Page 12 of Invisible String
He sighs. “Are you okay, Max? You know you can talk to me about anything.”
I appreciate Carlos for being the only person in my life who gives a shit about me, but he can’t fix me. I’m not sure if I can fix myself. The trauma that I’ve been through has left scars all over me.
“I know I can, and I appreciate it more than you think.”
“All right. You have my number. You can call me day or night. Oh, and there’s a competition coming up if you’re interested.”
“Thanks. Yeah, sign me up in case I’m back.”
We hang up, and I take the sandwich out of the fridge and devour it.
Standing by the window, I watch like a creep as Rainey slips into her nice vehicle. She backs out and then slams into the dumpsters. My lips twitch. Fuck, she’s a horrible driver. She speeds off without a care in the world.
Once she leaves,I lounge on the front porch, twisting a beer open and rolling a joint. Twenty minutes later, she’s back. With my thumb and index finger, I pinch the bud out. Rainey parks between the two homes. Then she grabs a bag from the back seat that says something like “Books.” Now I’m reminded of when she readThe Thorn Birdsto me. She pays me no attention, not that I’d want her to.
She slams the front door closed. Five minutes later, she’s back with a bowl, book, and blanket. It’s evening now, and a cool breeze causes the trees in the back to sway. The calming night therapeutically has me leaning back into my chair, legs spread. There was supposed to be a boxing fight tonight at the Palace Trop Casino. I had set my phone on a timer for when it starts. Clicking on the app, it opens up the main event.
CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH.
How fucking loud can a person crunch eating a damn chip? It echoes in the dark forest.
CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH.
Hell, how can she read? She might as well crunch in my ear and cause me to lose my hearing. I raise the volume. There had been a time in my life when I wanted to be a professional boxer. It’s not that I’m not good. I can knock a person out in the third round. I’m fast, and I throw hard punches. Boxing takes time to make your way up, and I had to work. When I moved foster homes after leaving Mike’s and into the other home, I worked part time for a paycheck, plus working at Carlos’ gym to pay for my lessons. When I turned eighteen, the foster care system kicked me out.
CRUNCH, SLURP, CRUNCH.
Goddamnit. In a flash, I raise the volume. The ring announcer yells, “Let’s get ready to rumble!”
Anton Ivanovo from Russia vs. Miklo De La Cruz from Mexico. The crowd roars. Anton rocks back and forth from side to side, then gives the first punch. Miklo blocks. He’s quicker, faster, but his punches don’t affect Anton’s built body.
“Why don’t you raise the volume a little louder, asshole?” Rainey yells, tossing the book down as she stands.
My eyebrows rise. Is she serious?
“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t crunch like a horse. I’m sure you scared off the deer and bears.”
She rolls her pretty eyes. “WOW, he speaks.” We both stay silent. Then she huffs. “Why didn’t you?”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” she says in a low voice. “Then you don’t acknowledge me like we’ve never met.”
I don’t understand why it matters. I shrug. “You ran off when you yelled at me for accidentally splashing you, and at the grocery store as well.” I lift my hands and stand.
“Because you didn’t say goodbye seven years ago. Nothing. You disappeared.” She points a finger.
From that day, I thought she didn’t think of me, or that my absence didn’t affect her, but the somber eyes clearly say otherwise.
CHAPTER FOUR
RAINEY
We shout from balcony to balcony. Okay, well, I am. His gaze trails my body. The day we kissed was magical, and I wanted more of him. Three months of being around him felt like a year. I was so eager to see him the following day of school. He never showed, and my heart sank. No one spoke of him. It was like he didn’t exist, but to me, he waseverything.
“I moved. It was sudden. It’s not like it matters. This was seven years ago,” he says nonchalantly.
My heart cracks as he shrugs it off, as if the kiss we shared was nothing—as if it never happened. Maybe to him, it was nothing.
