Chapter 44

It's been two days since my own search and rescue team found me. After everything that happened, Caesar agreed that it would be a good idea for me to learn how to protect myself. He gave me his word that he'll teach me how to shoot a gun eventually. I was hoping it would be sooner rather than later, but I'll compromise for now. With Tory's funeral scheduled for today, shooting a gun is the last thing on my mind anyway.

I slide my hands down the black dress I'm wearing. Its long sleeves flare out into a ruffle by my hands. It's a really pretty dress for an ugly occasion. For once, I wish I could dress up this nicely for something other than a funeral. A wedding maybe or a graduation; something where I'm celebrating the people I love and not the lives they lived.

It's crazy to think most people have only been to one funeral in their life by the time they're 18. If they're really lucky, they've probably never had to step foot inside a church unless it was by choice. Unfortunately, luck doesn't run in the Ortiz family. It's hard to come by, especially if you're me.

I've had to squeeze into this black dress more times than I can bear. And from the looks of things, I should keep it at the front of my closet, so that next time I'm not spending an hour looking for it. That way if the worst happens, Mama will be able to find it in case she's too broken up to find something else to bury me in.

I close my eyes. I take a deep breath in to center myself.

This entire day feels surreal. The way things have been going, I could've easily been on my own deathbed right now. I may still be alive, but a part of me died that night in the car with Tory. Another part of me died when Curry kidnapped me. So in a way, it's like I'm getting ready for my own funeral.

I barely recognize the girl staring back at me--and it has nothing to do with the bruises covering my face. I'm not the same person I was a week ago. I can't tell if that's a positive or negative change.

"Candy."

I turn around to see Simon standing in the doorway of my bedroom.

He's pulled himself together for Tory's funeral which is shocking to say the least. I'm still surprised he's going, let alone dressed up for it. His hair is braided with parts so neat only Mama could have done them. I take in his outfit: a black Polo shirt with the red logo, black jeans and black Vans.

I know he's only tagging along to watch me since he never gave Tory respect while he was here. Ain't no way in hell he's gonna' do it now that he's gone. The truth is, him and Caesar hasn't let me out their sights since I got back.

I stare at him until he starts talking.

"Mama wants to know if you're gonna' try to eat something before we leave," He says.

"No."

I turn back to the mirror to give myself one final look over before I start worrying about how the hell I'm gonna cover these bruises on my face.

Simon grabs the back of his neck.

"I told her you was gon' say that but she said she heard you throwing up last night. She said you gotta eat something even if it's just soup and crackers," He says.

I roll my eyes. I was throwing up last night 'cause of the nightmare I had about Tory, not 'cause I'm sick. Last time I checked, chicken noodle soup is not a remedy for a guilty conscience.

"Tell Mama I'm not hungry," I say.

Simon nods his head through the mirror. I expect him to leave after his failed attempt of getting me to eat, but of course he doesn't. It pisses me off how he lingers at my door like he has to watch over me.

Three days he wouldn't even talk to me. Now he can't go two seconds without asking me if I'm okay or stopping by my room to check on me. It's like we're embryos again the way he's been glued to my hip.

I mean, I get it. Almost losing me was a wake-up call for Simon. I'd be the same way if I almost lost him. But I didn't almost lose him, I almost lost my life, so I want nothing more than to be left alone for awhile.

He's been trying so hard to get back on my good side though that I don't have the heart to tell him. Besides, today goes to show that life is too short to not spend it with the people you love. So, I guess Simon's overprotectiveness is something I'll just have to get used to.

I mean, I never got used to it with Ace, but we'll see.

I ignore Simon's concerned gaze as I examine my bruises in the mirror.

The black eye I got from Neco has faded into a dark purplish color. My right cheek is still swollen thanks to Curry's heavy-handed ass. As if that isn't bad enough, I still have small cuts and bruises all over my face.

I should be receiving a purple heart award for for making it out of Curry's grasps alive. Instead, all I'm gonna be getting is pity looks if I don't do something about my face. I doubt makeup will do the trick, but then again, it wouldn't hurt to try. Right now my face screams victim. Anything would better than that.

I start digging around my dresser for my makeup bag and brushes when I hear footsteps in the hallway. I look up just in time to see Caesar fill the space next to Simon in the doorway.

"Ma sent me to tell y'all she gettin' ready to head out. I figured you wasn't ready yet, so I told her I'd drive you," Caesar says.

"I'll drive myself," I say.

"I'm riding with you," Simon says.

"No, you're not. Ride with Mama. I'll meet y'all there," I say.

Simon looks at me like he's ready to protest. Caesar slaps his back.

"Don't trip, bro. I'ma make sure she put something in her stomach before she leave," Caesar says.

Simon turns so that he and Caesar are facing each other in the small doorway.

"Don't call me that, and I wasn't talkin' to you," He says.

Here we go again. At least some things stayed the same in my absence.

"If you talkin' 'bout Candyce then you talkin' to me too, nigga," Caesar says.

Simon scrunches his face up.

"This is a family matter, nigga. Why the fuck are you still here?" He asks.

"Can y'all stop?" I ask.

Caesar and Simon break their stares to look at me. Usually it would take a lot more to break them up, but they've been on their best behavior in front of me. Out of everything, this is a welcomed change.

Caesar holds my gaze while Simon looks away.

He mugs Caesar again.

"You don't live here, nigga. I wouldn't get too comfortable if I was you," He says.

Caesar pulls a face like he's trying not to laugh as Simon leaves the room. He holds his composure until Simon is down the hallway. Then he walks in my room grinning.

"You know nobody ain't never threatened me as much as yo' brother do?" He asks.

I snort a laugh.

"Let me find out you have a soft spot for him," I say.

"I have a soft spot for you. That's the only reason I let that nigga get away with half the shit he be doing. 'Cause if he was anybody else..." Caesar says.

I give him a pointed look.

He raises his hands in surrender as he sits on the edge of my bed.

I turn back to the mirror to start doing my makeup. It's like I'm getting ready for a clown gig with all the makeup I have ready to use. The sad part is that I have most of my collection out and I still don't think it'll be enough.

"Fuck it. You gotta do what you gotta do," I whisper to myself.

I grab the concealer and get to work. As I'm dabbing the sponge across my face, I feel Caesar's eyes on me through the mirror. I make the mistake of making eye contact with him.

"You okay?" He asks.

Talk about a loaded question. I don't know how to begin to answer that, so I stay quiet.

An eye roll will have to settle as an answer for now. I'm too busy painting a picture on my face. The picture I paint is one of a girl who's only trauma is losing a friend. Of course, shit ain't always what they appear to be. I just hope for my sake, people can't see behind the scenes.

After nearly using the whole bottle of concealer, I move on to applying foundation and primer. Before long I'm teasing my lashes with a mascara wand. It didn't take me long to finish since I skipped over eyeshadow. It didn't make sense to do seeing as how no smokey eye can compete with the one Curry gave me.

Wearing mascara is pointless too. People are probably gonna' be too busy trying not to stare at me to notice my eyelashes look longer than usual. Still, I can't help taking my time. If nothing else, it's keeping me from answering Caesar's question. Hopefully if I stall long enough he'll forget he even asked.

I twist the cap back on the mascara. I look up at Caesar when I'm done. His gaze is fixed on me like he's still waiting for an answer.

I sigh loudly.

"If I say no?" I ask.

"Then you ain't goin' nowhere til' you feel better. I still don't think you should be going. You should be resting up til' yo' shoulder heal," Caesar says.

I almost laugh, I swear I do.

"This coming from the boy who showed up in my room days after he got shot four times all because I didn't answer my phone," I say.

"Best believe I felt the repercussions of it the next day too," Caesar says.

I don't say anything. Caesar takes my silence as a go-ahead to continue speaking his mind.

"You need to get yo' strength back. I think Munch 'nem will understand," He says.

"I'm going, Caesar. It's not up for discussion," I say.

"We'll see," He says.

I turn around to face him.

"How you gon' stop me?" I ask.

"This door gotta lock, yeah," He says.

I laugh to myself thinking about the last time I was locked in a room against my will. My cut up arms are a testament to what will happen to the next motherfucker that tries that shit again.

Caesar stares at me. I feel his energy shift from lowkey concerned to full-on alert.

"Where yo' head at this morning?" He asks.

This morning? My head has been all over the place since last night. The closer we get to the funeral, the more Tory infiltrates my thoughts. Sleep was out of the question. Every time I closed my eyes I was back in the car with Tory, only it wasn't the night he was killed. It was our third time meeting, when I asked for his help in protecting Simon from himself. Everything in the dream played out how it did in my memories. We were still in the car, smoking on some shady ass dead end street talking. The only difference is when Tory should have been telling me about the worst thing that ever happened to him--killing his mom--he actually started to tell the story of how I left him in the street to die.

Every time I woke up gasping in the middle of the night, I thought I had escaped the nightmare. In reality, the real nightmare hadn't even begun.

Getting dressed this morning was a struggle. I kept pausing at random moments to think about Tory. I couldn't zip my dress up for thinking about all the times I sat in the trap laughing with him and Munch. I couldn't get my stockings on without reminiscing on all the one-on-one time we shared together. I did my hair thinking about the deep conversations we had when Tory hit the blunt one too many times. My shoes weren't even on my feet yet when it suddenly felt like I got hit in the chest with a wrecking ball.

Reality set in that I'll never get that back. Even if I do find another friend like Tory, they'll never be him. I learned early on in our friendship that there's only one Tory. He's cut from a different cloth, a different breed altogether. They don't make 'em like him no more.

From now on, all of our good memories will be tainted in that way memories are when the people in them are no longer with you.

That's where my head is today. That's what's running through my mind as I stare at Caesar trying to figure out what to say.

Eventually, I just give up. Instead of being real with him, I shrug my shoulders.

"What you mean?" I ask.

"You haven't said much since you got back. Now you ain't eating. I guess I'm just worried," Caesar says.

"What's new?" I scoff.

"Candyce."

I look up at him sitting on my bed. It's a familiar sight after the last two days. He hasn't left my side since he brought me home from the Auto Shop of Horrors, not even to sleep. It hasn't been that long, but I can tell it's becoming a habit. I'm getting too used to the safety I feel when I lie in his arms at night. Sleeping with him makes me feel like everything is alright, and today, today is just a reminder that everything is not alright.

"Come here," Caesar says.

He holds his hand out for me to take. I sit the mascara down and walk over to him.

When I'm within his reach, he hooks his hands on my waist and pulls me the rest of the way.

I'm left standing between his open legs while he sits on the edge of the bed.

I rest my hands on his shoulders. He grabs one of them, the one Curry squeezed until a piece of glass sliced my hand open. He turns my hand over and kisses the inside of my palm. It's bandaged up so tightly I can barely feel it.

He looks up at me afterwards. I don't think I've ever seen his brown eyes look as soft as they do in this moment. I smile down at him.

"All bullshit aside. You good?" Caesar asks.

I groan as I as I unwrap his arms from around my waist.

I appreciate him and Simon looking out for me. I just wish they would let me enjoy a single fucking moment without reminding me of what I've been through. A bitch smile one time and they think I'm hiding my feelings.

"I just answered this. How many times you and Si gon' ask me that shit?" I ask.

"That's up to you. All you gotta do is tell us what happened with Curry's bitch ass and I'll dead the shit," Caesar says.

I walk over to my dresser.

"Why does it matter?" I ask.

I rummage through my top drawer looking for the black bandana I bought yesterday.

"'Cause I don't know how to help you if I don't know what you been through," Caesar says.

I sigh.

"You've been helping, Caese. By being here," I say.

"That ain't enough."

"For me or for you?" I ask.

Finally having found the bandana, I pull it out and slam the drawer shut.

Caesar's eyes follow me across the room. I don't make eye contact, but I catch his eye when I stand in front the mirror again.

"You gon' tell me what them niggas did to you?" He asks.

His jaw is locked and he's looking at the floor as if the question itself pains him.

I let the question hang in the air while I fold the bandana.

I'm trying my best to forget the whole kidnapping thing ever happened. Tory's funeral is today, and I can only handle one tragedy at a time. Not talking about it is having the opposite effect on Caesar though. Every time he brings it up, it sends a shockwave to my system.

I try to ignore the way my heartbeat quickens, or the way my palms get sweaty, but it's too late. He's already pulled the trigger.

As if I'm back there, my stomach starts to hurt like it did when I was on the receiving side of Curry's shoe. I can still feel every kick and every punch he and Neco threw at me. Worse of all, I can still feel how scared I was when Maj left me in the bathroom. I didn't know how much I wanted to live until I thought I was gonna' die. I sat in that bathroom for hours jumping at every sound thinking each breath would be my last. Even now, thinking of it makes my breath hitch.

"Candyce," Caesar calls.

I snap out of it, and look at him.

"Did they hurt you?" He asks.

His eyes search mine for answers I'm not ready to give him. He's so sweet, but I don't have it in me to bring myself back there just yet. I escaped from them once; I don't think I can do it again.

The bandana finally folded, I lift it to my head and place it between my bang and my ponytail. I tie the knot in the front like Tupac wore his.

"Red," Caesar says impatiently.

"Why do you keep asking me that?! Don't you see my face?" I ask.

"Stop with all that sarcastic shit, bruh. Look at me."

I stay put in front the mirror.

Caesar lets out a frustrated sigh. He stands up and crosses the short distance between us. He gently turns me around so that I'm facing him.

"Caesar, I'm trying to get ready," I say.

He ignores me. He grips my chin and makes me look up at him. I roll my eyes and smack my teeth, but I don't jerk away from him.

"Just tell me, man. Did they hurt you? And I don't mean these bruises and shit that I can see. I'm talkin' 'bout what went on before we got there," His voice softens, "Like why you ain't have pants on?"

"Caesar," I smack my teeth, knocking his hand away.

I walk over to my dresser. I pick up all the makeup I used and start to pack them away in my makeup bag.

"Why you keep avoiding the question?" Caesar asks.

"'Cause I didn't know what you meant until now. To answer your question, no. They didn't hurt me like that."

"Why you couldn't just say that then?" He asks.

I slam the bottle of concealer on the counter.

"'Cause I didn't realize it was my job to comfort you! I shouldn't have to ease your mind! I thought I was the one that got kidnapped, not you!" I say.

Caesar and I stare at each other. I'm the first to break our gaze. I shake my head as I finish throwing everything back into my bag.

Suddenly, I feel Caesar's fingertips brush against my arm. I close my eyes, thinking back to when he first did it at Jonah's funeral. I was angry as hell then, but I couldn't deny what it did to me. That one little gesture was enough to bring all my feels to the surface, just as it's doing now.

"C'mere," Caesar whispers.

I don't fight him when he grabs my elbow, and pulls me into him. I bury my head in his chest, wrapping my arms around him next. I take a deep breath--my last attempt at keeping the tears at bay. Then Caesar's hands find their way to my back. Tears flood my eyes. One blink, and they break through the wall I put up to stop myself from feeling like this.

I grip the back of Caesar's shirt as a silent scream escapes the back of my throat. The pain I've been keeping buried under layers of drama rattles my bones on its way up.

I didn't have time to cope with Tory's death 'cause Curry had other plans. I spent the last two days acting like neither of those things happened. Now all the hurt is seeping out of me. It's like I'm giving rise to a new level of sadness. The pain is unlike anything I've felt before. Maybe it's the loss, or the guilt or my own personal trauma of watching Tory die, and then almost dying myself. Whatever it is, it feels like it's trying to claw its way out of me. My body can't take the pain. I just wanna' curl into a ball, and never wake up again. My knees get weak. Caesar has to stop rubbing my back to keep me standing on my own two feet.