The Scammer(24)

That’s my teapot. . . .

My toes grip the plush rug as I rush into the hall, down the grand stairwell, wind flowing through my satin pink pajamas.

I walk into the kitchen and . . . there he is. Wearing that orange sweater with the teddy bear I bought him for Christmas. He looks at me, teacup in his hand, and smiles.

He left me. He left me. He left me.

“No,” I gasp, squeezing my eyes, and deep, dark river water takes me under, until I come up for air, arms flapping, reaching for anything to hold on to. I open my eyes and I’m back in the suite, ears clogged with screams.

I turn toward the noise. Kammy is keeling over on all fours, a mumbling, bumbling mess. Devonte is beside her, whispering into her ear. But I can’t catch a single word. The suite is sitting on a ship in the middle of the ocean, rocking back and forth.

No, don’t, I want to scream but the words are trapped.

Across the room, Loren jerks, as if something knifed through her, her face glazed with tears and sweat. She rolls to her side and vomits up flowers; the room reeks of its stench.

Then, there’s Vanessa, sleeping soundly. Or is she dead? I’m not sure.

I try to peel myself off the floor until I hear my name miles away.

“What does perfect mean to you, Jordyn?”

I arch my neck up, and there’s Devonte, hunched over me, eyes twinkling.

“What?” I croak out.

“Seems like you’re chasing this illusion of perfection when in reality that doesn’t exist,” he coos, every word vibrating. “What would happen if I said you could let go?”

Blaring alarm bells go off inside me but my legs won’t cooperate. He’s trying to unearth emotions I long since put in the ground and had a funeral for. I look at the door, my trembling lips shout the word “help” but no sound comes out.

Please help us! The man is dangerous.

Devonte stoops closer to me. “Your parents abused you, Jordyn.”

I shake my head, the motion causing the room to rock harder. I’m falling off my balance beam, the floor hundreds of stories down.

“No, no, they didn’t,” I croak, voice covered in slime and glue. He knows nothing about my parents. I made sure of that.

Didn’t I?

“Yes! They did,” he insists, his voice like massive church bells. “Mentally, maybe even physically. All they’ve done is try to force you to be who they want you to be. To them, you’re nothing but a doll, a plaything, a puppet, and they’re your masters. It’s very clear they abused you. The damage, the trauma has blocked your memories, and you are hiding them behind your perfection. They probably told you what to eat, what to drink, what to wear . . .”

“Don’t listen to them, JoJo, you’re not fat!”

My eyes strain to pop out and roll across the floor. Or at least they feel like they do.

That wasn’t him? It couldn’t be him. He’s dead.

He left me. He left me. He left me.

The floor is burning, we’re lying on top of radiators, my skin is covered in lava.

“Please, no,” I beg.

“What are you hiding, Jordyn?” he whispers, petting my head. “You can tell me.”

I can’t feel my face. My stomach is full of lava. Someone is screaming. That someone is me. The sob I’ve been holding back, maybe for years, comes busting through the dam.

“He left me! He left me! He left me! How could he leave me!”

“Who left you, Jordyn? Your father? Did your father leave you after he assaulted you? It’s okay, Jordyn, let it out!”

I shake my head, the room spinning. I can’t say his name, won’t say his name, I can’t bear it. The rage inside me is still in control. And no drugs can penetrate it. No therapist, no specialist. I tried them all. So I just nod, giving Devonte whatever he wants. Hoping that person who caused the pain can take it away. But I want to claw the skin off his face, I want to rip out his tongue. I want to . . .

“I hate you! I hate you!” I scream, snapping like a rabid dog at his fingers, ready to kill him!

“Yes, that’s it! Let it out,” Devonte says, rubbing my back. “You hate your parents. You hate what they’ve done to you. Yes!”

Then it hits, the vomit racing up my throat like exploding lava. Purging my guts, I can taste his name on my tongue, but never let it hit the air.



* * *




“You see that white cloudy line that plane is making in the sky?”

Outside the Rock, we gathered in the empty courtyard in our sweaty, sticky clothes, too weak to change or wipe the mascara off our cheeks. Most of the dorm is up at the stadium, cheering on our football team for the homecoming game, which makes me realize I missed the parade and all the hard work on the float.

No one is around to see our disheveled state. But I also feel . . . lighter. The heaviness I carried, the anxiety, the guilt . . . all replaced with a sudden burst of cool, refreshing air.

Devonte points and we all look up at a plane flying overhead, a plume of white trailing behind it.

“That’s them chemtrails. The government been releasing toxins in the atmosphere, spraying our communities, causing death, mind control, even sterilization. See how we haven’t been seeing it.”

Kammy lets out a horrified gasp.

Vanessa stares up in bewilderment. “How can you just . . . stand out here and take it? How can you let us stand out here!”