“Okay, well ain’t nobody coming in this shit hole to visit me,” I retorted.
There was a lump forming in the back of my throat that was difficult to swallow. That’s another reason why this therapy shit ain’t gon’ work—because of all the crying. I can cry on my own. I don’t need anyone to bring it out of me.
“Does the name Synthia ring a bell to you?”
My brows knitted from confusion. Then that feeling crept back again—the dark hole feeling. My eyes closed as I tried to wilt it away, but there was no use. I took a deep breath and licked my chapped lips.
“Yes.”
I paused.
“She’s the reason I’m in here.”
Dr. Moore’s brow rose. “What do you mean?”
“She fucked my boyfriend and I found out about it on my birthday,” I stated plainly.
Dr. Moore tried to hide the look of shock washing over her face, but I caught it as quick as it vanished.
“I don’t want her coming to visit me. I don’t want him coming to visit me either. I just want to be left alone… just left alone,” I spoke, barely above a whisper.
“You should let her come visit you…for closure.” She retorted.
I exhaled and shook my head. “It’s not that easy.
SYNTHIA “JUICY” JONES
During the drive, I felt like shit. I kept trying to find routes that would turn me the other way, but there were none. I kept thinking about what I’d say to her when I saw her and how she would react. Every day, I called to check on her through the nurses, and they gave me a little insight—no one was coming by to see her.
That type of feeling must hurt. It must hurt to feel like no one cares. I guess, aside from Mimi, no one had taken the time to come by. Yolanda was useless, Romelo didn’t see the point, andI’d put it off for the sake of them withholding her from having visitors.
I sat in the parking lot for a while, staring at the door and at the other people visiting their loved ones. Would any of this make a difference? Would she be able to forgive me? Probably not. I didn’t tell Romelo because I didn’t need him trying to talk me out of it.
Shaking the thought of what could go wrong, I exited the car and joined the other group of people walking inside Parkwood. At check-in, they searched me for weapons, asked for my name, and who I was there to see. I had to fight tooth and nail because I wasn’t on the visitors list. After what felt like forever, they let me through the doors, and I walked down the long hallway, treading behind a heavy-set woman.
It felt like the walls were caving in on me the closer we got. The further we walked down the hall, the darker it got—until she opened a door and light cast before my eyes, damn near blinding me. The AC wafted through the room, rushing toward us like a breath of fresh air.
Entering the room, dragging my feet, my eyes scanned the cafeteria, looking for her. I’d almost given up through the crowd until I spotted her. In that moment, her eyes found me, but she didn’t look the same. Nearing her, she looked smaller, there were bags under her eyes, but nonetheless, she was still pretty.
I slowly sat down in the seat across from her and placed my elbows on the cool table. She was wearing a green jumpsuit, black crocs on her feet, and her hair was pulled up in a bun. A stress ball was in her hand, which she kept squeezing with her gaze focused on me. Her hands were handcuffed together, and so were her feet, which I assumed was a safety measure.
“Hey,” I spoke first to break the ice. It was low, barely above a whisper.
My eyes became her focal point, as if no one else in the room mattered.
“Hey,” she spoke back, her voice groggy.
I took a deep breath, not really knowing what to say.
Her therapist, Dr. Moore, had called me and we talked about triggers—one in particular was me. According to Dr. Moore, she was supposed to face one of them. None of which involved Yolanda or Romelo, which was strange, but I get it.
I had prepared a five-page essay that didn’t matter now. Even after exploring my emotions and trying to transform them on paper, none of it mattered.
“Thank you for agreeing to this,” I mentioned.
She shrugged. “It’s whatever.”
“I brought you some clothes and stuff?—”
