Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
He hung his head once again, and she gave him time. Let him have his moment. After what seemed like an eternity, he went on.
“She told me it was okay. She told me that’s why I acted out. ’Cause I had it all bottled in, and nobody believed me. She said she did believe me, and what they did was wrong. That they were sick. She knew that I was sexually active, and that it was pretty much out of control because she’d find magazines and shit in my book bag, and I’d be showin’ all of my friends. I lost my virginity when I was eleven, Desiree. The girl was thirteen or fourteen, I think. I was proud of that.” He shook his head. “Ms. Florence told me I was too young, and that I was trying to prove something because of… of what happened to me. I had been sexualized at a young age, and that’s all I knew. I remember, uh… gettin’ real upset when she said that. I started hitting stuff, knockin’ over things.”
“What do you think made you get so upset about what she said?”
“She asked me the same thing, why I was hollering, and I replied I didn’t want anyone to think I was gay.”
She massaged a kink along her collar bone, struggling to keep her emotions in check.
“I was so afraid, Desiree, that my friends, Axel and Caspian, would one day find out… and I didn’t want my sister to know, ’cause I was her big brother. I didn’t want her to see me as weak. I told Ms. Florence that I really liked girls, but it didn’t matter, because what they did to me meant I’m gay. She of course said it didn’t, but I kept tryna defend myself. Prove somethin’, even to her. I told her, ‘Ms. Florence, I don’t like boys like that. I don’t want to fuck a boy. But I must be gay ’cause…’cause a man… a man looked at me like that, and he…’ SHIT!” He started punching his thigh so hard, over and over again, she feared he’d hurt himself.
She screamed for him to stop. And then, his eyes filled with tears…
She took a step towards him, then another. When she touched him on his chest, he jumped up, his eyes wild.
“No me toques! DON’T TOUCH ME! DON’T YOU FUCKIN’ TOUCH ME! DON’T YOU PUT YO’ MOTHAFUCKIN’ HANDS ON ME, MAN! La concha de tu Madre!!!”
She’d never heard this man speak Spanish before, his other language. He was lost in a trance.
This is a flashback. He’s in full memory mode, pulling out old mental files. He’s going through it all over again, right now… It was like post-traumatic stress disorder from being in a war. In fact, he had been in a war, and it had nothing to do with his time in the Army. There was no other way to describe it.
Putting her hands up in surrender, she took a step back.
“Look at me, Legend,” she said quietly. “It’s Desiree. I’m not Luis. I’m a woman… your woman…”
He glared at her, and the darkness in his eyes began to subside.
He picked up his cigarette, took a hard draw, then placed it back in the ashtray. ‘My Kind of Woman,’ by Mac DeMarco was playing right then, an easygoing and lazy contrast to their conversation.
“How long have you been keeping tabs on their lives, Legend?” She pointed to the pictures.
“Since I was sixteen.” He smiled proudly, as if he’d really done something there. “On my sixteenth birthday, I made a wish on the candle of my cake. I said one day, I’d go after all of them, and ruin them. I want them all pushin’ up daises. Worm food. All their mothafuckin’ buckets kicked. I’ve been hunting them a long-ass time, baby. Luis is in Puerto Rico. He moved back ’bout thirteen years ago, but I still know what he’s doing. The other two are here in Kentucky. It doesn’t matter though.” He grabbed the cigarette again. More smolder rose in the air. “They could be on the damn moon, and I’d still go after their asses. I don’t care. They’re all going down. One. Two. Three.” He smiled, making a shooting motion with his hand. “Bang! Bang! Bang!” he yelled, laughing—a haunting, hate-fueled, yet forlorn sound.
“Why have you waited so long to deal with them?” She crossed her arms, interested in all the words he left unsaid.
“’Cause I’ve been in prison off and on, for half of my adult life, baby.” He shrugged, as if it were obvious. “A couple times I thought about taking care of it while out free, but it wasn’t the right time. If you don’t learn nothin’ else from me, you’ll know I believe timing is important for everything in this life. It takes a lot of planning, and you got to have the money to get what you need. The supplies. Travel expenses. The right mindset. I take my time. I do my research on people, places, and things. My patience is short for bullshit, but when planning something that I need … oh yeah,” he said with an emphatic nod, “I got all the time in the world. I only got one shot to do this right.”