AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I stare at her, how broken she is, watching tears fall from her eyes and a fist clenches inside my chest.
“Why?” she pleads, staring at the mess of papers on the floor. She covers her face and sobs.
I scoop her up into my arms and carry her out of there. I come to the door of the next room, open it, and it’s a room filled with stuff, including boxes piled on a bed, so I move along, past the front window, around to the other side of the upper floor and find the next door open. I carry her in there. Her face is buried in my shirt and she’s shaking, crying, clutching her biceps, trying to fold into herself.
It’s obviously her room. Pink and purple floral wallpaper on one wall, the other walls painted lavender. A single bed with a purple comforter. An empty doll cradle in the corner. I sit on the bed and continue to cradle her close. She sobs into my chest some more, eyes shut tight, like she can’t bear anything as she holds onto my shirt. I kick my shoes off and lay down with her, holding her close to me.
Jada cries for a good ten minutes while I stroke her hair. She’s still clutching my shirt and it’s soaked with tears. After a while, the sobbing slows to broken breaths. That goes on for a while and then her breathing evens out. She’s cried herself to sleep against me.
I shake my head with dismay, sadness. Seeing her cry, I felt the pain coming at me with a ferocity I’ll never forget. I’ve never felt such suffering looking at someone else suffer before and I hated how powerless I felt to do anything to take it away. Fuck, I want to take this away so much.
I lie with her for at least half an hour holding her, ruminating, before I slide out carefully and cover her up.
I head across the hallway and lift all the papers from the floor and bed, try to organize them for her. There’s a sealed envelope with “Jada” printed on it in blue capital letters.
I take the file folder downstairs and set it on the kitchen table, looking around at the place she grew up.
It hasn’t seen a coat of paint in decades. The furniture is old. Out back there’s a rusted swing set and some old trash bins. The place is surrounded by a rusted old chain link fence. There’s a covered car in the driveway behind an at least fifteen-year-old Ford Ranger pickup. The front bumper is hanging off.
The neighborhood is filled with similar houses, but this house has zero curb appeal compared to what’s on either side and across the street. Some little houses, some bigger ones, but all but this one with landscaping, character, care.
The place has no personality, no character. Jada Miller was not raised in a house filled with love. This place… it makes me fucking sad to imagine her being a child in a place like this.
Even if my childhood was less than perfect, it was a metric fuck-ton better than this. And I’m not talking about the fact that it’s an old, run-down house. Suki’s sister’s house isn’t much different, even smaller and older than this, but it’s filled with love. Everything about it when you walk in lets you know that.
This place isn’t like that.
And yet this girl is warm, giving, caring.
I think about her taking care of the father who wouldn’t let her move in when she was evicted because he was pissed off at his son. He left his kids’ bedrooms empty when he could’ve given them shelter. I think about her trying to look after her brother because nobody else would and the guy was incapable of taking care of himself. It put her life and her dreams on hold. She talked to me about how her father didn’t believe in mental illness or getting treatment. I think about Jada growing up without the warmth of a mother but yet still being sweet with my niece and nephew.
I think about her up there sleeping now after sitting here all fucking night alone with her father’s body waiting for him to get picked up and not calling anybody to come be here with her, for her.
And that especially - it pisses me the fuck off.
I think about her being at my brother’s condo because she had nowhere to go and there I was treating her like she was worthless, making her practically beg to stay and cook and clean up after my privileged ass.
And then I fucked with her feelings by being a selfish asshole who couldn’t give her anything besides sex games. And even that I fucked up with vacillating between hot and cold with her.
I look at the notepad on the table at notes she’s made about her brother. Legal resources. Doctors. Names that look like medications. I slide my finger across the touchpad on her laptop and a browser window comes to life. A local funeral home’s website, their ‘contact us’ page.
