Toxic

  By: Raquel Valldeperas

  Copyright

  Prologue

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  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2013 Raquel Valldeperas

  All rights reserved

  Cover image by Maksim Shirkov/shutterstock.com

  I was lost somewhere in the grey

  I don’t know why I chose to evade

  You should leave me behind

  But what if it’s true what they say?

  It’s better to endure love than to throw it away

  -The Good Mad

  Prologue

  November 5, 2009

  I’m falling, spinning out of control, breaking.

  Time doesn’t exist. Pain doesn’t exist. I want to die, I want to live, I want to be free.

  It’s dark. I’m alone. Was there ever anybody? Was it always just me?

  “…call 911.”

  “Don’t…fucking stupid.”

  “..she’ll die…”

  A touch, a caress. A whisper. “I’m so sorry, Lo.”

  Was it real? Can I feel? I call out, but hear nothing. I reach out, but nothing moves.

  It’s been minutes, hours, days, years. I am part of the world, just grains of sand sifting in and out.

  The water will come and take me away. I’ll be forgotten. I’ll serve no purpose. That’s okay with me. I’m not worth remembering.

  I’m slipping, giving up, what else can I do?

  But then there’s voices, and touching, and feeling, and pain. I yell for them to let me die. Push at their hands. I fight their medicines and machines.

  You’re wasting your time! I want to yell. But I’m weak, always have been. They win and it’s dark again. I’m alone, so alone.

  It was always just me.

  1

  August 21st, 1995

  It’s the first day of school and Mama’s still asleep. Her hair is wet and stuck to her face. The way she’s breathing sounds funny and the sheets are all caught up in her legs. I don’t know what to do. If I wake her, she’ll yell. If I don’t and I miss the bus, then I’m stuck here with her. I don’t want to be stuck here with her, in this house with no air conditioning. It makes me feel like I can’t breathe. Maybe, if I’m fast enough, I can catch the bus on my own. I’ve always been pretty fast. It’s worth a try.

  All I know is I can’t be late on the very first day. If I’m late, they’ll call Mama, and it’ll make her mad. It’s important not to make Mama mad. So I get dressed in my favorite pair of shorts and the shirt I’ve been saving all summer. The shoes I begged Mama for are sitting in the same spot I put them after she bought them. I think I’m supposed to wear socks with them but I don’t have any. I’m just glad they’ll keep my feet off the hot ground.

  I hate summer. It’s hot, the days are long. The only good thing is that Mama’s gone more than usual, which is better than her being home with that man. He looks at me funny and he always has these little bags of things that make them disappear into my Mama’s room and come out acting all weird. I lock the door when they’re there. Who knows what would happen if I didn’t.

  The front door closes kind of loud and I wait a second to listen for Mama. The house stays quiet so I run as fast as I can even though I’m getting all sweaty and my back hurts from where my backpack keeps hitting me. The sneakers are giving me blisters already but I can’t take them off. I’ve seen the other kids wearing them around the neighborhood and I want to make sure I look just like them.

  Almost there. I can see the dingy yellow bus from almost five houses away, can smell it and hear it too. Kids are screaming and I stop in front of it for a long time because I don’t know if I want to get on. But then the bus driver yells at me and I jump on fast because I don’t like to be yelled at.

  There are no empty seats. There are a few with only one person in them, but I don’t know anybody and I don’t want to be that close to any of them. I’m standing in the middle of the seats, staring, and I know they all probably think I’m weird but I just don’t know what to do.

  Until a girl with big brown eyes tells me to sit with her and I do because she seems nice and she’s smaller than me which is saying a lot cause I’m pretty small.

  “My names Catalina,” she tells me.

  I don’t want to tell her my name because it’s a boy name and it’s weird and Mama’s always made sure to remind me of that.

  She’s staring at me funny. “Don’t you have a name?” she yells because it’s so loud and I can barely hear her.

  “Logan,” I finally tell her.

  “That’s a boy name.”

  “I know.”

  Catalina doesn’t say anything for a long while, just looks out of the window like she’s thinking about something really important. And then she turns to me and smiles and I feel happy to see it because no one smiles at me like that.

  “We’ll call you Lo for short. And you can call me Cat.”

  I can’t help but smile back and nod my head. The only nickname I’ve ever had is the one Mama’s given me, and I don’t like it because her strange man uses it too. If either of them ever say it, I know to be real careful because them being nice only means they need something from me.

  When we get to the school, I get scared again because there are even more kids then there were on the bus and it’s even louder too. A lot of the smaller kids have their Mama’s with them but I don’t feel jealous because I don’t want mine with me.

  There’s a tug on my arm and I remember that Cat’s standing next to me. “Let’s find your classroom,” she says.

  So we do just that. And when we finally find it, I feel excited because it’s big and colorful and I see crayons and paint and glitter and all of the things I don’t get to have at home. I had a friend once who lived down the street that got to play with really cool things, but she told me one day that she wasn’t allowed to play with me anymore and I haven’t seen her since. Maybe they had to move away. Mama told me that a lot of people can’t handle the Miami lifestyle, whatever that means.

  “Everybody go ahead and pick a seat,” a lady from the front tells the class.

  I hope she’s the teacher because she looks nice and happy and I really like her pink sweater. I love pink but anything I had that was pink turned a funny blue color when I tried to wash it.

  “Let’s sit together,” Cat whispers into my ear.

  When she finally picks a seat, I sit down and watch all of the other kids. I do it the whole time the teacher’s talking, until Cat nudges me and I realize that everyone’s getting up to sit in the middle of the classroom in a circle. The teacher starts talking again but this time I pay attention.

  “We’re all going to sit in a circle and pass around the talking stick. When you get the talking stick, I want you to tell us your name, your favorite color and what you like to do for fun.”

  The closer the stick gets to me, the funnier my stomach feels. I don’t want to tell of these strangers my name, I don’t have a favorite color, and I don’t know what I like to do for fun. The carpet underneath me is itchy and my feet hurt and my head is pounding and I just want to be anywhere but here in this colorful room with all of these loud kids.

  Cat is whispering into my ear but I don’t know what she’s saying because I’m trying really hard to ignore her, all of them. But then she keeps the stick and she starts talking about me.

  “This is Lo. Her favorite color is purple and she’s really shy so she spends a lot of time in her room drawing. She’s draws really good.”

  It’s all a lie, even my name, because my name’s Logan May Reynolds and my favorite color is not purple and I’m really bad at drawing but I smile at her anyways because the stick passes me and I don’t have to say a word. It feels like she just saved my life.

  When I get home, Mama is sitting on the couch with Dave, the strange man, and they both look up at me confused like I’m not supposed to be there.

  “Don’t you have school?” she asks me.

  “I already went. It was time to come home.”

  She picks up her phone and looks at the screen before throwing it back down on the table. “But it’s only three thirty. Don’t they keep you little shits longer than that?”

  “I’m not sure, Mama. The bell rang and then we were told to leave so I did.”

  Dave gets up and starts picking up something from the coffee table and puts it in his pockets. He walks into the kitchen and takes a big gulp from a bottle with brown liquid. It looks gross. “I have some things to do,” he says.

  Then he walks towards the door but I’m still standing in front of it so it’s like he’ s walking right at me. His eyes are all red and his legs look wobbly. Instead of walking right out of the house, he slows down and grabs a piece of my hair in his fingers, twisting it back and forth and tugging it a little before finally walking away. I feel dirty all of the sudden.

  Mama is back to watching TV and doesn’t even notice the way he touches me. “Go disappear like a good girl,” she says to me without even looking at me.

  And I do disappear, into my room where I lock the door and stay until the next morning.

  2

  September 7th, 1995

  I get myself to the bus every day since school started and I’m always on time. The first few days I didn’t know that I was supposed to bring a lunch, but the teacher and the principal man gave me this card that I show to the lunch lady and I get to pick out whatever I want to eat. It’s pretty much the only time I get food so I make sure to save some for when I get home or else my stomach starts to hurt from being so hungry. Oh and I’ve learned that I have to hide it from Mama and her man or else they eat it.

  My teacher’s name is Ms. Ortiz and I was right about her being nice. She spends a lot of time talking to me and asking questions. Sometimes they’re weird questions about the bruises on my arms or about my clothes but she’s always smiling when she asks so I answer her the best I can. Except I don’t tell her that Mama gives me the bruises because I’ve been told that it’s no one’s business.

  Cat and I sit together every day and even eat lunch together. She’s my only friend but I don’t mind because she talks a lot and always has really cool stories to tell. Sometimes she asks me questions too, but I tell her everything because Mama only told me not to tell grownups.

  “Where’s your Dad at?” Cat asks me when we’re at lunch.

  I finish chewing up my sandwich before I answer her. “Mama told me he was a shithead and she kicked his ass to the curb before I was born.”

  “I don’t know what that means but it sounds pretty bad.” I shrug my shoulders, because I don’t know what it means either. “How come your Mom never drives you to school?” she asks.

  “She doesn’t have a car.”

  “So how does she go to work?”

  “She doesn’t go to work.”

  “How do you have a house and clothes if she doesn’t work?”

  I sigh, because I don’t know how it works, just that it does. “I don’t know, Cat. I never really thought about it.”

  But I think about it the rest of the day and when I get home I ask Mama.

  “Mama, how do we have a house and clothes and TV if you don’t have a job?”

  The only thing worse than when Mama pays attention to me is when she’s mad and I can tell I’ve made her mad right away. Her face gets all red and she stomps over to me before grabbing my arm and dragging me to my room. “Don’t you dare ask any more questions, you ungrateful little bitch.”

  And then she throws me on my bed and slams the door shut behind her. Later on, while I’m sitting on the floor looking at my favorite book, I hear Dave come in and then I hear them both go into Mama’s room. They laugh and talk and then there are other noises, like the bed is banging against the wall and it sounds like Mama is being hurt but I don’t go check on her because I don’t care if she’s getting hurt.

  When it turns dark outside, I get on my pajamas and get into bed after making sure the door is locked. After I’m under the covers, I reach over and turn off the light and hide under my blankets because I hate the dark but only at first. Until my eyes can finally see. Then I pull the blankets down because I hate breathing underneath them and I wait and listen.

  At first I don’t hear anything except for the crickets outside and the car horns and the music that always seems to be playing. Then I hear Mama and Dave snoring and I let go of the breath I’m holding but I don’t stop listening. I sit there in the dark, listening for a long time until my eyes feel so heavy and I can’t keep them open any longer. But I never hear the doorknob jiggle so I know it’s safe to finally close my eyes.

  ~~

  The next day at school, Cat doesn’t sit next to me. I don’t think much of it because she got to school late, but then she doesn’t sit next to me at lunch either. For the rest of week I sit in class and at lunch alone. Nobody else talks to me except for Ms. Ortiz and I think she only does it because she has to. I don’t let it make me sad because it’s better to pretend I don’t care.

  But on the next Monday at school I see Cat sitting and laughing with other girls and I get mad because she used to sit and laugh with me and now I’m all alone. And when I walk up to her and stand in front of her and the laughing girls, she looks at me all sad.

  “How come you don’t sit with me anymore?” I ask her with my hands on my hips and trying to keep from crying. I don’t like to cry in front of people.

  “My Mom said I can’t be friends with you anymore because you’re toxic.”

  I squint my eyes at her and think. “What does that even mean?”

  She just shrugs her shoulders and looks at her food. I know she’s not gunna answer so I walk back to my table and sit down but I don’t eat my food because suddenly I’m not hungry anymore.

  The bus ride home feels longer than usual and it’s hotter than ever. For once I can’t wait to get home because I’m beginning to think that maybe it’s just me and Mama against the world.

  I walk into the house expecting to see Mama and Dave on the couch like always, but the TV room is empty and so is the kitchen. Mama’s room is empty too, so I walk out to the patio and finally find Mama sitting all by herself smoking a cigarette. She doesn’t say hi or ask how my day was or wonder why I’m looking for her. She just blows out some smoke and looks out at the yard quietly.

  “Mama, what does toxic mean?”

  Just when I’m about to get up and go inside because I don’t think she’s gunna answer, she puts a hand on my arm and stops me. I turn and look at her because I’m surprised she’s touching me so softly. A puff of smoke blows into my face and I hold my breath while I meet her eyes. She’s actually looking at me and I don’t know how to feel about it.

  “That’s the stuff you and me are made up of, Sugar Plum,” she says. Another puff of her cigarette but she blows it away from me this time. “We’re toxic, but only the best things are.”

  3

  January 6th, 1998

  “Logan! Get your shit out of the TV room!”

  Rolling my eyes, I get off of my bed and walk out to the TV room. I pick up all of my stuff, careful not to knock over Mom’s beer or jostle the pills on the coffee table.

  “Hey Lo,” Mom’s boyfriend of the week says to me. I don’t respond because I never do, not because this one’s weird or looks at me strange. He’s actually pretty normal looking and seems kinda nice. I don’t know why he hangs around Mom. All I know is that he’ll be gone soon, just like the rest of them and I don’t want to know his name or his story.

  As I’m getting up, Mom grabs my arms and squeezes so hard that a squeal escapes my lips. “Don’t make me have to tell you about your shit. Ever. Again.” Each word is followed by a fingernail digging into the back of my arm. Little pieces of spit hit me in the face because she’s talking to so close. When she lets go, I fall back on my butt and then scramble to right myself. I turn and walk to my room and ignore the burn from her hand.

  “Jesus, babe, she’s just a kid,” I hear Mom’s boyfriend tell her.

  And then I shake my head and close my door and wait for the yelling and the cursing and the throwing of the very few movable pieces of furniture we have, to begin. No one tells Mom how to deal with me. I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut and stay out of her way and it works out just fine for the both of us. When people ask questions, which they do a lot, I pretend I have no idea what they’re talking about because Mom has reminded me a lot of times that it could be worse. I could get taken away and end up in a home where kids beat each other to death. Or where the parents only take us to get paid more money and we have to fight for our food. Here, at my house, I don’t have to fight anyone for food because there’s never any food to fight for. So I guess it’s better.

  The front door opens and then slams shut and I think they’re leaving, but then there’s a knock on my door and I automatically hold my breath. Maybe if I pretend I’m not here than he’ll leave me alone. I know it’s not Mom because she never knocks on my door. I can’t even remember the last time she was in my room.

 

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