Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 1

At night, Bacardi slept in an uncomfortable chair next to Chanel’s bedside, and during the day, she would hurry home to shower and bring back some food. Chanel would cry on her mother’s shoulder, and Bacardi would walk with her each day to visit with Mateo in ICU. He was still alive, and he was still holding on through a miracle. Being shot in the head was a death sentence, but Mateo was strong and fighting to come back to her. Chanel believed he was fighting for their love. He’d promised her that he would never leave her, and it looked like he was desperately trying to keep his promise.

“I need to go back to the apartment to change clothes, Chanel. But I’ll be right back,” Bacardi told her.

“I’ll be fine, Ma,” Chanel replied faintly. She smiled.

Chanel always understood. Even though it was hard for her to be left alone because she had been severely traumatized, she still understood about her mother’s departure for a few hours to travel back to Brooklyn.

Bacardi hugged Chanel and left the room.

Chanel sat back on the bed and closed her eyes, but sometimes the darkness became too overwhelming for her and she would suddenly see her masked attacker standing over her, assaulting her and raping her over and over again. She would abruptly wake up from her sleep screaming and clearly horrified. It felt like she couldn’t escape from them. They were following her wherever she went.

Bacardi traveled back to Brooklyn via train and several buses. It was early afternoon when she arrived home. It was a clear, sunny day, but there was nothing sunny about her life.

The apartment was quiet, and it seemed like nobody was home. Lately, Butch had been doing his disappearing acts, and Claire had been in her own world doing God knows what. Bacardi couldn’t worry about them. She had one tragedy to deal with already, and she was making good on her promise to Chanel.

She went to her bedroom to get a change of clothes, but she was soon intercepted in the hallway by Charlie and Claire coming out of their bedrooms. Charlie and Bacardi looked at each other, while Claire stood there quietly. A jealous Charlie, who knew that her mother was only there to come and go right back to Chanel’s bedside, said, “I think she’s lying about being raped.”

Bacardi stopped dead in her tracks. She couldn’t believe what had just come out of her daughter’s mouth. “Excuse me?”

“I said, Chanel’s lyi

ng about being raped.”

“Are you serious, Charlie? So Chanel raped herself, huh? I saw the hospital report, and unless she fucked herself and caused the tears to her pussy, then you need to shut the fuck up!”

Charlie crossed her arms and poked out her lips. “So, that’s it? Chanel cries rape and we’re all supposed to kiss her ass?”

Bacardi’s face tightened into an intense scowl and she stepped closer to her oldest daughter. She growled, “You need to stop being a selfish fuckin’ bitch, you fuckin’ hear me?”

“Looks who’s talking,” countered Charlie matter-of-factly.

“I’m sick of ya shit, Charlie. You need to be by your sister’s side and not here fuckin’ hating!”

“And you need to wake the fuck up! Now you wanna start caring about her?” Charlie retorted.

“Better late than never!” Bacardi countered.

The two argued in the hallway. Claire continued to stand there in silence. She was torn. Should she tell Bacardi what she’d overheard the other day at the hospital—what Charlie had fussed about with God, or should she mind her business? After she had been exposed as a liar and a cheater, Claire decided to mind her business. All Charlie would have to say was that she was lying and no one would believe her anyway.

So while Bacardi and Charlie argued in the hallway, Claire went back into her bedroom and closed the door.

***

The following day, Chanel was released from the hospital, and Bacardi was there to help her home. They rode back to the Brooklyn projects via cab. There was no way Chanel was capable of taking public transportation.

Inside the apartment, the only thing Chanel wanted to do was go to her room and lay down. She was quiet mostly, and when she did speak, it was a prayer to God to help save Mateo. She was fortunate to come home, but Mateo was still in ICU fighting for his life. Chanel wished she could do more for him, but she couldn’t. She hated feeling helpless. She still was having nightmares, and the fact that she no longer had her virginity to give Mateo on their wedding night was heartbreaking. With her birthday looming, what was supposed to be a special day, Chanel only wanted to forget and disappear somewhere. She didn’t want to think about her birthday at all.

She sobbed in her bed. It wouldn’t go away.

That night, Chanel lay in the bed in a dark and silent room. Everything felt completely still. She wasn’t hungry or thirsty, hadn’t eaten in a day. The only thing she wanted to do was lay there. Saddened and depressed, she felt like concrete on her bed, unable to move from the weight of everything that’d happened to her—and sometimes not able to think.

As she lay there, she heard the bedroom door open and close. Thinking it was Claire coming into the room, she didn’t turn around and paid it no attention. But then she felt someone take a seat on her mattress. She turned over to shockingly see God staring at her. It felt like her heart had stopped. She remained frozen on her bed startled and fearful.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Chanel. I just came in here to check up on you . . . to see if you were okay,” he said.

She couldn’t say a word.

“You good? Yo, I heard what happened to you the other day, and I’m sorry that you went through that shit. But if you need anything, I’m here, a’ight? I got ya back.”