Luxe (2 page)

BOOM! BOOM!

She sat up in alarm. The sound of gunshots chased away the sound of imaginary waves.

She snatched the earbuds out, thinking that maybe she had been mistaken. Maybe a truck's exhaust had backfired, or the loud clang of the Dumpster being emptied had interrupted her. Frozen in fear, she breathed rapidly as her heart ached with sudden uncertainty. There was urgency inside of her sounding off, telling her to flee … that danger was near. Then she heard it again and this time there was no mistaking it.

BOOM!

Gunfire.

She frantically crawled to the entrance of the freezer.

“Fuck you shoot that nigga for?! How the fuck we supposed to get in the safe if he dead?!” one of the robbers asked in frustration.

Bleu's eyes watered as she saw Bruno lying on the floor, a pool of crimson spreading beneath his body as he gurgled on his own blood. His eyes were wide with fear as his fingers reached for her.

“He-hel-help,” he choked out. Tears stung her eyes as she covered her mouth to stop herself from crying aloud. She shook her head as she placed her trembling fingers to her lips. He was reaching for her, begging for her to help him, but all she wanted was for him to stay quiet and not reveal her hiding spot. Bruno was dying, and as much as she wanted to help him, her feet wouldn't move. Her eyes darted to the two masked gunmen who had invaded the store.

“Fuck it, we'll just take what's in the register!” the other one shouted. He pulled off his mask as he spat, “It is hot as fuck in this bitch. Make sure you grab that security tape.” The look on his face would forever be etched in her mind as he stomped over to Bruno's body and aimed his gun. Treacherous. These young boys were merciless and fear pulsed through her like a live current.

Bleu closed her eyes as she anticipated the shot.

BOOM!

She jumped, hitting the case of beer behind her, causing it to crash to the floor, announcing her presence. Her eyes widened in fear as she looked for a place to hide, but there was nothing but walls around her. She was trapped.

“Fuck was that? I told you to clear this mu'fucka out! Go back there and see!” one of the men shouted.

Terrified, she felt her hands shake violently, because she knew that she was about to die. Flint was full of Tony Montanas. She knew that the men had come with intentions of robbery but had no problems leaving with double murders on their résumés, and she was shaken. Like a deer in headlights, she watched as one of the men came into the freezer, gun drawn, finger curled around the trigger.

“Bitch, get cho' ass out here!” he barked as he spotted her. He snatched her out of her hiding spot, fisting her hair as he dragged her out into plain view.

“Please, please, please don't kill me. I swear to God I won't say anything. I swear. Please,” she pleaded. “My name is Bleu. I'm only eighteen years old. I don't want to die. I…” She had learned that somewhere. She had not thought she had been listening when she had taken self-defense as her elective class in school, but now here she was, rattling off facts to endear herself to these wolves … these men who had suddenly come into her life and turned it upside down a week before she was set to start the rest of her life.

“Shut the fuck up and open the safe!” the man growled as he grabbed her by the back of the neck and pushed her toward the bulletproof glass. Her feet tripped over Bruno's big body and she stumbled, her hands sliding through a sea of blood as she tried to break her fall. She panicked as the deep burgundy liquid soaked through her clothes. Her legs were like noodles as she stood, hands stained, as tears began to flow uncontrollably.

“I don't know how to open the safe. Please. Just p-p-lease l-l-et me go,” she whispered, stammering over her words as fear caused potholes to interrupt her normally smooth cadence. “I just work here … I don't know how to open the safe … I'm just a—”

BOOM!

Bleu fell to her knees. It felt like a hot iron had been placed onto her lower back and was burning its way through her insides as the bullet traveled through.
They shot me,
she thought, in a state of disbelief as she placed her hands on the floor in front of her. She gasped, struggling to inhale as she watched the world around her move in slow motion. Searing pain. That's what it was … undeniable, excruciating, severe pain. It was like none other that she had ever felt before, and she knew that she was dying. She tried to keep her eyes open because she knew that if they closed she might never open them again. Everything around her moved in slow motion as she tried to crawl. One hand in front of the other, slow … desperately searching … for what she didn't know. Perhaps for safety? For help? Bleu just wanted to get out of there, but the oxygen in her lungs was dwindling slowly and the room was beginning to spin. She collapsed on the ground and sipped in air slowly.
I'm dying,
she thought as she blinked slowly. She had a ground-level view of the scene as she watched the feet of the robbers as they ran around her as if she weren't taking her last breaths right before their very eyes. They rushed to the cash register. She heard them open the cash register and then empty it, and then they fled out of the store as she gurgled on her own blood.

The bell above the door jingled as they stormed out, leaving her to die. She was choking, drowning, suffocating, as she struggled just to breathe. This slow burn was torture as she bled out; the pain was so unbearable that she wished death would just take her quickly. She lay chest-down on the floor, her hand resting next to Bruno's lifeless one as she waited for the end to come. She used her last bit of energy to open her clenched fist, stretching her fingers until she felt the tips touching Bruno's hand. If she was going to die, she didn't want to do it alone. As she lay leaking on the cold floor, she realized that she was just another girl from Flint, Michigan. She hadn't done anything. She hadn't seen much. She was simply another soul of the city who had been lost too soon. She had almost made it out … but almost didn't count.

*   *   *

Beep … beep … beep.

The sounds roused Bleu from the darkest sleep she had ever succumbed to. It was as if she were walking out of a thick fog. She had been in limbo, stuck between life and death. Waking up was no easy feat.

Her eyes felt as if they were sewn closed as she tried her hardest to open them. When they finally fluttered open, she saw flashes of the world around her. Flowers and balloons surrounded her. She silently wondered who had sent them all. Not many people paid attention to her on an ordinary day. Surely these arrangements weren't meant for her. She felt the wetness of tears slide down the sides of her cheeks as she willed her eyes to stay open. Suddenly terror filled her. Almost instantly flashbacks of the shooting ran through her mind.
BOOM!

She would never forget the sound of that gun blasting off in her ear. She was swallowed up by the darkness in the room. The only light that peeked in shone through the vertical blinds, which had been drawn closed. The sounds and smells around her told her that she was in the hospital, and as her eyes darted around the room, they fell upon the crumpled body that was sprawled awkwardly in the chair across from her.
Noah,
she thought, immediately recognizing her sleeping friend. He had been by her side since grade school. Dealing with a drunk for a father, a disappearing mother, and friends who changed colors like traffic lights, Noah was the only constant in her life. She opened her chapped lips to call his name but immediately felt as if she were choking on her own tongue. She gasped for air as she struggled to catch her breath. The monitors she was hooked to wailed in alarm as her heart rate spiked from her panic, and a nurse came rushing into the room, waking Noah up with the commotion.

“What's happening?” he asked as he rushed to Bleu's side.

Bleu's eyes were wide with fear as her hands reached for the tube that extended from her neck.

“Bleu,” the nurse spoke, getting her attention. “You can't speak until I remove the trach. The doctors had to insert one because you were unable to breathe on your own. I need you to calm down, okay?”

Bleu felt Noah grab her hand and hold on to her tightly and then a pinch to her arm caused everything to slow down.

No, no, no, I don't want to go back to sleep,
she thought as she watched the nurse slide the needle out of her arm.
No, no …
her mental objections were in vain. Within seconds it was lights-out again.

HER DREAMS

“What the fuck do you do? Huh, Wayne? You lay around this bitch and smoke up all my shit, but you don't contribute shit back in this mu'fucka! I cover the rent, put food in the fridge. The fuck you got going on?”

Bleu heard the shouting. Hell, everyone heard the shouting. The thin project walls left little room for privacy, but the entire building had gotten so used to Sienna and Wayne's arguments that no one even batted an eye. As Bleu drew on the pages of the blank notebook, she blocked out the noise. This was life. When she was younger, the yelling would cause her to cry for hours. She had been terrified of the screaming. The screaming oftentimes was the precursor to hitting, and she used to be so afraid that she would pee her pants. Now she didn't even bat an eye. She was eight years old, a big girl now and too old for all those damn tears. Or at least that's what Sienna, her mother, had told her. So instead, she drew. She would zone out for hours as the incessant arguing became the motivation for her skilled pencil.

“Bitch, you don't pay shit. Section 8 keeps this roof over your head!” Bleu's father barked. The bass in his voice thundered as he spoke. He and Sienna were so loud they were practically shaking the walls. “And the food stamps you get you sell off. You ain't even got enough food in this bitch to feed our fucking baby because your junkie ass smoke all the shit up!” Wayne shouted.

Bleu shook her head as she sighed. Her small hand floated over the paper with grace as she drew a detailed picture of a California beach. She hadn't ever seen one in person, but the pictures that she had seen on the TV served as good enough motivation.

“Who the hell you calling a junkie, Wayne?” Sienna asked. “If that ain't the pot calling the kettle black. You hypocrite mothafucka! As a matter of fact, get your black ass out. Get out and don't bring your ass back until you have some money in your pockets. I'm tired of taking care of a grown-ass, no-good, mothafuckin' man. You coming up in here eating, shitting, and smoking, but not helping replace shit. Kind of man are you? Fucking crackhead.” Her words were lethal and she was known for her curse outs. Her sharp tongue had just cut him down to size. Her tiny frame didn't make her much of a fighter, but her mouth did more damage than her fists ever could.

“Takes one to know one, you miserable bitch!” Wayne shouted, his pride wounded, as he grabbed his car keys and his winter jacket.

“And take your goddamn daughter with you! Don't nobody need her ass in here sitting around looking like you. Both of you mothafuckas can get the fuck out!” Sienna shouted.

Bleu's heart stopped when she heard her mother mention her. She hoped that her father took her with him. Her mother was broke, and apparently Bleu's father had smoked the last of her stash. A sober Sienna was a mean Sienna and Bleu wanted no part of that. Whenever Sienna kicked Wayne out of the house, he would be gone for days, and in his absence random men would fill his place. Willing to do anything to satisfy the urge to get high, Sienna would often screw her way to her next fix. She was a beautiful woman, with a tight ass and firm breasts. Despite the fact that she sucked on a glass dick daily, she still prided herself on her looks. It was all Sienna had ever had. “There was no way I was letting you suck the life out of my titties, little girl. I'd let you starve before I was left with saggy little flapjacks. These are moneymakers,” she would often brag. Bleu never knew if it was meant as a joke, but somewhere deep inside of her she knew it was the truth. Her bedroom door opened and her father walked in. He was tall and slender. His used-to-be-handsome features had diminished. Years of drug use had taken a toll on Wayne.

Wayne Montclair. He had been a big deal in the city once upon a time. So had her mother. A known hustler with a pretty little down chick on his arm. Sienna and Wayne had been Flint's very own Bonnie and Clyde until they both became a bit too dependent on the product. They became lost in the trenches of addiction and had lost all credibility in the streets. They became the customers to the very same corner boys they used to supply. Bleu knew what he was—his crackhead tendencies were too hard to hide—but in her mind she had made up a completely different story of who he was. A banker. A shop worker. Sometimes she imagined he was a lawyer. Anything was better than reality. Crack cocaine had sucked the life right out of him … her mother too, and with each hit they took they robbed Bleu of more and more of her childhood. Her little eyes had witnessed far more than they should have.

“Hey, baby girl, grab your shoes. Roll with Daddy for a while. Your mama tripping,” he said as he peeked his head through Bleu's cracked door.

She scrambled as the sound of Teena Marie filled the apartment. Bleu knew what that meant. Her mother was preparing herself for company, and Bleu didn't want to be there to witness the transaction. Sex for dope. The sound of her mother's moans always made Bleu's stomach turn and she hurriedly pulled on her old gym shoes to make sure she wasn't left behind.

Her mother stood back, sipping beer from a 40-ounce brown bottle as she sneered in disgust. “And don't bring your broke-ass back without no money or no smoke!” she shot.