Lovely Lies
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PUBLISHED BY:
Copyright © 2013 by Lashanta Charles
Dedicated to my very own KJ,
Josiah, Jr.
Mommy loves you, baby!!
Acknowledgements
No one knows how much time, dedication, and effort went into this novel, but my God. Without many prayers to Him this wouldn’t have been possible.
I need to adjust that, my husband, Josiah, and my kids know how much time went into this because they were neglected on several occasions when I was in my zone and writing came before anything else, including dinner. Thank you for the patience and understanding that comes with this territory. Josiah, I know I gave you hell, but you kept me grounded and I appreciate that so much. I love you all.
To my real life Jaida’s, Barnette Johnson, Lakeshia Felder, Charletta Burke and Sharonda Harris, who supported me and read all “ten thousand” draft changes, much appreciated. Thanks for responding to the million texts and phone calls questioning Makynzee’s every move and keeping me motivated to “finish already!!” Y’all are my girls and I love y’all to death!!
To my publisher, Delphine Publications, thank you for believing in my work as much as I do and making my dream of becoming a successful published author come true.
Most importantly, thank you, my faithful readers.
Chapter 1
Makynzee
Not much surprises or upsets me anymore when it comes to my mom. In fact, the only things that actually mean anything to me in this house are my Beats headphones, my music, gymnastics, and what little is left of my sanity. I’m surprised that I actually have to contemplate which upsets me more; the stinging sensation across the left side of my face, from the slap my mom just delivered or the sight of her foot stomping on my headphones which flew from my ears when she hit me. I’m a pretty practical girl, so I go with the stomping of the headphones. Before she demolishes them I swoop down and snatch them up. Then our staring contest begins. My look asks “what now?,” hers is unreadable, but I think I win. She looks away first.
“You and these stupid ass headphones make me sick, instead of sitting in your room you should be out trying to find a job and figure out a way to pay for college so I’m not stuck with you for another four years.”
“If you hadn’t spent all of the money Daddy saved for me I’d be long gone.”
This surprises her…and me. I’ve never disrespected my mother, never uttered a word back to her. Her surprise quickly fades as anger replaces the previous emotion and I’m dealt another blow to the face. This time she uses the back of her left hand. The skin on my cheek catches the wedding ring that she still wears and I suppress a yell as I feel the pain. I bring my hand up to my face then look down at the blood that covers my fingers. There’s not much blood so I know it’s not a big cut, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I look up at my mother and her eyes dare me to say anything. I don’t. I cower away from her and avert my eyes to the floor.
“If you weren’t such a fat fuck, you’d still be able to do gymnastics and get a full scholarship!”
I keep my eyes trained on the floor. I’m not fat and I can definitely still do gymnastics.
“And if you hadn’t gotten your daddy killed, he’d still be here to take care of us!”
I block out her hateful words. My father died in a car accident almost a year ago. As if I didn’t blame myself enough, my mom blames me even more. I can hear her saying, “If you had been where you were supposed to be, he wouldn’t have been rushing to get you to practice.” My dad had lain in a coma for four days before the doctors told my mom it would be best to “pull the plug.” I’d walked away from the wreck without a scratch; no cuts, no bruises, no broken bones, no nothing. When she told the doctors to let him go, I fought her. I fought them. It took two orderlies and a sedative to calm me down. When I woke up he was gone. I found solace in food. When my mom noticed my weight gain she called me a whore and took me to the doctor for a pregnancy test. When it came back negative, she started force feeding me diet pills and wouldn’t allow me to eat anything other than salads and crackers. As nasty as it was, I was thankful for school lunch, but she caught on to that as well. She told all my teachers and the principle that my eating habits were interfering with my gymnastics and that I was only allowed to eat what she packed for me. The damage had already been done though. Everything that I ate found its way to my hips and butt and no matter what my mom did it wouldn’t go away. She pulled me out of gymnastics. I was devastated. I begged her to let me stay, but she said I looked like a “pig in a blanket” in my leotards and it was embarrassing to her. That was my junior year in high school. I’m in the final stretch of my senior year now and have nothing to look forward to. No more Olympics, no more sponsors, no more scholarships, and no more money. Fuck my life.
I only have one friend, Jaida. Enemies surface when she’s not around. I don’t know if I can fight, never had to. I’m pretty sure I remembered a few things from the martial arts classes my dad made me take when I was younger; kicking to be specific. I’m a great kicker. Jay’s the fighter; I’m the one with the mouth. Without her I’m an easy target. My ponytail being yanked back right now proves that. My notebook crashes to the floor and I instinctively grab the hand that has my hair.
I feel a fist in my stomach as Kristen says, “Your bodyguard ain’t here to save you today.”
My attempt to double over in pain is thwarted by another yank of my hair. My fight or flight sense kicks in. I can’t run, so I claw wildly at the person closest to me. It’s Kristen who feels my wrath and before I realize it I’m on top of her clawing at her face. I didn’t know I was a scratcher, too! I notice movement to my left and look up just in time to get a foot to my face. Damn.
“Grab her!” Michelle yells
Two sets of hands restrain me and I know there’s no use in fighting anymore. I watch as Kristen recomposes herself and stands in front of me.
“You’re pathetic, no wonder your dad killed himself.”
That’s a lie and a low blow. I kick as hard as I can, sending her crashing into the adjacent wall just as Mr. Glenstone comes into the corridor. Angela quickly says, “Makynzee attacked Kristen, we tried to pull her off of her, but she just went crazy!” Kristen plays the part well. She lies on the floor in the fetal position pretending to cry. Stupid skank. He breaks us up and sends Angela and Michelle away. He takes in my messy ponytail and the now bleeding scratch on my cheek before asking, “Care to explain this?”
I glare at Kristen and say, “It’s nothing.” I really want to rip her head off for what she said about my dad.
She says, “We were headed to lunch and she called me a whore. When I told her to take it back she started trying to scratch me in my face.”
Nobody tells anybody to take stuff back anymore; we’re not six years old.
“We can settle this here and now or we can go to the office and have your parents involved.”
I stare at Kristen in silence as she continues to profess her innocence.
“Is this settled?”
I pick my notebook up and say, “Yes.”
When he lets us go I call my mom and fake the worst cramps ever. Surprisingly, she comes and picks me up. When I get home I make a beeline for my bedroom and swallow two Tylenols without any water. I stand in my bathroom staring at myself in the mirror as my head throbs in pain. I slide my fingers through my hair, which stops in the middle of my back. Every time I get into a fight, it’s what they go for. This is the logic I use when I grab the scissors from the cabinet below the sink and begin hacking away. I’m surprised when I walk out the bathroom and see my mom standing there with a glass of water and a bottle of pain meds. She drops them both a
nd stares at me slack-jawed as water and glass scatter around her feet.
I look at the floor and say, “Everybody always pulls my hair.”
I expect her to hit me, but she leaves instead. An hour later I’m sitting in a beauty salon.