Salted Wound

Chapter 2 Zamari- Aug 22, 2018

I don't see the fist coming toward me, but I certainly feel it connect to my cheekbone, knocking my vision fuzzy for a long enough amount of time that it would have concerned another, more normal person. Me, I've been in this position enough times for the pain to fade into the back of my mind. The second guy tries to sneak up behind me, but I see him in my peripheral vision and duck out of the way of his swing. He's knocked off balance, which gives me the opportunity to get a punch in. Distracted by him, I forgot about the first goon who had been attempting to rearrange my facial features. I swing around to find him, just in time to feel something heavy come into contact with the back of my head. Everything fades to black.

_______

            Through the foggy haze in my mind, I faintly hear what sounds like a female voice, saying words that would make a sinner blush.

"And I thought I was the reprobate of the family," I comment, feeling like I was talking through a mouthful of cotton. The loose gravel in the parking lot I've sprawled in makes grooves on my face, and I groan as the full impact of the pain settled into my bones.

"Keep up like this and you'll be the dead one too," Jade snaps. I feel her check my legs and arms for broken bones, and mutter under her breath something about me being a fucking dumbass, but still, refuse to open my eyes.

I know from experience how the world will spin as soon as I look around at my depressing surroundings. Next time I'm jumped I'd love it to be in a nice mall, with a coffee shop nearby. Or at least not an abandoned parking lot that smells like piss and lost dreams.

I finally open my eyes, looking to my twin sister, worry and anger warring for dominance in her eyes as she takes in the damage they'd done to my face. I wince as I sit up, ignoring the way my vision twists, and try for a smile.

"Am I pretty?"

She rolls her eyes, some of her worry fading. As long as the jokes still roll, the damage can't be too bad. I'm not bleeding in a parking lot, and our lives aren't completely screwed.

"Yeah, fucking gorgeous," she gives me a hand up, holding onto me longer than necessary to ensure I won't topple over. I slap her hand away.

"Mom know you've been cussing like that?"

"Mom know you're getting your ass handed to you like this?" She shoots back, looking more than a little annoyed.

"Touche," I sling my arm around her shoulders as we leave the parking lot, starting the walk back toward our just as depressing "house". We both fall quiet, the silence punctuated by the crunching of loose gravel and badly paved street crumbling street we were walking on. Having lived in this neighborhood just long enough to remain wary, we both keep an eye on any car passing by that may belong to a drug dealer, or worse, who roamed after dark.

The only thing I could say I was grateful to my father for, is the knowledge early on in my life that not everyone would be there to pick you up – literally and metaphorically – when you need it and to appreciate those who would. Those like Jade, who always stood with me. I know a lot of kids who complain about their siblings, but I rely on mine like one would a limb. I need them, and they need me. Mom tries, but working as hard as she does just to put dinner on the table for the three of us don't lead to a lot of time for heart to hearts.

            We stay quiet all the way up to the street that leads into our decrepit neighborhood, a broken swing set sways in the late evening breeze at the tiny park three houses away from ours. Jade looks up at me, concern draws her brows together

"How are you gonna explain it this time?"

I shrug, working my jaw in hopes of dispelling some of the soreness there that I know will make chewing anything a challenge. "With all the hours she's been putting in lately, she won't question it too hard."