A LaLa Land Addiction (23 page)

“What are you talking about?” Bleu said, confused.

“Don't worry about it. Just remember that I'm doing this for you, not to you,” Noah said. It was him who couldn't look her in the eyes now. “I want to ask you something. Did you go in Naomi's bag and take the money out to cop the drugs today?”

Bleu frowned.
This bitch told him I stole from him,
she thought, enraged.

Bleu shook her head, slightly offended that he had to ask her.
He should know me better than that.
She didn't realize that in her current state she was foreign to him. He didn't know her at all.

She didn't have the energy to defend herself.
For what?
she thought.
If he had to ask, he already believes her,
she thought.

“Yeah I took it,” she lied.

She watched him breathe a sigh of relief as if he were glad. As if the thought of her being a thief was more believable than the thought of Naomi being a liar. It wounded Bleu and she got out of the truck, slamming the door as she stormed toward the house.

He picked up on her attitude. “Bleu!” he shouted as he ran after her. Forcing her to stop and look at him, “You mad? Fuck you mad for?” he hissed. “You know what you got me out here doing?”

“Just forget it, Noah,” Bleu said as she walked inside. Bleu rolled her eyes when she saw Naomi.

Noah could see that she had been waiting anxiously for his return.

“Hey,” Naomi said as she stood to her feet. “I'm glad you found her.”

“My bad. For stealing the money out of your bag and all,” Bleu said sarcastically as she gave Naomi a knowing look.

Noah turned to Bleu. “Go upstairs and rest. We can talk in the morning. I can't look in your eyes when you're high,” Noah said, sounding injured.

Bleu saw the pain in him. She felt it and suddenly she felt guilty for taking Noah through so many changes. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Noah—”

“Just go upstairs, Bleu,” Noah said.

Bleu didn't push him and Noah sighed in relief when he heard her climbing up the stairs.

He approached Naomi, falling into her open arms as he sighed loudly. “You're so tense,” Naomi said. She was thankful that Bleu hadn't spilled the beans and exposed her in a lie.
Maybe the bitch ain't that bad,
she thought.

“Maybe you should go. Just for a few days. Shit is going to get worse around here before it gets better and I don't want to be barking at you, taking the shit out on you, like I did earlier,” Noah said.

Naomi nodded. “Are you sure that you can handle this, babe?” she asked. “I mean, she's fucked up out here. She needs real help. Rehab, doctors—”

“She'll just run. If I got to lock her in the bitch until she's clean, that's what I'm going to do. It's going to get ugly, but I can handle Bleu. I've been saving her since we were kids,” he said. He could see the skepticism on Naomi's face and he kissed her lips, providing reassurance.

“She's just my friend. I'm one hunnid. You can trust me,” he said.

“I know.” Naomi nodded. “I'm going to head home. Take care of your friend.”

He walked her to the door, and when she was gone the silence of the house seemed daunting. Usually he liked his peace. The quiet gave him time to think and plot his next move, but with the demons Bleu had brought into his life the silence seemed to be filled with negative energy.

He picked up his cell phone and reluctantly dialed his mother's number. He hadn't spoken to her since he found out Khadafi was his father. She had lied to him for years about where his father was, and once the truth had come out Noah hadn't been able to look her in the eyes without harboring resentment. They had been distant, but right now he needed his mother. Bleu needed help or she would die, and he didn't know what to do.

He held his breath as the phone rang in his ear.

“Noah?” Miz Monica answered.

“Hey, Ma,” he said, slightly emotional as he sniffed, trying to compose himself before the floodgates opened. He had never loved anyone the way that he loved Bleu. Seeing her down this bad made him weary. He was losing his mind worrying about her. “I need your help,” he said, breaking down. “I just killed a nigga over her, Mama. I don't know what else to do.…”

Hearing her son so distraught and hearing him talk about murder and violence with such disregard caused goose bumps to form on her arms. This was the exact reason why she had hidden his father from him. She didn't know exactly what was going on, but Miz Monica knew that the gangster in him had been inherited directly from Khadafi and if she didn't step in now she might lose her son to the streets forever.

“Stop talking. I'm on my way,” she said before hanging up the phone. She got on her knees and held her head up to the sky. “God, please help my son.” It was the only thing a mother could do in this position. She just hoped Noah hadn't sinned to the point of no return. She had to save him before it was too late.

 

18

Noah waited for his mother on the steps of his massive home. He sat with his head bowed in angst at the thought of the desperate measures he had been forced to take. When she pulled up into his driveway she stepped out of the car and rushed up to him.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “What's wrong?”

“I've got to show you something,” he said as he stood and walked into the house. The look on his face was so solemn that Ms. Monica feared what she would see once inside.

He climbed the stairs and walked into his room, where Bleu sat on the edge of the bed, her own eyes red and puffy from the tears of guilt she had just cried.

“No, please take the handcuffs off. I'm not a fucking prisoner here!” she shouted, enraged as she pulled at her wrist that Noah had bound to the bed.

Noah stepped aside and let his mother enter the room.

“Oh my Lord,” Ms. Monica gasped when she saw Bleu, sitting there. She rushed over to Bleu and wrapped her in a hug. “Oh, Bleu.” Her heart broke. Bleu was like a daughter to her. She had watched Bleu grow up and had been so proud when she had escaped the perils of the hood. Nobody had it tougher than her. Ms. Monica had been surprised Bleu had made it out in the first place. She certainly had not been given anything. Ms. Monica had been so proud when Bleu graduated from high school and moved to L.A. She had no idea how Bleu had come back here or how she had sunk so low, but Ms. Monica now understood the devastation she heard in Noah's voice. “You locked her up in here?” Ms. Monica turned to Noah.

“If I don't, she's going to run right back to the hood and get high, Ma. I don't know what else to do. I have to keep her here, at least until she detoxes some of that shit out her system,” he argued.

“Please, tell him to take these off, Ms. Monica. I promise I won't get high. I promise!” Bleu cried.

Ms. Monica was overwhelmed as she looked at a desperate Noah and an even more desperate Bleu. She didn't know whose side to take, so instead of getting in the middle she simply hugged Bleu tightly and whispered, “Sh-h-h. It's okay, Bleu.” Ms. Monica knew that Noah would never do anything to harm Bleu, but still, seeing a woman held against her will didn't sit right with Ms. Monica.

Bleu melted in the warm embrace of her arms. Ms. Monica was always like the mother she never had.

“What did you do to yourself, Bleu?” Ms. Monica asked with sympathy.

Bleu didn't respond as she cried on Ms. Monica's shoulder. Bleu had no answer. There was no explaining why she had made the choices that had led her here. She only remembered the logic behind her very first time using drugs. She had wanted to stay up to study. Everything after that point had just snowballed out of control.

“Give me the key and leave us alone, for a little while,” Noah's mother said.

Noah handed his mother the key and retreated from the room.

“Bleu, you know that I love you very much. Ever since you were a little girl. Noah loves you. We both just want what's best for you. If you keep using drugs you're going to die. Now I know the things you've been through. There were so many nights that I fought with myself about sending you back to that house. Any child growing up the way you did will have demons. You had the odds of the world stacked against you. You have emotional scars, honey, and they are deep. You thought running off to L.A. was going to fix everything, but running never does. Your pain is in here,” Ms. Monica said as she touched Bleu's chest with the palm of her hand. Bleu lowered her head in shame and Ms. Monica lifted her chin. “Uh-uh, you hold your head high, Bleu. That's been the problem. You've always felt like you had something to be embarrassed about. So you wanted to go somewhere new, where nobody knew who you were or what you came from. You isolated yourself and left the people who love you. You've done some things that aren't so good. You've pushed Noah to do some things that aren't so good, but you can change for the better. You're young, baby girl. It's not too late. It's never too late. We are going to start dealing with the inside, healing what ails you in your heart so that the outside world can't affect you. You won't need to get high and check out from reality, because you're built strong. You're tougher than you think,” Ms. Monica said.

Bleu couldn't say anything. She just listened, all the while thinking how lucky Noah was. She wished she knew what it felt like to have a mother like Ms. Monica. There were so many things that Bleu had missed out on, so many lessons that only a mother could teach her growing daughter. Bleu became what she had seen. Her mother hadn't been a role model; she hadn't nurtured Bleu or shown her a strong example of what a woman should be. There had been no lesson on the power of her femininity, no uplifting of her spirit, or building of her self-confidence. Hell, Sienna hadn't even shown Bleu how to insert her first tampon. Bleu had navigated her way through the world as a motherless child. Her mother might not have been dead, but she had been so disengaged. The drugs had made her selfish and had caused her to leave Bleu to figure it all out on her own.
Now I'm stuck in the same cycle,
Bleu thought.

“I just wish I could start over,” she said.

“No one can do that. You only get one chance to get this life thing right,” Ms. Monica said. “But it's not too late for you, Bleu. But we have to go back to where this all started. I want you to speak with your mother. I think she may be able to help you.”

Bleu shook her head. “She can't even help herself. I've never been her priority.”

“You've been gone a long time, Bleu. A lot of things have changed. People can change. What do you have to lose? You're already at the bottom. You can only go up from here,” Ms. Monica said. “I think she needs to see you this way because you are a product of her. You also need to tell her exactly how you feel. After all these years it's time that she hears your voice. You held it in for so long and look at what it has done to you. It's time to break this generational curse. Noah and I wouldn't do anything to harm you, Bleu. You just have to trust us. You aren't capable of taking care of yourself right now, so we have to do it for you, and I know that seeing Sienna will help.”

Bleu mulled it over in her mind before saying, “I don't even know how to reach her.”

“You let me worry about that,” Ms. Monica replied.

Bleu nodded and Ms. Monica reached down to remove the cuffs.

“No, leave them,” Bleu said.

Ms. Monica looked at her in surprise.

“Noah knows me and he's right. If you take these cuffs off, first chance I get I'm going to run. As soon as I get antsy and that tingle comes back to me, I'm going to want to get high. I won't be able to stop myself, but these will,” she said, holding up her chained wrist. The clang of the metal against the bedpost rang out loudly, making her feel like a caged animal, but in all honesty an animal was exactly what she had become. She just wanted to feel normal again, to be a better version of herself, and if speaking to Sienna was what Ms. Monica thought she needed then Bleu would oblige. She only hoped the reunion didn't send her down an even darker path.

*   *   *

The dancing smoke from the Virginia Slims cigarette rose in the air as Sienna sat at the small booth in the back of the diner, enjoying a smoke. Her feet hurt, she smelled like fried foods and cooking grease, and her apron was dirty, but still she couldn't complain. She was alive and it was the first day of gainful employment. As she filled her lungs with the nicotine she recalled the days that a different type of smoke would have put her on cloud nine. Her eyes glazed over slightly as the memory sent a chill up her spine. She shook it off and snuffed out the cigarette, not wanting to even crack the door open to Pandora's box. Busying herself every moment of every single day was the only thing that had kept her clean these past ninety days. Even the little smoke break was too much free time. It gave her mind time to wander, and when that happened she usually got lost. She couldn't afford to forget the Ls she had taken during her drug days. She was a recovering addict, and if she lost focus even briefly she would stumble back into the darkness. She stood to her feet and tucked the cigarette behind her ear as she started to get back to work. The ring of the bell caused her to look up.

“Hello, Sienna.”

“Monica,” Sienna said, greeting Noah's mother snidely as she walked around her and behind the high counter. Sienna grabbed a pitcher of water and went to the only customer in the place and filled his glass. She then tried to appear busy, as she picked up a towel and began to wipe down a table. “You can sit here if you want to order.”

Ms. Monica stood, her hands clasped in front of her as she replied, “I came to talk.”

Sienna grabbed the spray bottle and towel before moving to the next booth. It wasn't really dirty; she just wanted to avoid Ms. Monica.
This holier-than-thou-ass bitch,
Sienna thought. She had always resented Monica. From the very first day their kids had become friends, there had been animosity between the mothers.
I'm not in the mood for her shit today. Fuck we have to talk about anyway?