Читать книгу Gabi, a Girl in Pieces - Isabel Quintero - Страница 28

September 23

Why is my life surrounded by so much fucking drama? Why? I just got my SATs back. Obviously I did well, so that is not the dramatic part. People are still talking about how Cindy is pregnant. Like she is the only pregnant girl in the history of our school. This is obviously not the case, though Santa Maria de Los Rosales High School does have a reputation for the least amount of pregnant girls in our school district—a very strange reputation to have. I mean it’s not like the students here don’t have sex, because they do, but maybe they all use condoms or something. Anyways, people are still running their mouths about the whole situation. German was trying to be nice to Cindy and was sitting at our table at lunch, which was really, really annoying, and it was obvious that it was making her really uncomfortable, but she never asked him to leave. I warned her that he was an ass and that she shouldn’t fall for his stupid lines again, and she was like, “Whatever. You don’t know anything about these things. You haven’t even kissed a guy yet.” Ouch. Even Sebastian told her that that was mean. But Cindy was right. I have never been kissed. Never ever. Unless you count Pancho in kindergarten, which I don’t. Because at this point in the game, kindergarten kisses don’t count. My lips were pure and untouched, waiting for the right moment, for something to come along and snatch them up. Cindy apologized, but it still stings. Plus, I was right. German was just trying to be smooth, but it didn’t work because we caught him making out with Sonia in the school parking lot. I didn’t throw it in Cindy’s face, but I hope she learned her lesson.

Something else happened today. I don’t even want to write it down, but I have to put it away somewhere and hope the dirty feeling goes away. This is the thing about drug addicts: all they can think about is getting high. And the consequences—who they hurt or what they have to sell, steal or give away—don’t matter. The addict is an insatiable beast. He or she is no longer the person they were before that first high. After the transformation, the beast is always on the hunt. But he will never find what he is looking for. And even if he tries to transform back into the person he was, because that hunger is never satisfied, the beast never goes away. It is always itching to burst through flesh and sinew, turning everything to shit. My father is that beast. Today we found out that he owes a lot of money. So much money that some nice gentleman came to our house to tell my mom that either he gets his money, or she has to sleep with him. Yup, that was the deal that was made. All the money that my mom has been saving for months to see my sick grandma in Mexico… gone. I refuse to believe that my father would make such a deal. That it’s some sort of movie shit that doesn’t happen in real life. And therefore couldn’t happen in my real life. But this is the beast we’re talking about. The beast has no morals and, Gabi, you better believe that it is very likely that in a moment of desperation, your father completely lost himself. Time for another letter to my dad.

Dear Papi,

I can’t find the words to say this, but I will try. This is bullshit. You have broken my heart again. And again. And again. I can’t believe you would make us go through this. I want to believe that you would never make a deal that involves trading your wife for drugs, but then I would be lying to myself. I want you to get help. We all want you to get help. You need help. This is the lowest you have ever been. Please get help. Mom is not a prostitute. She shouldn’t have to pay your debts. None of us should. I shouldn’t have to worry every night that we’ll get a call telling us someone found you in a park, beaten, overdosed or dead. I cannot force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but I know you want to get better. I know you are tired of living like this. Papi, I love you. Te quiero con todo mi corazon. Come back, please.

Gabi