The flow of my emotional energy caused the lump in my throat to grow bigger. I gripped her hand tighter, hoping to force in the mental strength she would eventually need to face what happened.
“Tash. It’s my fault you were in that mess in the first place. If I’d forced you to go to college and get away from this life, you wouldn’t be in this hospital.”
She was already shaking her head. She lifted her hand, showing me her wrist that was covered in scars.
“If I’d never met you, I’d probably be dead.” Her words stunned me, kept me quiet. “The first time I saw you, I was ten, and you were fighting a grown man near our projects. He beat you really good, but you never gave up. The crowd kept yelling for you to stay down, but you kept getting up.”
Images of the fight flashed in my head. I had gotten into it with one of the older dope boys who was jealous that I was outselling him. It was a few weeks before I was set to go off to college. While I should have been preparing for my new life, I was hanging out in the streets, fighting.
Tash cast a look of admiration in my direction but fighting in the streets and selling dope wasn’t something to admire.
“Finally, he stopped hitting you when he saw that you weren’t going to stop fighting until you beat him, or you were dead. He patted you on the back and started smiling like you two hadn’t even been fighting. It took my young mind a while to figure out what it all meant, but when I did understand, it became a motivational reminder for me not to give up either.”
She must have noticed my bemused expression.
“Trust me, Mecca, it’s bad when you’re ten, and your young mind knows what suicide is to the point where you contemplate it and try it.” She lifted her wrist again to flash me the self-inflicted cuts she had put there. “Then, someone like you comes along and made me want to be strong. Whenever you’d come around, I would watch you. You were fearless. You didn’t care what anyone said about you. You didn’t care if it was a man or a woman, you’d stand up for yourself. And you were always so neat and dressed up nice, not all trashy.”
“Thank you, Tash.” I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t allow her to keep praising all of my wrong behavior.
“Stay here for as long as they want to keep you. This place has a library, a pool, a chapel, and game room, you name it. Take advantage of the facilities.”
She nodded. “I will.” She squeezed my hand. “I heard them talking, Mecca.”
Her shaky tone kept me rooted in place. I was torn between wanting to know the information, and not wanting her to shift through the horrific memories to give me the clues I needed.
“They kept saying the name Corbel, or Corvel like they wanted me to hear it. I think that’s who hired them and taking me was the fastest way for them to get your attention.”
“Thanks for telling me.”
Her small hand massaged the side of her head as she stared at the wall straight ahead, but I believed her mind travel beyond it. I wanted to ask her more about what went down but didn’t want to force her to remember the horrific details too soon. Her telling me about Corvel was good enough.
“Do me a favor and get some rest.”
“I will. Thank you, Mecca.”
I clung to her hand for a while longer before I begrudgingly let go and stepped away, not glancing back. This life was okay for me because it was all I knew. I to had had a chance to get away, but the world outside of what I had known was as vicious as the one I had grown up in, therefore I picked the hell I knew.
Corvel? My mind gripped a hold of the information Tash had given and wouldn’t let go. The update had floored me, but I was mindful not to let Tash see my distress. Why would Corvel hire the Haitians to set me up? Did the cartel want me dead, or was someone trying to make it appear that the cartel wanted me dead?
Wasn’t I worth more to the Cardenas Cartel alive, or did they have other ideas for the Black Saints?