TRISTAN'S POINT OF VIEWI wake up with the familiar headache and the excruciating heartache that for ten years only increases.“Hey, T., are you ok?” Dee asks with a smile on his face while sitting on the end of the sofa, and I shake my head as in no but regret it as soon as I do because my brain feels like it’s stabbed with each shake.“Do I look ok?” I ask rhetorically while trying to sit up, hardly succeeding.“Well, you look like shit, but... don’t you remember anything?”“Oh, God, Dee... your honesty is...” I trail off trying but failing to find the right words, and he chuckles.I love him, I don't know what I would have done without him all these years, but sometimes... sometimes...“I know, I know, I’m special. But enough about the awesome moi, well, not enough because what we’re going to talk about is gonna involve me as well, and once you hear me out, you’ll make me a statue and worship me until the end of your daaaayssssssssss.” He prolonged the words and changed his voice i
TRISTAN'S POINT OF VIEWThe way home is endless, and I’m not sure if I want the time to fly or to freeze because I don’t know what his intentions are.Will I survive if he’ll just come, get his answers, and leave?As I scrub my skin almost raw due to the nerves that don’t seem to give me a fucking break, I remember that he has someone, and my heart sinks so fucking low that I think that no one will ever find it again, and tears fell so effortlessly that I didn’t even realize that I’m in so much pain that I can’t even stand until I was sobbing on the shower floor.He just wants answers... he doesn’t want me... he never will... and why would he? He's a gorgeous, brilliant, businessman, and I'm a struggling mechanic with two kids.My airways clog again, and I manage to turn the water ice cold before I pass out, and slowly, very slowly, focusing on the coldness that envelops my body, I manage to breathe again, but it’s as hard and as painful as the day I lost him because now I don’t even
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEWBeing in New Jersey at this time of the year, or any time of the year, or better yet, being in New Jersey at all, ever, was not in my life plan.I hated New Jersey when my mom and I first moved here, and not just anywhere, but in the worst part of it, in the ghettos, not that before we lived in a better part of another city because she liked drugs and she never could hold a job longer than a few weeks, so, we were always poor, but at least in California was warm.Anyway, I hated it until I met him, then, I loved it and wouldn’t have traded it for any luxurious, warm island in the entire world.I met him two days after we moved, I was coming home from school, and two boys picked on me. They were older and bigger, and they pushed me around and ripped my only jacket, which was not very warm as it was, but it was better than the nothing they left me with.I was on the ground when I first heard his loud voice, yelling at them to leave me alone, and when I looked back,
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEW“Jamal Jones, w--”“You’re depressed again, aren’t you?” Addison, or Addis, how I like to call my best friend and assistant, interrupts my greeting.“No, I’m not.” I don't know why I deny it, maybe because I’m trying to convince myself that I’m ok, or that this time, the excruciating memories didn’t cause me as much pain as they did the last time, but what can change in a few hours?“You answered your phone without looking who’s calling, so, you’re depressed.” He states, making a point, and a valid one because I usually look before I answer any calls.“How is the family gathering?” I try to put the spotlights on him, even though I don’t think it's gonna work.“Jamal, darling, don’t you try this reverse psychological thing on me. It’s not working.” I sigh heavily, not knowing what to say, and not wanting to talk about it.“I’ll be fine as soon as I get out of this... Hell of a city.”“I was thinking about that, and I want to talk to you, but please hear me out unt
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEWI make sure to take the route that’s the farthest from the ghettos because even though it’s snowing, and people wear hats and scarves to protect themselves from the cold wind and snow, I don’t want to drive around that place and risk seeing him, seeing them, and to be extra careful, I keep my eyes on the road, avoiding to look on the sidewalk or at other drivers, afraid that I’ll see them hand in hand... or...“God, I’ll go crazy here!” I exclaim as I realize just how paranoid I am, but still do not look around.The phone rings in the speakers of my car, and I see that it’s mom, but I’m not in the mood to talk to her right now, so I ignore it.Yes, she helped me tremendously during college, sending me at least five hundred dollars monthly, and giving me thirty thousand dollars when I finished so I could start my company, but that doesn’t mean that I forgot all those years of abuse, all the cold nights, the hunger, or the guys that she brought home, and some beat
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEW“Hello, sir, what can I help you with?” A tiny guy, not taller than 5 ft 6, and not heavier than 110 pounds, with brown curls that fall over his brown eyes, asks me with a smile on his freckled face.“I have a flat tire, and some warning light popped up on the dashboard. I have to drive to Massachusetts, and I don’t want to--” I don’t get to say what my problem is because the guy’s eyes went wide, and interrupted me with a squeal and a high-pitched tone of voice.“You’re Jamal Jones! The billionaire, with the apps and games!” He exclaims enthusiastically, and on a normal basis I wouldn’t mind talking to him, but I’m in New fucking Jersey, and every minute spent here means more chances to see them, and I already had more delays than I wished for.“Yes, I am. Now please, I’m in a hurry.” I plead, trying to remain polite and not blow up because the poor guy did nothing to me, but as I said... gotta get out of here.“Yes, sorry. Bring the car in, and we’ll take care
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEW The pain I felt when I heard Dee's name can’t be put into words. My eyes haven’t stung like this since the day I caught them. My insides, which were already broken, feel like they are put in a blender, which destroys me all over again, this time even worse if that’s even possible. I see Dee, or a blurred image of him, fact that tells me that I’m about to cry, and I bite my cheek hard in order not to and focus on the pain and the metallic taste of blood that floods my mouth, then close my eyes shut for a second to push the tears away, and without wanting, my eyes land on him again, examining him, trying to see what he has that I don’t, trying to figure out why Tristan chose him. We look different, but he’s also black, just a darker shade than me, he has a buzz cut, he's taller than me and even Tristan, and bigger, he always was. He's about 6 ft 6 and has around three hundred pounds of muscle. Maybe
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEWWe barely managed to carry him. Dee is way stronger than me, so he didn't have a problem, but I lost my breath, and my back hurt by the time we reached the destination. It's a decent-looking room that has a dark wooden table for six surrounded by six chairs, and a few feet away there’s a dark green sofa, where we lay him, and I, -unfortunately-, reluctantly let go of him, let go of his arm, which falls, touching the ground.For reasons I do not wish to discuss, I took his arm to place it on his broad chest, which moved as he breathed, and something got my attention.A tattoo that goes along the inside of his forearm.The date when we first met, when he rescued me from those bullies, is written in beautiful calligraphic numbers, which is followed by regular, strong heartbeats, then the date when I caught them together, but these numbers are ugly written and broken, and they are followed by erratic heartbeats which get further apart and smaller by every half an in
TRISTAN'S POINT OF VIEWThe way home is endless, and I’m not sure if I want the time to fly or to freeze because I don’t know what his intentions are.Will I survive if he’ll just come, get his answers, and leave?As I scrub my skin almost raw due to the nerves that don’t seem to give me a fucking break, I remember that he has someone, and my heart sinks so fucking low that I think that no one will ever find it again, and tears fell so effortlessly that I didn’t even realize that I’m in so much pain that I can’t even stand until I was sobbing on the shower floor.He just wants answers... he doesn’t want me... he never will... and why would he? He's a gorgeous, brilliant, businessman, and I'm a struggling mechanic with two kids.My airways clog again, and I manage to turn the water ice cold before I pass out, and slowly, very slowly, focusing on the coldness that envelops my body, I manage to breathe again, but it’s as hard and as painful as the day I lost him because now I don’t even
TRISTAN'S POINT OF VIEWI wake up with the familiar headache and the excruciating heartache that for ten years only increases.“Hey, T., are you ok?” Dee asks with a smile on his face while sitting on the end of the sofa, and I shake my head as in no but regret it as soon as I do because my brain feels like it’s stabbed with each shake.“Do I look ok?” I ask rhetorically while trying to sit up, hardly succeeding.“Well, you look like shit, but... don’t you remember anything?”“Oh, God, Dee... your honesty is...” I trail off trying but failing to find the right words, and he chuckles.I love him, I don't know what I would have done without him all these years, but sometimes... sometimes...“I know, I know, I’m special. But enough about the awesome moi, well, not enough because what we’re going to talk about is gonna involve me as well, and once you hear me out, you’ll make me a statue and worship me until the end of your daaaayssssssssss.” He prolonged the words and changed his voice i
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEW“Sir... I...” The shaky voice of the woman makes me turn, and out of nowhere, I get another hug, which I reciprocate with a smile.God, I got hugged today more than in the last five years. I hope I’ll get another hug... the most important of them all...“I wasn’t actually going to work...” The woman says as she pulls back and barely looks at me.“Ok...” I trail off, confused about why she’s telling me this, and after she wipes the rest of her tears, she continues with a guilty voice and guilty eyes.“I switched shifts with a coworker, that’s why I wouldn’t have been able to spend Christmas at home... and today... now... I should have gone to... God...” She trails off as she looks away nervously, fidgeting with her hands, then she opens her mouth to continue, but nothing comes out, and she looks at me apologetically as if she’s sorry that she can’t finish the sentence.“You don’t have to tell me if--”“No. I want to. I want you to know what you did today...” I loo
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEWI rub my eyes to see if I’m seeing things, but the watch, money, and Santa's hat are still there, nicely placed on the seat. But to really be sure that the watch is mine, I turn it, and my eyes get even wider when I see my initials.J.J.Am I going crazy?But I know that I gave my watch and money to the homeless guy... but he was white... Santa was black... how?I get out of the car and run outside, even though I know that the possibility of seeing either of them is non-existent, but my brain needs answers. Logical answers, not fairy freaking answers.As expected, no one was there, or at least none of the men... with that thought, their eyes came into my mind. Cerulean green.But it can’t be... right? I mean, one was white and the other black... but the eyes... then the conversations...“I will, but first, I need to help someone that helped me.” Was the homeless guy talking about me?“I’ll make your biggest wish come true.” Santa’s voice echoes in my head over a
“You want to say how much he loved me,” I emphasize the word ‘loved’, and my heart stops again, my eyes land on Tristan, then I look back at Dee, hoping that he’ll contradict me.Is it possible that he still loves me?“J.J., he never touched anyone since then. I’m no doctor, but I think he developed a phobia because except for his kid, well, brother, his adoptive kid, who is Sean’s boyfriend, and me, he doesn’t even shake hands with anyone.” He explains, and I don’t even bother to hide the smile or the tears that are still rolling down my face to my neck, wetting my shirt.But Dee’s expression changed into a remorseful one as he continued talking.“I’m sorry... but it was so hard to see him crumble day by day, and after one year, I tried to convince him to try and get over you, go on dates, but I got myself a black eye. The second year, on my birthday, I managed t
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEWWe barely managed to carry him. Dee is way stronger than me, so he didn't have a problem, but I lost my breath, and my back hurt by the time we reached the destination. It's a decent-looking room that has a dark wooden table for six surrounded by six chairs, and a few feet away there’s a dark green sofa, where we lay him, and I, -unfortunately-, reluctantly let go of him, let go of his arm, which falls, touching the ground.For reasons I do not wish to discuss, I took his arm to place it on his broad chest, which moved as he breathed, and something got my attention.A tattoo that goes along the inside of his forearm.The date when we first met, when he rescued me from those bullies, is written in beautiful calligraphic numbers, which is followed by regular, strong heartbeats, then the date when I caught them together, but these numbers are ugly written and broken, and they are followed by erratic heartbeats which get further apart and smaller by every half an in
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEW The pain I felt when I heard Dee's name can’t be put into words. My eyes haven’t stung like this since the day I caught them. My insides, which were already broken, feel like they are put in a blender, which destroys me all over again, this time even worse if that’s even possible. I see Dee, or a blurred image of him, fact that tells me that I’m about to cry, and I bite my cheek hard in order not to and focus on the pain and the metallic taste of blood that floods my mouth, then close my eyes shut for a second to push the tears away, and without wanting, my eyes land on him again, examining him, trying to see what he has that I don’t, trying to figure out why Tristan chose him. We look different, but he’s also black, just a darker shade than me, he has a buzz cut, he's taller than me and even Tristan, and bigger, he always was. He's about 6 ft 6 and has around three hundred pounds of muscle. Maybe
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEW“Hello, sir, what can I help you with?” A tiny guy, not taller than 5 ft 6, and not heavier than 110 pounds, with brown curls that fall over his brown eyes, asks me with a smile on his freckled face.“I have a flat tire, and some warning light popped up on the dashboard. I have to drive to Massachusetts, and I don’t want to--” I don’t get to say what my problem is because the guy’s eyes went wide, and interrupted me with a squeal and a high-pitched tone of voice.“You’re Jamal Jones! The billionaire, with the apps and games!” He exclaims enthusiastically, and on a normal basis I wouldn’t mind talking to him, but I’m in New fucking Jersey, and every minute spent here means more chances to see them, and I already had more delays than I wished for.“Yes, I am. Now please, I’m in a hurry.” I plead, trying to remain polite and not blow up because the poor guy did nothing to me, but as I said... gotta get out of here.“Yes, sorry. Bring the car in, and we’ll take care
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEWI make sure to take the route that’s the farthest from the ghettos because even though it’s snowing, and people wear hats and scarves to protect themselves from the cold wind and snow, I don’t want to drive around that place and risk seeing him, seeing them, and to be extra careful, I keep my eyes on the road, avoiding to look on the sidewalk or at other drivers, afraid that I’ll see them hand in hand... or...“God, I’ll go crazy here!” I exclaim as I realize just how paranoid I am, but still do not look around.The phone rings in the speakers of my car, and I see that it’s mom, but I’m not in the mood to talk to her right now, so I ignore it.Yes, she helped me tremendously during college, sending me at least five hundred dollars monthly, and giving me thirty thousand dollars when I finished so I could start my company, but that doesn’t mean that I forgot all those years of abuse, all the cold nights, the hunger, or the guys that she brought home, and some beat