Boycotting Blue

09/Lou

Lou

 

 

Hell yeah I wanted a massage.

     I had to give it thought. I had seen this happen before in books and movies. What started as a massage ended as sex. I didn’t want that. Well, I wanted it—but not with Blue. Well, with Blue. But not—

   Blue had turned my once functioning brain into a big, mental babble. I never babbled. And, in a period of about a month and a half,  I had become a babbler. Some stupid chico had made a babbler. Babble, babble, babble, that’s all I did now. Like some bimbo that fell in love with boys. But I was not going to fall in love with Blue. It couldn’t be done. He himself said he was no good. And, yeah, we would make good friends, but he was sexy—the type of guy to have whatever girl he wanted. There was not a chance in high heaven he would even be attracted to me.

    So I could definitely do the massage.

    No.

    I probably looked like an idiot, I realized. I had a tendency to make the faces with the arguments in my head. I glanced up at Blue, who looked confused, yet amused at the same time.

   Heaving my shoulders, I stood. Frustration had come flying in, making tears well up in my eyes. Now I was a crier, too. A babbler and a crier. This was getting out of hand.

   “Don’t laugh at me,” I snapped, voice cracking on the last word. I started to walk away from him, out the door, trying to hold myself together.

   Blue stood, easily blocking the door. “Lou, lo siento—“

   I glared at him, but it was kind of blurry because of the tears. “Doesn’t matter,” I responded, fixing my face into a hard line. “Let me out.”

  He stepped away from the door, eyeing me cautiously. “Are you okay? I was only joking about the massage.”

  Joking? For some reason, a little shot of pain jolted through my body. I didn’t know why; he was only confirmed what I already knew. Blue didn’t like me in that way. He never would. I wasn’t that girl. White women seemed to be in these days. He probably wanted one of them. A nice blonde with blue eyes, all tall with fake boobs… or maybe he wanted a short, curvier Latina woman with a feisty attitude and those wide hips. No, Blue wanted somebody easy. That’s what every boy wanted. And when they didn’t get what they wanted, they took it. It was what had happened to Daisy. It would happen to me, too, if I wasn’t careful.

   “Thanks, Blue. Really. Now I’m not good enough for you touch? Why? Because I won’t sleep with you?” I demanded, hands on my hips.

   He looked shocked. “Lou, I—what the fuck are you talkin’ about, chica?”

   “Nada!” I snapped because he apparently couldn’t understand English well. “Don’t worry about it. It’s pointless.”

   “But I hurt your feelings,” he replied, looking helpless. “…. And I don’t know why.”

   Of course he didn’t. He just couldn’t understand that I had to protect myself from boys like him. And boys like the guy who hurt my sister. Boys who teased me about my mom. He couldn’t understand that letting him give me a massage was going to end up in something more. I had to protect myself. I couldn’t get personal with him, or anybody that knew my mom.

  I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it, Blue. I told you that.” I stomped past him, slinging the door open.

  The blast of hot, Louisiana air that hit me, coupled with his warm hands on my shoulders, almost made me give in right then and go back inside. It had to be better than taking a walk of shame in this heat.