Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 2

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s wrong, Chanel?” he repeated.

Chanel kneeled near his wheelchair and took his hands into hers. She was so ashamed of herself that she could hardly hold his worried stare, but she did.

“I-I-I have something to tell you,” she began. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Shhhh,” he soothed. “Are you ill?”

“Ill? No, that’s not it.”

“Are your parents okay?”

She nodded.

“Look, Chanel, how about this? Whatever you need to tell me, wait. Go home and sleep on it and if tomorrow you still think it’s something that I should know, then we’ll talk. How does that sound?”

Chanel saw the fear in his eyes and she just couldn’t break his heart, not while he wasn’t one hundred percent back to normal. How could she destroy him and then leave him alone to process her hurtful revelation in a rehabilitation center? She had to ask herself honestly, was this something he should know or was it about clearing her conscience? She wasn’t sure. Thank God he stopped her.

For the remainder of their time together, Chanel perked up. She wheeled him around each floor talking about their future and the first thing he wanted to do when he was released was go to Spanish Fly Barbershop and let his barber, Bolo, cut the Patriots logo in his hair. He missed the little things.

She warned, “Over my dead body will you cut your hair.”

After her time with Mateo, Chanel drove back to Pyro’s place, and she was rapidly plagued with embarrassment and guilt again. It hit her swiftly—like lightning striking her—her shame came flooding back. She was parked on the Bronx street but remained frozen in the driver’s seat looking lost. She sat there and cried her eyes out for hours. She cried so hard that her eyes were nearly swollen shut. All she could think about was Mateo.

How could I do that to him? And what about Mecca?

She felt like a whore. Pyro was paying all her and Mateo’s bills. Was last night her repayment? Her mind kept replaying how Pyro made sweet love to her and how good it felt. It was making her go insane. She told herself that it would never happen again.

Chanel worried if Mateo would be able to tell that she willingly had sex. It happened only once, and God had already taken her virginity.

She stared at the building and gazed up at Pyro’s apartment floor. The lights were on, so that meant he was home. She didn’t want to go up. She didn’t want to see Pyro at the moment.

Chanel sighed. She didn’t have much money on her, but she did have enough for a hotel room. She thought about it. She would get a room and spend some time alone, collect her thoughts, and try to quell her guilt.

She was about to pull off when there was a sudden tap on her window, startling her. It was Pyro. She looked at him and rolled down her window.

“You okay, Chanel?” he asked. He could see that she had been crying, and he noticed that she was about to pull off.

“I’m fine.”

But he knew she wasn’t. He felt like a piece of shit. He had taken advantage of her knowing how much she missed Mateo. But them having sex wasn’t the worst thing for now.

“I guess you heard what happened,” he said.

“No. What happened? What’s going on?”

She hadn’t heard yet, which made it more difficult to tell her. Seeing her crying, he assumed Chanel had heard about her sister.

Bacardi couldn’t get a hold of Chanel. She had turned off her phone when she visited Mateo, because she didn’t want any interruptions from anyone, especially Pyro. She hadn’t checked any of her voice messages yet.

“It’s about your sister,” he said with premature sympathy.

“My sister? Who, Charlie?” Chanel assumed, knowing her oldest sister was foul.

“It’s Claire . . .”

“Claire?” There was panic building in her tone. “What about her?”

“She’s dead. She jumped in front of a moving train down in the subway.”