Page 51 of Roulette: The Madam

I stepped onto her porch and laid a finger on the doorbell. The night breeze shoved nature each time it blew, swaying theleaves leftward. I shoved my hands in my pants, prepared for the wait.

Yara was prompt. Her delayed appearance made it clear to me that she wasn’t sober. I began to pace the porch, contemplating my next course of action. As much as I wanted to give her the benefit of doubt, I knew her all too well.

After two minutes, I threw caution to the wind and removed the spare key from my pocket. I’d duplicated hers twice and kept one key in the house and the other in whatever car I was driving. My fear of Yara’s overdose kept me on my toes and ready to enter her home involuntarily at any moment.

I shoved the door open, unsure of what was waiting for me behind it. The living room was clear. So was the kitchen. I visited Malaya’s bedroom where Yara often slept in her absence, but she was nowhere to be found. After clearing the entire first floor, I headed upstairs. Yara’s room was the first stop. Her bed was still made.

Panic-stricken, I lowered my body to the floor and pushed my hand between her mattress and box spring. The gun I’d purchased her for protection was still in its rightful place. Instead of leaving it, I shoved it into my waistline as I pushed open her closet door. I’d return it when she was better. Sober. Back to the Yara I knew.

Whimpers caught my attention. I nearly pulled a muscle in my neck with the rapid turn of my head. The light from the bathroom shined from the cracks between the door and the frame. I rushed across the room, twisted the knob, and gained entry into the bathroom immediately.

And there she was. On the floor, back pressed against the tub, and her knees up to her chest. The small black pouch beside her made my gut churn. I swallowed the lump of nothingness that formed in my throat as a sigh deflated my chest. I’d been holdingmy breath since I stepped on her porch. Knowing she was still alive and still breathing offered an ounce of relief.

“Yara–”

My tone was so low, so gentle, that I hardly recognized it.

“Israel,” she cried.

“Yes. It’s me. What’s the matter?”

“Everything.”

Tears streamed down her pretty face as she scooted lower on the floor and rested the back of her head against the tile of the tub.

“It doesn’t have to be, though. I told you, when you’re ready to fight this beast I am standing behind you ten toes down.”

“I don’t have any fight in me, Israel. Every time I try, I– I can’t do it.”

“You’re not ready to do it, Yara, and there’s a difference in the two.”

“You don’t understand.”

“And, I don’t disagree with that. I don’t understand. Not one bit, but I’m not trying to. I want you better. I don’t need to understand to want that for you.”

“I just feel so alone.”

“You’re not. You have Malaya. You have me. You have help, Yara. You just have to take it.”

“George is gone. Malaya is gone. You’re gone.”

“I’ve been gone for twelve years, Yara. Let that pain go. George deserved the death he succumbed to. May that nigga rest in hell. The lowest, hottest part of that motherfucker. Malaya is here, but I’m not sure how much longer I can allow her to be. You’re ripping our baby to shreds. That’s why I’m here, Yara. You’re destroying any ideal of normalcy baby girl has. Don’t do that to her. I need you to get up. I need you to fight this shit. Then, I need you to get back to the mother she remembers. That’s all she asks. That’s all I ask.”

“I keep trying, Israel.”

“Not hard enough. I’ve seen what you can do, Yara. You walk a straight fucking line in that hospital. You know more than any of the physicians you work for. Your track record is clean. You don’t fuck up. When you enter those hospital doors, this part of your life doesn’t exist. That fucking drug doesn’t exist.

“You’re a completely different person. But, the second your feet touch concrete again, you fold. That woman you clock in as, that Yara, that’s the one that we want to win. The one we need to win. She’s there. Your co-workers and patients see her every fucking day. Let Malaya see her.

“She needs her. You need her. Not just them motherfuckers lying in the beds at the hospital. Your daughter is in crisis mode as well. Get out of your own head and out of your own way and wrap this shit up, Yara.

“You don’t have the luxury to be here on this fucking floor too many more nights. Your daughter is waiting for you. A better you. A sober you.”

“I know. I knooooooow. I love her so much. I just want her to come home.”

“Not like this. She’ll never come home when this is what she has to look forward to.”

“I’m trying.”

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