14–Blood and Poetry

MARYJANE

I don’t want to go to work today. I text my boss, Ms. Lane, that I’m sick and can’t make it. My heart rate increases when I hit the send button. I’ve never lied to her before. I don’t lie to anyone, really.

My stomach growls. I spent the night crying in my new room and didn’t come out for dinner. I try to ignore the hunger pains, but eventually they become too much to bear.

I peek my head out the door. Gustavo isn’t in sight. I’ll just grab something from the kitchen and skitter back to my room. I have my head in the fridge when I hear him.

“Hey,” Gustavo says.

He’s shirtless, and god damn. I haven’t seen his abs since the day we met, and I forgot how perfect they are. How much time does he spend in the gym for them to be that sculpted? It should be illegal for him to look this good. Well, most of the things he does are illegal, so this really isn’t any different.

You know in cartoons where they get nosebleeds from looking at hot people? I almost get one of those from looking at him.

I remember the day we met, and how I ran my hand over each dip. What would it be like to touch them again? What would it be like if I kept trailing my hand downwards?

Warm liquid drips down my face—I really do have a nosebleed.

“Oh.” I grab my face and stumble towards the paper towels.

I shove them in a messy ball against my nose. Ugly, but it works.

“Here, let me help.” Gustavo holds the paper towels in place and pinches the bridge of my nose.

His abs are even closer to me. I feel a particularly strong rush of blood and shut my eyes. I need to get away from the source.

“M’fine,” I say. I grab the paper towels and stumble a few feet away from him.

I back up when he tries to approach me again. Gustavo gets the message and puts some distance between us.

“Ok,” he says. “Let’s get some food. You didn’t eat dinner last night.”

“I’m going to have some cereal.” It comes out muffled through the paper towels.

“I’ll get you something better than cereal. I’ll DoorDash the breakfast place down the street.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I’m getting that for breakfast, so you are too. Wait. Don’t you have to go to work?” He glances at his phone.

“I called out.”

Gustavo doesn’t chide me for playing hooky. He just asks what I want for breakfast and places the order. I sit as far from him as possible in the living room. I wish he’d put on a shirt. This nosebleed is gone, but if he gets close to me shirtless again that might change.

We sit in silence until the food arrives. When we’re at the table together, I don’t dare look at his abs in fear of bleeding on my pancakes.

“I’m sorry,” he says, breaking the silence. “I know you don’t want this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

This is all Daddy’s fault. He didn’t tell me why he got into these illegal things. Extra money, probably. It may just be his personality. I don’t like to admit it, but he has a sinister side.

I knew I made the right decision leaving him and that company behind.

“You are so kind,” he says. “You’re nothing like your father, and you don’t deserve to be caught up in this mess.”

I nervously catch my breath. Everything Gustavo has said to me has been mean or sarcastic before this. Maybe…there’s more to him than just a criminal? Wait, this may be blood loss from the nosebleed.

“I was supposed to hang out with my friend tomorrow,” I whisper. “Can I still go?”

“I’ll need to come with you.”

“Ok.”

---

I had to beg Gustavo to let me be alone. He’s standing on the other area of the library, pretending to read a book, but his eyes are locked on me. The poetry club meets in the side area with windows, so he can keep an eye on me.

“Is that your boyfriend watching you?” Rina asks.

“Uh…yeah. He gave me a ride.”

This is embarrassing. I look like one of those girls with controlling boyfriends who don’t let them do anything.

“If he’s going to be here, he might as well read a poem,” she cackles.

“No! No. He can stay over there.”

It’s been two days, and the only break I’ve gotten from Gustavo was work today. He’s not a bad roommate. I spend most of the time in my room, and he never bothers me. He just never has a shirt on at home, and it makes bad thoughts go through my head.

“Welcome, everyone.” An older woman greets the group.

The poetry group are oddballs. There’re a few older people, a couple hipsters, and a few that don’t fit in anywhere. The older woman welcomes Rina and I and has us introduce ourselves.