Sledgehammer (Hard to Love 2)

Reality: I don’t have a lawyer, nor do I have the money to pay for one. And if I give myself time to consider this unfortunate fact I will unravel into hysterics.

I glance over my shoulder at Cassandra who gives me a thumbs up. “Give ‘em hell, Cinder.”

“Let’s go, Jones.” He unlocks the door and guides me out. “Way to usher in 2017,” Deputy D drawls in a thick New York accent.

Yeah, it’s shaping up to be real winner.

Five minutes later, I’m dialing Cam’s number. Camilla Shaw: formally DeSantis, formally Blake, formally DeSantis. Camilla’s the Lavern to my Shirley, the Robin to my Batman. My best friend since the fifth grade when an enamored Jimmy Murphy decided that slamming Cam in the face with a dodge ball was a good way to get her attention. He almost broke her nose, therefore, I almost broke his dick with a karate chop to the junk.

She spent the rest of the day following me around like a stray dog, thanking me over and over. When I figured she wasn’t about to go away any time soon, I decided to adopt her. We’ve been best friends ever since. And thank God for that because I don’t have many people in my life I can count on, and Cam’s firmly entrenched at the top of that list…come to think of it, that’s the entire list.

Someone picks up on the third ring and a loud grunt blows up the phone. “Is that beast mounting you again?” I say, holding the receiver away from my ear.

“Are you referring to my husband?” Camilla croaks, barely awake.

“Who else would be mounting you?” a super deep male voice grumbles in the background.

Camilla recently married Calvin Shaw, starting quarterback of the NY Titans. Long, boring story. They’re expecting a baby sometime in spring.

Her soft chuckle is muffled by a hand over the receiver. Then I hear a whispered, “Sorry, Boo. Go back to sleep.”

More grunting follows. “That’s the sounds of me trying to sit up. The spare tire around my waist keeps getting in the way.”

“We’ll have to discuss the joys of pregnancy some other time. I have a more pressing issue to deal with right now.” For the first time all night a pang of shame hits me. I nervously flip the spiral chord of the desk phone in circles.

“Time’s almost up, Jones,” Deputy D shouts.

“Why are you calling? I thought you had a party to go to,” Camilla slowly queries, only half awake.

“Funny you should say…umm…”

“Ambs––what is it?” I don’t fail to note that humor is conspicuously absent in her voice. The subtle hint of dread, however, isn’t. She knows me too well.

“How do you feel about busting me out of jail?”

I get a solid two minutes of silence, followed by a deep sigh. “Where are you?” she snaps, the fog of sleep gone all at once. I pinch the bridge of my nose where a tenacious ache has taken up residence.

“Southampton county jail.”

“Give me an hour.

“What now?” I say, stepping back inside the holding cell.

Twenty-nine, staring down the double barrel of thirty, and what have I learned? By the looks of my current circumstances, I’d have to say nothing.

“Now you wait for your lawyer, or if you can’t afford one, a public defender will be appointed to you,” Deputy D answers as he turns the lock.

Two and half years ago, I hit a wall and made a vow to myself. It was time to start making better choices, choices that didn’t remotely resemble the ones I’d made up until then. The kind of choices that look a lot like the one that just kicked in my front teeth and is making nonconsensual love to my mouth.

These choices almost exclusively involve one subject––Love. No shame in my game. The first step in recovery is admitting you have a problem. I’ve been chasing after it all my life. And what has Love done for me in return? Nothing. Other than leave me bruised and abused, and a little more hopeless each time.

Swearing off relationships is the most adult thing I’d ever done. No more emotional ties that hold the power to compromise the one thing that had been steadfast and true in my life since I was six, my desire for a career on the big screen––or little one. Either one will do.

Which brings me to what happened at Parker’s parents’ New Year’s Eve party. Parker Ulysses Gregory (truth), was at one time my fiancée and the man I was going to spend my entire life loving. We met in an acting class. I was the aspiring actress. He was the aspiring filmmaker slash director that wanted a better understanding of the acting process. He was also quiet, endearingly self-deprecating, and obsessed with his art––the very definition of right up my alley. It had all the makings of an epic romance. That is, when I still believed in fantasies like romance, affordable rent in Manhattan, and the Tooth Fairy.