That Which Destroys Me (27 page)

Annual follow up evaluations:

From 1999-2004 Psych evaluations by the state of LA were WNL (Within Normal Limits) r/t his developmental stage.

2) Sam Smith

Male; Caucasian 

DOB: 2/6/83

Hair/Eye Color: Blond/Brown

His family members were fatalities in a house fire in July 1983, which occurred while the infant was hospitalized for pneumonia. The child had no living relatives. At the time of discharge, infant was placed in LA Foster Care Program. In 1988, he was placed in the foster care of Mr. and Mrs. Smith. The Smith’s filed for adoption in 1989 and was granted custody by the state of LA.

Initial Psych evaluation in 1988 by the state of LA were found WNL r/t his developmental stage.

Annual follow up evaluations:

From 1988-2001 Psych evaluations by the state of LA were WNL (Within Normal Limits) r/t his developmental stage.

After rereading the files over and over and looking back at the initial files that I’ve read so many times I have it memorized, I begin feeling as though I’m getting closer to an answer. An answer to what? Hell if I know. I also don’t really know where to start. So with nothing else to go on, I start with the first foster home and scour the internet searching for
ANYTHING
on the people that lived in those foster homes with Stella.

It’s almost four am when I literally cannot keep my eyes open anymore. I make my way into my bedroom and crash face first into bed where I promptly pass the hell out.

Chapter 33

Beauty & I

I spent the rest of my childhood, teenage years, and young adulthood attempting to conform to society’s expectations of me. With my vast knowledge, and my already stellar achievements in all of my classes, moving through high school successfully in less than two years was an effortless feat. I paid no attention to the other students, and my grades alone kept whomever I lived with - I didn’t even pay attention to names any longer - happy and content enough for me to be left alone with my thoughts and study’s.

When I graduated college at the young age of twenty with honors, no one was in the audience applauding as I accepted my Master’s degree in Physics. And I was extremely relieved that I’d finally cut out every person to ever try to pretend they cared for me.

When I looked around at my life and had no idea what or where to go next, I went back to school; ready to master another subject.

It gave me direction. Without it, I was adrift. And being adrift, for me, is unacceptable.

Over the next ten years of my life I traveled following whichever collage offered my next conquest and mastered most degree programs offered by the numerous colleges I’d attended.

One day, out of the blue, I was no longer adrift. The urge to write consumed me. I locked myself inside my New Jersey studio apartment, and began to write. Finally, after almost twenty years, every single word, every phrase and assemblage of words I’d yearned to express and illustrate the depth of emotions my Beauty evoked - poured out, story after story.

I found after I had written several books, it did not suffice. I needed more. I needed affirmation from the masses that my reactions to Beauty’s betrayal was errorless, despite what the demons within insistently sneered.

I was without insight on how to get my stories to the masses, so I revisited my old stomping grounds, city parks—with nothing more than a handful of my story’s I’d printed, bound, and covered at the Kinko’s across the street from my apartment. 

I found it took more effort than anything else I’d ever attempted, however after studying the people in the city’s parks and the interactions between them, I was able to adapt… I found myself for the time ever socializing; knowing this was a necessary evil to reach the goal that was my new main focus.

I interacted with people of every race, gender, and walk of life. All the while, selling my books. Sometimes as little as five a day, some days as many as fifty. I sold my books during the day, and wrote the story, our story… The story of Beauty and I.

It took me over a year and a half to finish our story. I had accumulated a few people I trusted enough, who loved almost to the point of worshipping my stories so much, that while I manically wrote mine and Beauty’s story, they would sell my books on the corners and at the parks when I was unable to extricate myself from writing.

And one night that had turned to early morning, I finished. I closed the manuscript and wrote in my calligraphy trained hand across the cover the only title this story could ever truly be entitled:

Chapter 34

A Soul Becomes Sand

After I found Jude’s note he left on my dresser while I showered, I settled into a night of restless sleep, tossing and turning as thought after thought assailed my conscious mind. “Such an asshole!” Every time my eyes closed last night, I saw his note.

Now I lie in bed staring at the ceiling fan as the blades endlessly circle, chasing the blade ahead. And I conclude that on this day - Sunday, April 20
^th
- I will inform Wesley Jacobs of his upcoming fatherhood.

And then, I will assure him that this too will not destroy me - that I am more than willing to fight this battle alone, just as I have fought every battle before.

I shower, shave, and dress to the motherfucking nines. In my black strapless linen dress with an empire waist which hangs almost to the floor, I step into my six inch nude with black pin stripe heels before grabbing and shoving the sticks (there were twelve) that I pissed on after my visit to Dr. Thomas, inside my purse.

I walk into the living room and see Trina and Eve sipping coffee on the couch. Trina’s eyes almost bulge from their sockets. Eve’s? Eve’s fill with tears. “Good morning!” I smile brightly. “I can tell from your expressions and tears of joy that what I have on my agenda for this morning, is obvious. Oh! For Christ’s sake! You both knew this shit, I mean this day was coming. I look six months fucking pregnant, the cat’s already out of the bag with Jude, and Wes… Well,” I sigh, “I guess we’ll see about Wes.” Smiling through a shrug, I finish, “If I come home, I will be a crying hot mess in dire need of copious amounts of alcohol. With no possibility of supplying said dire need. If I don’t, then YAY!!!!”

I clap my hands together with an excited look on my face trying to get my sisters to be a little more enthusiastic. My attempt is, as always… Fails.

Trina sets her coffee cup on the table before walking over to me and wrapping her arms around my neck. Hugging me tightly, she whispers in my ear, “I love you, Stella. I know this is going to feel like you’re walking into the dredges of hell, sister. And I promise, if it were possible I would give anything to do it for you.”

I steel my spine and pat her back, still hugging her and say, “T, it’s what I do, it’s what I’ve always done. And just like every walk through hell I’ve endured alone before this one, I’ll come out in the end. That which doesn’t kill me, only makes me stronger, sis.” I kiss her cheek and step back.

When Eve comes running at me, all of her fine blond hair flying behind her, she wraps her thin arms around my neck and just falls to pieces, crying. “Shh…Evey, I’ll be fine, honey. Come on. Look at me.” I pull back, smiling at her while looking into her light blue eyes, “Don’t cry for me, babe. Please?”

Through her sniffles, she sputters out, “If I-I don’t, then w-who will?”

“Huh, never thought of it that way. Okay, I concede, cry your eyes out, sis.” I smile mischievously at her, “However, if I’m not home by four pm, you and T better be having a cocktail, because I will be getting righteously fucked by, quite possibly, the most beautiful cock in the whole state of New York.”

She smiles, blushing and shaking her head, “Of course you do.” She looks at Trina, “Of course she does.”

I slip my purse strap over my shoulder and turn to leave. When I get to the door and open it, I turn around and say before leaving, “Of course I do, if I don’t keep shit light and let it roll off my back, this fucking world would’ve taken me down years ago.” I hold up my middle finger and kiss it, flipping them off and blowing them a kiss. “Love you two bitches. Here’s to hoping I don’t see y’alls’ asses later!” I laugh closing the door before making my way from my building… Making my way to my baby daddy’s house, to tell him he’s my baby daddy.

I wave and smile at the door man on my way into Wesley’s building. After I step from the elevator and stare at the door to his penthouse, my nerves assault me, crippling me from moving forward and knocking on his door.

I stand, frozen in place, staring at the dark lines veining their way across the even darker wood. What if we can’t figure this out? He said no forevers. My hands slide over my baby bump as tears fill my eyes. Everything about my new little peanut spells out forever. Baby and forever is universally known as… Forever. What if he doesn’t want our baby?

I can literally feel my resolve steel. Determination courses its way through me. Convection solidifies around my soul. My shoulders pull back, my head held high, I step forward and knock seven bold times.