My Star

Chapter 2

"'Miss you! Hell nah!' he yelled sarcastically. 'What I miss though... is the three hundred fucking dollars I had in my wallet before you touched it. Yeah, that's what I am missing. You know anything about that, Star? Huh! Fucking answer me! You need to have my money over here in the next ten fucking minutes, 'cause I swear to God you don't want me to come get it.' He hung up the phone."

I was speechless. I couldn't do anything but cry. Justino had never accused me of stealing, and though he had cussed at me before, never that harshly. What hurt the most was realizing he didn't trust or know me.

I descended the stairs and slipped out the front door to avoid my mom seeing me cry.

Upon reaching Justino's house, he was waiting on the porch, seething with anger. 'Don't even say shit to me, just give me my money, you dirty ass bitch!' He said bitch so hard. I felt it like a punch to the gut.

The look on my face couldn't convey the depths of pain I felt hearing him say that to me. 'Did you count it?' I asked him through my tears.

'I know what the fuck I had, I don't need to count it, bitch, you better stop playing with me,' he yelled.

'For the sake of our friendship, could you please just count it?' I asked."

"Fuck you and that weak-ass friendship. The crazy thing; it's not even about the money, 'cause I've given you way more than what you took, it's the fact that you stole from me!" He said, advancing towards me as if he was ready to hit me.

"Count it!" I yelled.

"Okay, I'm gonna count it, and when it's not here, I'm gonna slap fire from your ass, and I mean that shit on my momma," he declared boldly.

He counted it... not once... but twice, then met my gaze. Recognition dawned in his eyes as he saw the raw vulnerability I was trying to conceal. "Fuck!" was all he managed to utter.

I turned to leave.

"Star, man, I truly... apologize," he murmured.

I pivoted back to face him, mustering a fragile smile. "Don't... I needed your rage to finally realize that you don't love me, you don't trust me, you don't even know me and you certainly don't give a fuck about me. So take your apology and go fuck yourself with it."

The weight of taking that first step off the porch was crushing. Leaving behind 12 years of friendship felt like tearing my heart in two.

I felt utterly foolish. It wasn't Justino's anger over the money, which anyone would feel; it was the sting of realizing he didn't cherish our bond enough to even double-check. I wasn't worth a single moment for him to verify the amount.

On my way home, luck wasn't on my side. As I approached, my eldest brother Frank pulled up, catching sight of my tears before I could wipe them away.

"Star, come here," Frank beckoned, his voice muffled by a bite of his McDonald's breakfast sandwich. Stepping out of the car, he continued, "Tell me what's wrong."

I inhaled deeply and poured out the details of everything that had unfolded.

He enveloped me in a tight embrace, whispering, "You are so smart, mija. His anger was a catalyst for your growth. Saving yourself was never about him, my love. He was merely a roadblock, blocking what truly deserved your attention. As bad as I want to beat his ass, he gets a pass today. The pain is raw now, but in time, you'll find strength to smile through it, perhaps even find humor in the healing process."

He observed me as I entered before allowing his anger to surface.

I phoned my workplace to call off. The thought of facing ten chatty coworkers repeatedly asking, 'What's wrong?' when they truly didn't care was unbearable.