Carmen”

Shane purses her lips and suddenly, feels extremely, extremely tired.
That letter is like a fist in the stomach. At the same time, it’s so full of reassurances that she should feel relieved.
But she doesn’t.
She cannot stand the idea of loosing Carmen again, and even if the letter clearly says that this is not what’s happening, Shane can’t help but feeling still terrified.
“Isn’t this the moment where one of us is supposed to say: look, this is ridiculous, we love each other, all couples go through this, let’s give it another try, together?”, Shane mumbles to herself, getting up.
She rests her hands on the windowsill and glances at the street down below.
Obviously Carmen’s car is not there.
She is at her mother’s.
And this, after all, is another huge issue.
Because Mercedes Morales hasn’t forgiven Shane yet. Actually, Shane hasn’t even asked for her forgiveness, yet.
“Crap…”, Shane thinks. “…It’s like the princess I’m trying to rescue is entrapped in a tower guarded by the spitfire dragon…”.
She slowly rubs her eyes, sighing and feeling tears stinging behind her closed eyelids.
“And staying in the circuit of the fairy tales, we don’t have a pea under our mattress, Carmen. Do you know what we have? A fucking watermelon!!”, she finally shouts, banging her fist on the window glass and breaking it into pieces.

”And everything I can remember
As fucked up as it all may seem
And consequences that are rendered
I stretch myself beyond my means
And it’s been awhile
Since I can say that I wasn’t addicted
And it’s been awhile
Since I can say I love myself as well
And it’s been awhile
Since I’ve gone and fucked things up just like I always do
And it’s been awhile
But all that shit seems to disappear when I’m with you…”

Drops of blood falling on the floor.
Plick plick plick.
Shane is trembling, every single muscle in her body is shaking, is tensed, and is hurting.
She grabs a paper tissue trying uselessly to tampon her wound, but her knuckles are full of glass fragments and they keep on bleeding copiously.
Shane winces and opens the faucet, opening her hand under the cold spout.
With her free hand, she dries her eyes.
Then, she picks up the phone and dials Carmen’s number.
It’s switched off.
“Fuck!”, she hisses between her gritted teeth.
Her heart is pounding into her chest and she suddenly realizes that she is really losing her temper.
It’s not for the window, no.
It’s for that insane desire to run towards Mercedes Morales’ house, instead.
Running there, banging at the wall, shouting like an insane savage until Carmen comes out and calms her down, hugs her tightly, tells her that everything is going to be alright and that she was just kidding.
Shane dries her wounded hand with a napkin and heads towards the bathroom.
She opens the first kit aid and, carefully and attentively, bandages her hand.
What am I supposed to do, now, she asks to herself.
Should I let her go.
Should I wait for her to contact me first.
Should I wait for her to calm down and call me.
Or should I find her and tell her that I am by her side.
Maybe that’s what she expects me to do.
Shane shakes her head in frustration and confusion.
I should have known that she was having a hard time dealing with her demons.
But I was persuaded everything would be resolved in silence.
Not talking about it.
Not dealing with it, not directly.
In silence.