One Way Out

Chapter 6

Paris takes another bite out of the toast Jeremiah made for her. She's still annoyed, but she's torn between whether or not to let him go or continue to attempt to get her point across. She's smacked with the memory that his parents still think she's terrible, and he'd done nothing to convince them otherwise. This thought alone was enough to cause Paris to throw her toast down and storm out of the kitchen. She walks down the hallway to the gym, where she finds him pushing weights on the shoulder press machine. His back is to the door.

"So you're just gonna walk off?" she says. He ignores her. "You're gonna get up in my face and act like you're about to hit somebody?" she continues, and when he still doesn't answer she adds, ".....Like a lil bitch?" He stops pressing and lets the weights slam down. She can see him lean forward on the bench and lace his fingers together in front of his mouth. "I'm a bitch?" he asks coolly, standing up but still not facing her. His voice crescendos, "I'm a bitch 'cause you're pissing me off and I don't wanna hit your lil-"

He cuts himself off, closing his eyes and placing his fist in front of his mouth. Paris raises her chin, "You got something you wanna call me? Look at me when you say it." Paris thrived on confrontations like this. She knew Jeremiah tried to have a good heart, but she needed to see how far he would go. Just to prove to herself that he is just like every other man she knew, made of bullshit. She was waiting for the day she finally got him to lose his temper. He was just like his father. She knew it and she wanted him to know it too.

Paris tilts her head as she waits for him to turn around. She can see his hands are shaking. Almost there.. He's taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. "You don't wanna hit my lil what? Thieving ass? You ain't no better than me Jer, stealing from your mother's job. At least I don't steal from my family," she persists, "What am I, Jeremiah? WHAT!"

"Stop Paris!" he yells and finally faces her, "Fucking STOP." She talks over him, "My little slutty ass? Thieving ass?" "Stop..." he says calmly, slowly walking toward her. But she doesn't stop, "Pill popping, dirty, drug dealing, stupid, money hungry, jealous, manipulative, worthless-" "Paris stop," Jeremiah repeats. He can see her starting to tear up as he gets closer. Paris only raises her voice and continues, "shitty ass, cunt ass, bitch? Is that what you want to say to me Miah? Is that what you want to fucking say!? SAY IT!"

He grabs her hands and pulls her into him, burying her face in his chest. He wraps his arms around her and rests his chin on the top of her head. She pushes him, trying to fight him off, but it is to no avail. "Stop," he says calmly, "Stop it. I don't understand why you always have to do this." Paris doesn't speak, so Jeremiah continues, "I'm not like them. No matter how hard you try to push, I'm not doing it. So stop."

He lets her go and she wipes the bottom of her eyelids. "I'm sorry for calling you a bitch earlier. It was disrespectful and my mama ain't raise me like that. But you gotta stop tryna push me and get me to a point I don't wanna be. Stop tryna make me into everyone else. I'm not them. That's not me," he pleads, "We been through hell and back and you still don't trust that I'm not like everyone else? What else do you need me to do?"

Paris shrugs. It's crazy how they've only known each other for a year. He knows things about her that even Brooklyn doesn't. He knew her before they even had their first full conversation. He knows what she's thinking before even she does. So why is it so hard for her to trust that he really isn't like everyone else?

Jeremiah sits on the bench near him, "I did try to convince my parents that it wasn't your fault. But you know I can only say but so much. It's hard to convince them of anything when the only thing I can say is 'It wasn't her fault'. All they know is I got shot, and you were there."

"You don't have to tell them everything but you make it seem like they think I was the one that pulled the trigger. And you know I wasn't Jer," Paris sighs, shaking her head. Jeremiah hangs his head, "I know." "So tell them!" she cuts. "I did! Don't you get it? It doesn't matter what I say," he says looking up at her helplessly, "It doesn't matter what they think anyway. Since when do you care what anyone thinks?"

"You're right. But I care what you think..." she says timidly, hoping she doesn't regret admitting that later. Jeremiah leans forward, "Paris.. Of course I don't blame you. But you really can't expect me to just pretend like nothing happened. 'Cause you and I both know that's what your doing."

"I'm not"

"You are."

"No I'm really not."

"I could have died! We could have died!"

"I know that!!"

Jeremiah stares at her, "You're not ok Paris. You don't have to pretend. Not around me." Paris looks away from him, trying not to cry. "The fact is," he continues, "Someone got killed... and we were both there for that." Paris wipes her face, "I did what I had to do." "I know. And I'm so grateful and I thank God for you every day. But you're not ok. No one would be ok after that," he says softly.

Paris gets a glimpse of the scar on his left shoulder before she puts her face in her hands and breaks down in tears. Shes been through so much. There isn't a day that goes by that she doesn't feel guilty. Jeremiah gets up off the bench and walks over to her, holding her again, "I know it wasn't your fault but do you? You gotta forgive yourself, P."