Rose Bridges

Forty two

Carmen

We're silent as we enter my room.

He still hasn't said a word.

He just walks over and takes a seat and the end of the bed.

Slowly, I follow, and sit beside him.

Lifting my hand, I gently pull his hood down.

He looks to me and it looks like he cried without moving a single face muscle.

My hand lifts to his face and I push some hair off his forehead.

His eyes roam all over my face. "How can you love someone like me?" he whispers.

My eyebrows pinch. "What do you mean?"

He looks forward and pulls his bottom lip into his mouth. "I-" He sucks in a breath. "Carmen I-I'm not-I'm me. There's nothing...special about me. I'm an asshole. I let down everyone I care about. I've done shit in the past and...robbed people. With two jobs plus selling shit that kills people, I still can't properly take care of my family. How could you love someone like that?" he whispers to me, moonlight coming from the window lighting up part of his face in the dark room.

My heart cracks with each word he says. I lift my hand and wipe a tear from my eye. "You hurt my heart when you talk about yourself like that," I mutter to him.

He darts his tongue out to wet his lips. "Carmen, you do realize I sell drugs right? That's not something a good person does."

My heart stops and I stare up at him. You sell drugs? What? Since when? Why? How?

Except I keep all my questions down. Instead, I lift my hand and wipe at the underneath of his eye. "How long have you been selling drugs?"

"I started when I was thirteen. Then I stopped when I was sixteen. Except because of court I gotta get as much money as I can."

A jab of pain gets sent to my heart. Thirteen years old and selling drugs. Oh, Romero. This world hasn't been very kind to you.

"Well..." I start, my voice thick with emotion. "You look in the mirror and see a bad person. I look at you and see someone who works two jobs and is willing to put himself in danger if it means keeping his little sister with him and his family," I whisper, still caressing underneath his eye.

"Carmen, I see..." he starts. "I see the people who come and get shit from me. They look awful. Like they're deteriorating. And...I'm willingly giving them shit that kills them so I can have money in my pocket. That's fucking awful."

I sigh, not sure what I could tell him to make him see this isn't as black and white as he's making it.

"I am in no place to judge you," I tell him tenderly. "Life isn't easy. And you have to do what you have to do in order to get by. I can't say I wouldn't do the same if I was in your position."

He stays quiet for a moment. "Really?"

I nod. "My grandmother slept with a few guys to get a better life for her kids. Some would look at that and say: How could she ever do that? Does she have no dignity? No shame? But I could never judge her. Because I've never been in that position. And in this life people do things they don't always want to do because they see no other option."