five

. . .

Mateo's eyes had been occupying my brain since we walked out of his house. I recapped the incident to Briggs and all he told me was take this blessing and roll with it, girl. So, I did what he said and rolled with it. Regardless of any ill feelings I had visibly displayed to him, Mateo was still kind and still nice.

At work, he would seek me out and banter with me. "C'mon, Evans,"  he'd give me his shit eating grin and my stomach would flutter. Yes, I absolutely did like how he checked up on me, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

At school, he would make eye contact with me, but respect my space and not approach me.

It made no sense.

And when things didn't make sense, I got finicky. No one in my life had handled me with the gentleness he had. Especially not Briggs. 

Briggs had raised me like a son and even though I was grateful for his guidance, I wondered how different my life would have been had I been allowed to feel my emotions. Or if I were exposed to things normal girls are.

My mother was always drunk off her ass or busy entertaining other men. She had struggled with her demons for as long as I could remember. She always pushed me aside. No time for mistakes, as she liked to say. She would go out of her way to accommodate any male in the trailer, but the moment I needed anything, it was we don't have the money, girl or shut your mouth and be grateful.

She wasn't always that angry, though. When I was a kid, her eyes were glassy, and you could see some lingering light. She had a soft smile, her wrinkles pressing into her face.

It took one bad high to change all of that. One of her random sexual encounters gave her something and once she regained sobriety, she was never the same. She was always drunk or high, often, both. 

She was unpredictable and violent.

And then when I was 10, she upped and left. No contact, no word, no letter, nothing. It was as if she never existed. You would think as an 18-year-old, I would be over her desertion. Nope. It stung, knowing your mother would rather be with other men than her own blood and kin.

Her addiction and abandonment left deep scars. Ten years without the physical, emotional, or mental support of a mother and eight years without a mother at all, and I wonder when I became a fuck up.

The one good thing that woman did was bring Briggs into my life.

"Evans!" I jerked my head to the left. "Watch what you're doing, you idiot!"

"Sorry!" I shouted back, rubbing my eyes. Work was a bitch and a half, but even more so when I was lost in thought. Grabbing the power tool, I began using it, not paying attention to what I was drilling into.

"Evans! Again!?" My supervisor's annoyed shout really woke me up from my daze. "Go get a drink of water or something, you're acting real strange today."

"Sorry," I muttered again and dropped the tool. Safely. I rolled my neck, wincing at the bones cracking. My body ached from head to fucking toe. The noise was overwhelming, with the constant clanking of metal, the beeping of the machines reversing, and the shouting of instructions and warnings from the other workers.

Rubbing my eyes again, I started my way to the break area. My movements were slow and clumsy, my mind foggy and my vision blurry. My hands trembled and my knees felt weak. I was so focused on not stumbling, I didn't see the forklift approaching me.

Fuck fuck fuck, my mind raced, and I turned to move out of the way, but my foot caught on a piece of debris, and I stumbled to the ground. The forklift driver honked, but it was too late, I couldn't fucking move. I closed my eyes, waiting for the impact, but it never came.

Instead, a pair of strong arms picked me up and yanked me back. I looked up to see Mateo, a look of anger and concern on his face.

"Watch it!" The forklift drive flicked me off and drove away.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Evans" Mateo exasperatedly cried out. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I tried explaining to him that I wasn't a useless piece of shit, but nothing came out.

"You can't keep pushing yourself like this, Evans. Jesus, fuck," he muttered, still staring at me like I was crazy.

"Where did you come from?" I finally grasped out, rubbing my hand on my chest, to calm my racing heart.

"I was walking to the break room and saw you almost die!" He was angry, but this wasn't the usual anger he displayed. "I'm sorry, I'm yelling. I'm filled with a shit ton of adrenaline."

"I almost gave you a heart attack, I think you're justified." I tried joking with him, but his glare had me rethink my strategy.

"C'mon," he helped me walk to the back and unlocked the room for me. Plopping down on a random chair, I put my head down and closed my eyes. Jesus Christ, I was exhausted.

"I'll be back, gonna go grab some snacks," Mateo told me, and I grunted in response.

Next thing I know, somebody's shaking me awake. I was startled out of my chair into the cold, hard ground. I saw worn out Timbs and instantly knew who woke me up.

"I swear to God, there better be a murder or some other reason for you to wake me up like this," I groaned before getting up.

"You've been passed out for like 45 minutes," Mateo hissed. "I came back here to check on you."

"Thanks, but no thanks," I said as I stretched my arms and yawned.

"I saved your fucking life, Evans. The least you could do is appreciate it." He looked upset.

"I didn't ask for you to do that," I muttered, not meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, you're right," his tone shifted. "You didn't. Sorry." I looked up to see him turn around and walk out of the break room.

Mateo saved my fucking life. He'd been acting the same soft way as before, but I didn't know what to make of it.

That threshold we crossed was fresh, new territory, and I did not know how to act. So, I did what I did best. 

I pushed him away.

. . .

Once I finished my duties for the day, I was eager to go home and pass the fuck out. That nap had helped immensely, but I needed more sleep. Then, I'd be good. It was ... embarrassing, being around Mateo. I knew I fucked up, but I didn't want to admit it. I was feeling guilty, but I couldn't pinpoint why.

Thank God he had left for the day; I did not want another confusing interaction with him.

While I was wrapping up with my project, I was stopped by my supervisor. "Evans, I need to speak to you." His face looked grim, and his tone was ... off.

"Yeah, what's going on?" I followed him into his office. He handed me a sheet of paper. The word FIRED in bold, capital letters dancing on the header.

I was in shock as I stood in front of his desk. "This is a joke, right?" I let out a laugh. "You're firing me?" I exclaimed in exasperation when he didn't say anything else. "At least have the decency to tell me why?"

"Your performance over the last couple of days has been troubling," he began, raising his eyebrows. "The way you handle the equipment and compromise the safety of your peers is a liability."

My heart dropped. "I've been working here for like a year! You know I can do better," I tried arguing my case. This job, as shitty as it was, was the only steady source of income I had, and now it was gone.

"I'm sorry." He sure didn't look sorry. "But we just can't afford to keep you on any longer. Turn in your gear and clear out your locker before you leave."

"You know what?" I scoffed in anger, still not believing he was firing me. "Fuck this job. Fuck you, too."

"Good thing you're no longer employed, or else I would've fired you for that comment," he snarked back at me, and honestly, I wanted to throw my hard hat at his fucking face.

Fuming out of his office, I beelined to the lockers and slammed mine open. Roughly throwing my hard hat, utility belt, and gloves in the locker, I put my stuff on. I slammed the door shut, making sure to put all my anger and displeasure in that slam.

Clocking out for the last time, I all but ran out of the building, my rage fueling. It seems like nothing was going right. I was trying my best to stay out of trouble and mind my business, but trouble found me.

I rage-walked all the way home, in the cold snowy winter. Once my trailer was in my line of sight, I breathed a sigh of relief. That relief quickly turned into panic as I saw my front door slightly open, the lock dismembered.

Running as fast as I could, I frantically pushed the door open. Everything was a mess. Everything was ransacked and all my belongings were thrown haphazardly on the ground. Even the floorboards were turned inside out.

My heart sank. I hurriedly walked over to where I stashed my money. Tears filled my eyes, and I couldn't. fucking. see.

The stash of two thousand measly dollars I had saved up to kickstart my life. All gone. I sank to the ground, my shoulders shaking as my brain slowly processed what this meant for me. I had nothing. No money to my name, no mother to back me up, nothing.

I managed to steady my breathing, to gain some control, when I heard it. It was the sound of a human being in agony. The noises were slowly fading, and I scrambled to find the source. Stumbling to the bathroom, I let out a scream.

Briggs was slumped on the toilet, bleeding from his torso. He looked like he put up a fight, but still lost. I ran over to him, my mouth moving but no sound coming out.

"Briggs," I sobbed. "Briggs, please. Say something," I begged, grabbing his shoulders. He slowly looked up at me, his eyes glassy and full of sorrow. "C'mon, Briggs, please don't do this to me. Please, please don't do this."

He struggled to breathe, so I helped readjust him, to make it comfortable. Once he was on the situated, I could clearly see where the blood was seeping out from; it looked gruesome, and I dry-heaved.

"I love you," I cried out, hoping he heard me as he slowly blinked. I was prepared for the worst, my heart pounding. He took in a shuddering breath, managed to smile, and slumped forward. In that moment, if the Angel of Death managed to steal my soul, I would be content. In that moment, I knew there was nothing left for me to live anymore.

"Briggs?!" The scream that left my body would've cause earthquake. "Please, oh God. If you're real, show me a sign."

"Think, think, fucking think," I muttered to myself. My absolute last resort was to call the ambulance. That shit cost money and I did not know how I'd pay for it. Screw it; Briggs's life was worth much more than the ambulance would cost. I pulled out my pay-as-you-go phone and began dialing 9-1-1, my hands shaking. I had to calm my hysteria; I needed to be collected.

Waiting on the paramedics was nerve-wracking. I flashed in and out of consciousness. My anxiety was on overdrive, and I couldn't fucking breathe. Why the hell was this happening to me?

All I wanted as to be left alone.

All I wanted was for Briggs to be okay. And for some reason, I also wanted Mateo to help me calm down.

. . .

word count: 2048