Domino Effect

Lola

Buffalo, New York [Lower West Side]

Author's note: This book will have countless triggers, which are listed in description, but I feel the need to warn you that this chapter will touch on a really heavy topic. I won't always offer a warning because it is implied in description and rating. This book will contain real life circumstances and I urge you to please read at your own discretion. This chapter will have [on page] molestation that is a memory and how it affects the female character. There's also physical and verbal abuse from the mother. 

"Lo siento, Titi. I don't think I can make it today. I can't breathe." I clutch at my chest, not for her sake, but because it feels like it could help. Titi Dora stares at me through the phone. Her eyebrows are lowered, her eyes squinting a bit, and her lips are set in a frown that wasn't there until now. She doesn't understand. I know she doesn't, but I know she cares and worries for me. She thinks something is physically wrong with me. I told her, time and time again, that it's a mental thing. I tried therapy, but they only thing that truly helps is talking about it with my social following and staying home during one of my episodes.

Unfortunately, more often than not, my episodes happen often enough that I rarely go out. My therapist believes it is from my past, hidden traumas, is what she calls it. I've always been transparent to my followers, when it comes to my social anxiety, but I struggle with naming the reason it all started for me. 

I remember a time where I was outgoing and an overall happy kid. Until about eight years, I just turned eleven, is when everything changed for me. Mami started a new job, cleaning at the hospital, and she worked long hours. Papi hurt his back, so he was out of work, but it worked out because then he was able to stay home with me. My mom, Bianca, and I were never close. She used to tease me and say how I only loved Papi, but Papi was her man and to get my own. She laughed each time, but she rarely spoke to me unless it was to say things like that. When she came home, she would kiss him in front me, sit on his lap, then grab his hand and they would both go to the bedroom. I remember hearing them. I remember hearing her scream out "Papi" and the sound of the mattress. After the noises stopped, he would come out and give me a kiss on the lips, then he would sit me on his lap and play a movie for us to watch. I loved those moments. He would stroke my hair and tell me how pretty I looked. Then, we would laugh and talk about the movie we were watching. When Bianca finally came out of the bedroom, she would yell at me and tell me to go to my room. 

One night, she stayed at work later than usual. Papi came into my room and told me that he missed me. That night, I yelled out "Papi" too, but it didn't sound the same. I didn't understand why he was hurting me, I yelled and begged him to stop, but he kept going. Eventually, I quieted down and listened to the mattress. The thumping and squeaking. His grunts. I felt his kisses and the slow descent of tears, sliding down my cheeks. I stared at the ceiling, telling myself that this was okay. Papi loved me and Mami seemed to like it. Maybe I'm supposed to?

It went on for years. It stopped hurting after awhile. Aside from those nights, Papi never treated me any differently, especially in front of Mami. When she scowled at me, I no longer wondered why she hated me so much, because now I knew. Her husband chose me over her. I didn't like it, but I loved him. So much. I felt so guilty, but I knew it wasn't my fault. He told me it was her fault because she worked too much, and he had needs. 

I was fourteen when she came home early and caught us. She stood in the doorway and watched him. I saw her and I remember thinking that she was going to stop him and save me. That she would remind him that I was his daughter, not his wife. Until I saw the look in her eyes. She held nothing but hatred and resentment for me. She walked away, allowing him to finish, and I didn't see her until later that night. She came back to the room, refused to look at me, and ordered me to take a shower. I got out of the shower and was mortified when I could hear her and him. They were having sex. Once they were finished, she came back upstairs and threw a bag at me. 

"Pack your shit up, you little fucking whore. You will not be taking my husband from me. You think I didn't know you were throwing your little pussy around to tempt him?" She started opening up my drawers, pulling out my clothes and throwing them at me to pack. "You fucking pendeja!" She screamed at me. "It's your fault he couldn't love me right. You always making eyes at him." She fluttered her eyes. "'Oh, Papi. Te amo Papi.'" She mocked me. "I saw you! You liked it. What he was doing to you. You were moaning and shit. But you can't have him. Hope you heard how good he fucks me. You will never have him!" She stood in front of me, slapped me across the face, and left me in the room to finish packing. Right before she walked out the door, she told me I had five minutes before Titi Dora came to get me.

Titi Dora never said a word about it. I know now that she didn't know how to, but I was okay with that. At her house, I felt safe and I felt loved. In a healthy way. Her love is the reason why I know now that Papi's 'love' was not right.

It took me a while. I started seeing a therapist a year ago, when I turned eighteen, after experiencing a panic attack the day after I moved into my new apartment. She diagnosed me with social anxiety, said I most likely had it before I moved out, but it affected me more when I moved out. 

Now, here I am. I am proud of how far I have come. I work for Horizon Telecom.inc remotely, where I make decent money translating for important meetings and also working the phones for customer service at select times of the day. Aside from that job, I also have a small following through social media. That was something unplanned. I started making videos about my struggles with social anxiety, posting it without having any real followers, then suddenly it blew up overnight. After that, I post daily about my ups, my downs, some recipes, or just to vent. 

I hang up with Titi Dora after promising that I would call her later tonight. I sigh in relief when she doesn't ask me to reschedule a time or day for us to get together. I love her and appreciate how she checks up on me, but it stresses me out when she pushes for me to come out, especially when I don't feel up to it. Nine times out of ten, I don't feel up to it.  I don't do well with spontaneous visits or plans in general. I tell her this time and time again, but I understand that I cannot expect her to change her ways. She is a social person. She is everything I want to be.

After hanging up, I go to my bathroom, and stare at my reflection. I love my titi as a person, she is absolutely gorgeous on the inside, and don't get me wrong, she is pretty on the outside as well, but I am both angry and thankful that I look more like my mother. It makes me angry because I went from wishing she would love me to resenting her. I hate her, probably more than she hates me. Despite how I feel about her as a person, I cannot deny that she is beautiful, and I am blessed when it comes to my looks. 

I look like both of them honestly. I have this naturally thick, dark brown hair that I like to wear down after straightening it.  I keep my eyebrows perfectly arched. I learned how to do it on my own and ended up doing a tutorial for my followers. My favorite feature is my eyes. They are a striking blue color that you don't see in most Puerto Ricans with my olive skin tone, paired with long lashes, and heart-shaped lips that I love accentuate with different makeup tutorials. I have freckles that lightly dust my nose and under my eyes that I usually cover up.

I am not conceited nor vain but I like to look good for my followers. They make me feel good about myself, doing wonders for my self-esteem and overall confidence. 

Not to mention, there's a particular follower that I hope to impress. Someone who I happen to follow as well. She actually has a larger following than I do. I have a little over fifteen thousand followers, along with a few sponsors for makeup and hair product, that brings me a decent amount of money in monthly. Whereas, Stoni Simmonds, even her name is freaking cool, has over seven hundred thousand. She is a bit of a tomboy, but has sexy femininity, and she does all this amazing choreography and dancing that I'm sure will open so many doors for her. 

I'm not a professional dancer like her, but her videos caught my eye because I like to dance as well. I have uploaded a few videos of myself, one of them was a dance she choreographed, which I tagged her in and she followed me ever since. Of course, my dance videos are for fun, amateur at best, but I am flattered that she even 'likes' my videos. At first, we left comments publicly under each other's posts. It was innocent and generic, at first, but eventually we started to messaged each other privately. 

Now, we talk and text each other directly.  

I've never considered the possibility before, but Stoni is the first person I ever crushed on. Does that make me a lesbian? I'm not sure. What I do know. . .I agreed to meet her this weekend. In person.