No. He walks completely out of the room and down the hall, leaving me even more confused than before.
Clay commands our attention after he watched Javi walk out without uttering a word. “Alright, girls. That ends today’s class. We will work more on those moves on Thursday. Have a good evening.”
We all help sanitize the equipment we used and the mats where we sat before grabbing our water bottles and heading for our cars.
And as I cruise home, rolling the top down to enjoy the slightly cooler air as the sun sets, I overanalyze my demonstration with Javier, wondering if there was something I did wrong or if I actually hurt him. Whatever it was, I’m no closer to understanding our relationship after that encounter. And I don’t even know how to describe our ‘relationship’ in the first place.
Chapter 12
Javier
“So, how are things going for you, Javi?” Lisa Peterson directs her attention to me in the small group of people sitting in a circle in my court-ordered anger management class in Dallas. I didn’t particularly want a group setting where I had to talk about my feelings, but now these people are like an extension of my family.
“Fine.”
“Come on, Javi. You know we need more than that.” She smiles politely and waves her hand in encouragement.
I blow out a breath and then lean forward in my chair, resting my forearms on my thighs. “I haven’t felt triggered in months, but that’s probably because I haven’t put myself in a position like the one I was in that landed me in jail.”
“How so?”
“Well, no parties. No drinking in social settings. I’ll have a beer at home when I’m alone, but I’m not drinking to get drunk.”
“Good. And how is work?” Lisa jots down a few notes as the group continues to stare and listen.
“Great. Construction helps me take out my aggression since I get to destroy stuff and pound nails into wood daily.” That remark earns a chuckle from the group. “And then at the gym, I get to punch bags and work out my aggression in a healthy way.”
“Are you still teaching that self-defense class for women?” One of the guys, Hector, chimes in.
I nod. “Yeah. And I think that helps too, knowing I’m contributing something positive to someone else’s life. I don’t want other women to end up like my sister.”
I spent two years in prison seething about how I let her down, how I never taught her to protect herself because I always thought I was going to be there to do so. That was the expectation my father held of me too, which only made the guilt even worse. And during one of the only times I left her alone, her pathetic excuse of an ex-boyfriend pounced when he had the opportunity.
I told her Jesus was a piece of shit, but she didn’t listen. I think part of her wanting to date him was because she knew I didn’t approve. Selena has always been a little of the rebellious type, especially after our dad died. She and I both put our mom through the wringer by getting into trouble and sneaking around, doing drugs, and barely graduating from high school. Add on my shoplifting charge at sixteen, and let’s just say it wasn’t necessarily a surprise that I ended up in jail.
But Jesus and I always had animosity between us growing up, and when my sister starting seeing him, he knew it grated my nerves. Honestly, I think that’s what part of his intentions were—he just wanted to fuck with me.
And when I walked in on him raping my unconscious sister, it gave me all the more reason to beat the shit out of him. If Andre hadn’t pulled me off him when he did, I probably would have killed him, not that the fucker didn’t deserve it.
When my sister regained consciousness, she had no idea what happened. She remembered asking him what he was doing there at the house party where most of the guests had gathered outside around the bonfire. But Jesus cornered her inside when she went in to use the bathroom, locking them in a room where the music was so loud outside that it would cover up her screams.
Selena was mortified when I told her what I saw after Andre grabbed us both and pushed out of the house before someone called the cops. I took her to the hospital to get her checked out, which she only agreed to after I begged. Luckily, the fucker had enough sense to use a fucking condom, but my sister was processed as a victim of rape as she sobbed in my arms. And she didn’t want to press charges because she was so embarrassed and didn’t think anyone would believe her. She was also weeks away from finally opening up her salon and didn’t want the gossip mill to ruin her chance at her business.
I had no choice but to accept that it was her decision, but when she didn’t speak up, Jesus decided to, pressing charges against me for aggravated assault. Selena was frantic and offered to tell the police, but at that point, I knew that taking my punishment and keeping her secret was more important than the potential of doing time.
My life was headed down a dangerous path anyway. I was smoking pot every chance I got, drinking heavily and partying, and living complacently, accepting that there wasn’t anything better to do with my life. Even though she felt like I was sacrificing a lot for her, I saw going to prison not only as punishment for failing to prevent it from happening, but also as a way for me to get my life back on track. I’d do my
