| RUNNING ON EMPTY BY TORRI |
CHAPTER 32 |
Tea's Penthouse
As uneasy about leaving as she felt, her obligation to her family outweighed her trepidation. She would have to rely on faith, something she had relied little on in the past, and something that had failed her more than once. It was really all she had left - her shaky faith in a being that failed her in so many ways, and lifted her up in many more.
Under her breath, she rapidly called to the higher being, begging for one more favor. "Please, if you're there, please take care of him. I know he's done things in the past; he just needs your help. I know I don't call on you often, but please find it in your heart go help him. I can't leave him alone. I can't leave him without knowing he's safe in your hands. Just watch over him, okay?"
She listened to the sounds of an empty house for a few moments, before pushing herself toward the front door. Her eyes roamed around the room one last time before closing the door behind her. As soon as the door slammed shut, the phone began to ring.
*****
Todd's Apartment
"Come on. Answer damnit!" He cursed into the phone. It had taken him at least a half hour to gather up the courage to call her. Three, four times it rang, with no answer on the other end. By the fifth ring, her answering machine picked up.
"This is Tea. I can't come to the phone right now, but feel free to leave your name, number and a brief message and I'll get back with you as soon as I can. Have a great day." Beep.
Fuck.
He hung up without leaving a message, and called right back to hear her voice again. As he held the phone to his ear, he closed his eyes and tried to picture her making the recording. He could see her sitting on her couch, with her legs folded up behind her, holding the phone with one hand and running her fingers through her hair with the other. She probably had a bottle of water on the table in front of her to wet her whistle between recordings, which she undoubtedly recorded and re-recorded before she was even somewhat satisfied. That was his Delgado, perfection.
He didn't just want to talk to her; he needed to talk to her. He picked up the phone again, this time dialing the number to her office. His fingers tapped against the receiver as he waited for Caitlin to answer. Nervous wouldn't begin to describe what he was. Guilty, nervous, ashamed one whittling ball of confused emotions.
"Delgado and Associates. How may I help you?" Caitlin asked, straightening up around the empty office. Tea had given her the week off, but she had a few things to finish up before she could take off.
"Yeah, is she there?" Todd grumbled.
Caitlin recognized the voice immediately. She never could figure out that relationship, but it was obvious to her that there was still something very powerful between them. She could see the change in Tea's demeanor whenever his name was mentioned, or even when she brought up her own problems with her former lover. It was like a dark cloud crossed over her face, putting her in a bad mood for the rest of the day. Knowing what little she did about Todd, going by what the newspaper printed, she automatically became protective of Tea. "Mr. Manning, she's out of the office. Would you like to leave a message?"
He paused. If he left a message and she didn't call him back, it would be devastating. On the other hand, if he didn't leave a message, at least he wouldn't be further heartbroken when she didn't call back. "No. Will she be back in later?"
For some reason, she didn't want to tell him that Tea would be gone for a week. It was none of his business, but he sounded so pitiful. "No she won't," she answered. "I'll tell her you called when I talk to her."
"It's okay." His voice broke as he choked out those last words.
No one was there for him in the end. It came as no big surprise, when the going got tough, everyone in his life took a hike far away from him. Why he expected her to be any different, he didn't know. She was just like his mother in her gentleness, and her propensity for running away without even saying goodbye. Women were experts at that.
He lay back on the couch, in his favorite position, doing what he did best feeling sorry for himself. It was, what he called, entitlement. He was entitled to be pissed at the world. He was entitled to his bitterness. He was entitled to feel hopeless.
The world around him seemed to spin; yet he was stuck moving nowhere. Doing nothing but getting high. If his mother could have seen him, she would have brushed his greasy hair away from his eyes and placed a sweet kiss in the middle of his forehead. She would have uttered the words that only a mother could know to make him feel like he was worth something. Since she wasn't there, there were no words to counteract those of self-loathing that filled his mind.
He could still feel it. Feel a little light-headed, a little detached from himself. He could still feel a little good. But he was coming down, slowly, but still to quickly for his taste. He was so out of it; he barely heard the phone ring, which was right beside his head. He jumped to answer it, daring to hope Tea had returned his call.
"Hello?" He spoke into the receiver, stifling the smile that began to curl the corners of his lips.
"Hello there Mr. Manning. It's Misty."
His stomach sank to the ground, right along with his heart. "Oh," he grumbled.
"Oh? I remember you saying it quite differently just the other night."
"Well I don't. What do you want anyway?" The women he didn't want were the ones always throwing themselves at him. The one woman he didn't want to live his life without was doing God knows what with God knows whom, not giving him a second thought.
"Can I come over? I guarantee you won't be in such a funky mood when I leave."
"No. Leave me alone."
"Ooh, I see somebody is very cranky today. Why don't you let me come over and bring you something to eat? You looked a little thin last time I saw you."
"I'm not hungry. The only thing you can do for me is leave me the fuck alone," he yelled, throwing the phone across the room.
*****
A Private Resort Jamaica
Tea was happy she insisted on having her own suite. She needed some time to herself, out from underneath the watchful eye of Roseanne. She had a feeling that she was going to be watched a lot on the trip with Del and Roseanne taking turns.
The uneasiness followed her across the globe. So did the worry. So did everything she thought she could temporarily escape from. No such luck, the world weighed just as heavily on her shoulders, if not more because she was so far away.
Her suite was gorgeous, very airy with the color white all over. From the walls, to the sheer netting that covered the bed, everything was white. It was cleansing, rejuvenating, and beautiful in its innocence. A paradox to the sinner that she was. The baby killer, the divorcee, the attorney, the Latino whore.
She opened the large double doors in the master bedroom that led to the balcony overlooking the ocean. A light breeze blew in, causing the sheer curtains to dance around. She stood in the doorway, breathing in the cleanliness of the air, the calm of the environment. There were no sounds of horn blowing taxicabs, or yells of the people, or screeching tires, it was quiet with the exception of the low playing reggae music filtering in from another room. It was not disturbing, rather comforting in fact.
The music sounded so good to her. Music always sounded good to her, calmed her, loosened her up a bit. She let it take over; let it move her hips ever so slowly to the beat. Her head bopped around, matching the rhythm of her hips, inviting her arms to join in. Pretty soon, her whole body was swept up in the soothing beats.
The knock on the door broke her concentration, much to her chagrin. Her body stopped instantly, and the smile that adorned her face turned serious again. Life interrupted. Never could she just enjoy a moment, without someone or something infiltrating her too few and too far between. The damned tape. Sykes. Fear. Herself.
"Who is it?" She yelled through the door.
"Del."
She took a few deep, cleansing breaths before opening the door to him. It was going to be a difficult week with him. Big Brother knew her better than anyone else, and was sure to keep watch over her like the angel that he was. "Hey," she said, opening the door.
"Hey. You ready to go shopping or did you want to stay in here and dance with yourself some more?"
"How did you know?"
"Since when have you ever been able to stand still when there was music playing?" Jumping bean. That's what he sometimes called her when they were kids. She could never sit still. Play music and she could move around for hours entertaining the family. Their mother was the same way.
She smiled at him. "You have a point. Since when do you like shopping?"
"I don't, I just want to spend some time with you. Are big brothers still allowed to do that?"
Big Brother is right. He was going to be all over her, hounding her about her life, her private live which she wanted to remain that way. "I guess," she sighed. "Let's go."
*****
Todd's Apartment
Todd scrounged up some nearly empty alcohol bottles, pouring the last few droplets down his throat. Mostly, it was backwash, but it did the trick. Kept him higher for a little longer. He couldn't walk anymore; he staggered. Staggered up and down the hallway in a pitiful attempt to work off the excess energy.
The smell of his own body became sickening to him. When he was on a binge, hygiene took a back seat, far behind his addiction. His hair was matted to his head; his body odor was so strong it nearly forced him to vomit. He looked down at his clothes, figuring he had been wearing the same things for at least three days. He took a whiff of his dirty shirt, frowned, and changed direction toward the bathroom.
His glassy eyes wandered around the room in search of some sort of bubble bath. Usually, he preferred showers, but he felt the need to relax. On the edge of the bathtub, he saw an old Victoria's Secret bubble bath container, left over from when Tea was there. Strawberries and Champagne, her favorite scent. He would never admit it aloud, but that smell was something he always carried with him in his memory. She used to walk down the stairs after a shower, leaving a trail behind her. He used to inhale deeply, savoring her scent. And there it was, resting on the edge of his tub.
He turned on the faucet, ice cold; let it run over his fingertips. Then, he added hot, as hot as his hands could stand, mixing the two temperatures until they were perfect. He poured just a capful of bubble bath, saving the rest for future use, using just enough to where he could smell like her.
He hadn't used bubble bath since he was a child. Even then, it wasn't by choice. It was by the gentle force of his mother, running his bath water and calling him into the bathroom. It was a lifetime ago, when she would help him undress and sing while she bathed him. Then, one day, he turned to her and said he could do it himself. Broke her heart. His too, but he never told her the real reason he wanted to "grow up" on that particular day. He kept that to himself, and the scars his father left the first time he "roughed him up." His back was black with bruises, but he couldn't let her see that. He was a big boy.
As he looked in the mirror, he saw no bruises on his back, or anywhere else on his body. Yet, he still felt dead, or something less than human. He stared at himself for a long while, at the scar just above his left eyebrow, the knife scars over his chest, the bullet scar on his back, then he looked at his chest where he heart should have been. There were no scars there; they were internal. More permanent than those that decorated his body.
"Fuck it," he said, testing the water with his foot. It was too hot, tortuously hot, but he made himself sit down. Watched the steam elevate from the water. Watched the shapes it formed. His body slumped down in the water as he became more comfortable. His eyes closed, as he lost himself it its warmth. And then, he slept.
*****
A Restaurant Jamaica
"God, one thing your husband's money taught you is how to shop. I can't believe you bought all that stuff," Del said, devouring his spicy rice dish. He hated shopping, almost as much as Todd, but like Todd, he endured it because of Tea.
"He spent so little time with me at the penthouse, that I had nothing else to do. Quit complaining anyway, you're the one that insisted on going with me." She just played with her food, shoving it from one side of her plate to the other.
"You look so sad. I could hear it in your voice, but looking at you I don't think I've ever seen you this way."
I was just better at hiding it back then. I'm so tired. I am just so tired of pretending. If sadness had a face, it would have looked just like her, red eyes, puffy around the rim, corners of the mouth curled down and a dark cloud hovering overhead. That was sadness. Her foot tapped beneath the table, to the beat of the live band. She listened, avoiding Del's eyes at all cost. If she had looked into them and saw their pity, she would have lost what little control she had left.
"Still avoiding, huh? You know I'm not going to leave you alone about what's going on, don't you?"
"Yes, I know." She pushed her barely touched plate away from her, and took a sip from her tropical drink. The island was not what she had anticipated. It was beautiful, there was no denying that, but it was a place for lovers to stroll the beaches late at night, or make love under the stars, or dance beneath the full moon. Single people, lonely people did not belong.
Her body began to do this weird thing. She felt like she was choking, and couldn't breathe very well. She did nothing, at first. It became more difficult to breathe, so she excused herself from the table and went off in search of the bathroom. By the time she got there, she was gasping for air, splashing water on her face.
*****
Todd's Apartment
The water felt so good, Todd sank deeper and deeper into the tub. It was warm, wonderful, a vessel to a better place. He couldn't feel the water rise above his neck, his lips, his nose or over his head. He felt nothing but it's warmth completely enveloping him.
