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“I told you.” He cooed, “Itake care of you now.” He reached for my wrist, lowering my hand from my neck, “And I’ll be fucked if you try and take that away from me.”
CHAPTER 19
My body sat stiff against the soft leather seat. I burrowed myself into the corner by the door, staring out the tinted window, looking at nothing but thinking of everything. Although I was grateful for Alejandro and amazed by his willingness to help, I was scared. This was so personal, so intimate, so beyond what I normally shared, even with Parker.
Outside along the chain-link fence and stuffed, steel trashcans sat a unmanicured mural of the Virgin of Guadalupe. There must have been a party not too long ago, the evidence detailed by the half-melted candles and scattered squares of paper confetti. Those were colorful and filled with life, unlike the brown and grey buildings lining the street where we parked.
Alejandro quickly glanced down at his phone which buzzed in his hand. He clicked it off, ignoring a call.
“You can answer that.” My voice cracked, used for the first time since getting in the car.
“It’s my lawyers. I already told them where I’m at and what I’m doing.” He shook his head.
“And the movie set?” I sighed, knowing he cancelled the whole production for me. After all the money they probably spent, the time and permits acquired, I was the cause for it to go to waste. “I just feel like a burden.”
“I’m the burden,” Alejandro confessed, “and in many ways selfish. I didn't want you to be alone, I didn't want you to think anything other than the truth.”
“And that would be?” I asked, still looking out the window.
“That whatever it is you fear, it’ll never be bigger than the support I’ll give.” His uninterrupted words were a welcomed feeling, but their security only lasting a moment. “How do you feel?” He asked.
“I don’t know.” I was still unsure of what word to use.Sick? Scared?It was a combination of things, all associated to Bushwick itself. “How do you feel?” I asked, not knowing why, but curious nonetheless.
“Feels familiar.” He lowered his voice, “It may not be the same, but I grew uphere,” he added, “not physically of course, but this energy.”
“Energy?” I questioned.
“Mmhmm,” he hummed, looking out my window, “the energy of the street, the painted walls and vendors. I’ve read this story, I’ve lived it. Especially this,” he gestured, motioning to the seat between us, “the energy inside this car.” His calm voice implied the clear and anxious tension I hopelessly emitted. He knew it, he felt it, but most of all, he seemed to relate to it.
There was probably a part of him that understood the problems of my past, but could he understand the pain I felt now? The truth was, on top of trauma and fear, I felt guilt. How could anyone relate to me? People expect you to be there for your parents no matter what, but how could you ever explain that you yourself are no longer equipped to do so? I lacked the tools as a child to navigate Claire’s depression, and though I fought my best to help, it only left me exhausted and realizing a truth; how could I ever help her, if I couldn’t even help myself? I avoided my past, not only for the terrible things that happened, but also, because of the terrible person I felt I was.
“I’ll go in by myself.” I stated, continuing the habit of keeping others away.
“Are you sure?” He asked.
“Yes.” I hesitated.
“I don't have to convince you, I don't even need to pressure you either, you do that enough to yourself. But if you’ll let me, I’ll go wherever you go.”
“You don’t want that.” I assured. “Trust me.”
“It’s too late. I’ve been there Gemma, letting me in doesn't take that away.”
“No, but it protects me.” I didn’t want to cry, not in front of him. This wasn’t what I needed, not now.
“It doesn’t. It only protects the fear you hate. I can’t make this choice for you, but I can make this promise.” He added, slowly and deliberately placing his hand over mine, “You’ll never be alone, so long as my eyes are on you.” His promise was convincing and, if anything, an understatement. His eyes had that effect ever since our first encounter. I felt him before I knew him, like that day at Gerard's boutique, when his eyes seared the back of my neck. He was already watching, protecting, defiant to my hesitant nature. If he studied me now, what would he see? According to him, only the possibility to feel relatable.
I looked up at the fourth floor, observing Erin’s Puerto Rican flag that flew below her steel balcony. I always went to Claire’s alone and imagined nothing more than that single possibility for the rest of my life. But now, there was Alejandro, not a stranger, not a friend, someone in between—familiar, frustrating, and somehow comforting. His older and assertive nature felt like shelter in a way, much like his hand over mine. Yes, he made me feel small, but everything was when compared to him. Could he make the fear small too?
“Walk with me?” I asked, “The door only?”
He grinned, squeezing my hand with the certainty I needed. “There and anywhere else you want.” He nodded at Charles, who came around to let us out. Sheltered by the shade of an old oak tree, Alejandro and I walked along three crooked steps to the large-gated door of a brown brick building.
Unlike the developments Mama Meg worked on, this apartment complex remained untouched since the late eighties. If this wasn’t apparent enough, then the brown honeycomb linoleum that padded our steps was. Here, everything felt stuck in time, exclusive not to the walls and yellow paint, but to me as well. As we reached the green chipped door of Claire’s apartment, I felt unsure of my decision. I didn't want to knock; I didn’t even want to enter. Down the hall a child cried, and for a moment, I wasn't sure if it was real or just a memory.
“It’s ok.” Alejandro spoke, his permission more like a lullaby. “The hardest part is here, and I’m here to bare it.Weare.” He assured, giving me a subtle nudge to knock just once. At first, I wasn't sure if I hit hard enough, the noise from my fist dulled to the beat of my pounding heart, but I was certain I heard scurrying on the other side.
The door opened.
