I sit across from Mr. Ridd, the owner of the building. He’s a white man in his late fifties with a long awkward mustache spilling from his nose. He sits with his arms folded as he watches me read the contract.

I lean back and nod. “It all looks good, man. Let’s do this.”

Ridd nods and reaches over to sign his name on the last page. I’m about to do the same, when the door to my new building opens, and Malcolm walks in with the most worried look I’ve ever seen. He walks over and touches my shoulder.
 

“I need to talk to you real quick,” he says, nodding toward the exit. He’s staring with such a silent urge that I stand up and turn toward my new business partner. “Give me a second, Ridd.”

Ridd shrugs. “Take all the time you need. Just don’t forget our deal.”
 

“Yeah,” I say, then follow Malcolm outside to the summer heat. He turns around to face me, and his look is stern.

“Did Jessica call you or stop by?” he asks. I shake my head no. Malcolm runs a hand over his face and starts patting his leg nervously.

“Why you ask that?” I ask, watching him closely. “Something happen?”

“I think so. I just spoke to Jonathon about half an hour ago, and he said he saw Jessica at my place a few days ago, and I’m thinking, ‘Why would she come to my house without calling, texting, or nothin’?’ Something’s up, man. I swear it is.”

“What did Jonathon say? Did Jessica say what she wanted?” I ask, starting to feel uneasy.

“No. He just said that she had a bandage and a black eye, and was looking for me.” He says those words with so much venom in his voice, it equals the lethal feeling I have building up.

I don’t need to hear anymore and start walking straight to my car. Malcolm follows and gets in on the passenger side.
 

Malcolm’s saying things to me, but I’m focusing on Chris. Bandage? Black eye? What the fuck?
 

“Uh, yo, Jay—ease up on that gas, bro,” Malcolm says, nudging me on the shoulder.
 

I lift my foot off the gas slightly, but I’m still doing twenty over the speed limit and dodging in between traffic. I clench the steering wheel tighter and fidget at a red light.
 

Finally, we pull up to Chris’s apartment, and I’m half-expecting to find Jessica sitting around somewhere crying. We walk through the main hallway, and Malcolm bangs on his door. Chris opens the door a few seconds later wearing a wife-beater with a joint hanging out his mouth. He laughs when he sees us, and I reach to slap the grin off his face, when Malcolm stops me.
 

“Let me talk to him for a second. We need some information.” Malcolm turns to face Chris. “Where the hell is Jessica?”

Chris shrugs. “I don’t know where that hoe is. I kicked her ass out a week ago ’cause I found out she was fucking my nigga Mike. I ain’t with that bitch no more, so you guys can go find her ass in the dumpster, if you lucky. Now get the fuck out of my face with this shit.”

I’m on top of him the next second. My blows pound into his head over and over until I feel the blood oozing out, but I don’t stop. I can feel his body going up and down, and I know Malcolm’s stomping the shit out of him as I beat his face in. Chris is bleeding heavily beneath me, and I’m loving it. All I have to think about was Jessica flinching when I touched her and the bruises on her belly when I was making love to her. I hate him. I hate this man.
 

I stand up suddenly and pull out the gun I have at my waist and point it between Chris’s eyes. He can’t speak, but his eyes are teary and nearly swollen shut.
 

Malcolm sees the gun and comes up beside me. “Hold on, hold on, hold on. We can’t take care of a body right now,” Malcolm says, staring hard into my eyes. He pushes the gun down from Chris’s face. “We ain’t got time to kill this fool. We gotta find Jessica.” He turns back to Chris. “First.”

I nod but don’t take my eyes off Chris as he lies motionless on the floor. No one is in the hallways, and I doubt if anyone called the police. I bend over and slap him with the gun, and he cries out holding his face and rolls around. Pussy-ass nigga.
 

We turn to walk out the door, when Malcolm turns back to face Chris. “If we can’t find her, we’ll be back with a lot more time on our hands—ya feel me?”

“I’ll drive, bro. You can’t focus right now,” he says, reaching out his hand for the keys.

I toss them to him and sit in the passenger seat. I don’t know where we’re going, but I know that for Chris’s sake we need to get the hell out of here. I let out a breath and lean against the window. Malcolm turns to me as he drives off. “Call Angela and see if Jessica stopped by your house,” he says.

“Angela’s at work. She wouldn’t know,” I say. “We can drive by my house real fast. Ain’t no hurt in checking.”

Malcolm nods and starts speeding. I start fidgeting and sweating hard.
 

We get to my house seven minutes later, and I jump out with Malcolm close behind me. I shove my key through the door, but the room is empty and exactly how I left it this morning. I never thought there’d be a time when I hoped things would look like someone had been in my house without me knowing. I walk in the living room looking around for any signs that Jessica was here. I stare at the kitchen and think about her making dinner for me. I remember the burned chicken she was trying to hide by turning it to the unburned side. I smile and my chest aches.
 

I search through the rest of the apartment, but there’s no sign that Jessica was here. Malcolm has worry lines across his forehead. “Where the fuck could she be?” he asks, looking around the room.
 

I feel worse than he feels. If I hadn’t said that she was dead to me, she would have come to me when she needed me the most. Did she really think I’d turn her away if she needed help? I shake my head and think back to the day three months ago when we fought. I am angry, frustrated, confused, and just disgusted that I lashed out at her.
 

“Let’s go look somewhere else. We got to find her, and I’m not stopping until we do.”

Malcolm nods, and we both leave the apartment. Malcolm’s behind the wheel again, but we don’t go anywhere. We have nowhere to start. “Maybe she went home. You know, back to Grandma Mae’s house?” he asks, starting to drive off toward the freeway.

I shrug but give the decision more thought after we’ve driven for a couple of minutes. “Mom would have told us if she was home, though. She’s right next door.”

“Maybe Mom don’t know. Let’s just check out the area anyway,” Malcolm says, entering on the freeway ramp starting the hour-and-a-half drive to Aurora. “What do we got to lose?”

“Time.”
 

Malcolm doesn’t say anything in response, and I stare out the window the whole time watching the Chicago skyline get smaller and smaller.
 

I pick up the phone and call Angela. She’s pissed that I won’t be able to pick her up from work, but she gets over it when I tell her what’s going on. She seems genuinely concerned and says she didn’t see or hear anything from Jessica. I thank her and hang up. Malcolm glances my way every so often, but I never acknowledge him or start up a conversation. It’s starting to get darker and making it harder to find people on the streets.

We arrived in Aurora almost an hour later and drive down our old neighborhood on Fourth Street. The street is somewhat empty except for a few kids and teenagers hanging out on their porches talking without a care in the world. We park the car across the street from Jessica’s old house that was boarded up after the death of her grandmother and went into foreclosure. The grass is completely yellow, and the trash in the yard is piling up.
 

I shake my head and head to the house next door to it. I spot my mom wearing a hot-red polka-dotted dress standing at the door. She pushes it open when she sees us, and I wonder how she knew we were coming.

When we get in the door, she eyes us down like we stole something. Our old living area’s huge and spacious with a leather couch and rug. There’s no TV. She continues to stare up at us, tapping her foot on the hardwood floor. “What happened now?” she asks.