Page 4 of Lourdes & the Mafia
She chuckles and I help relieve her of half of those bags. They’re too heavy for a slip of a girl like her, but I make no comment as I take her towards what had once been Naomi’s room.
Going inside fills me with a bout of nostalgia. It hits me so suddenly, I rock back on the balls of my heels.
The walls and floor are bare of everything except for a naked mattress, frame, and headboard; the dressers are there, but the insides are as hollow as the memory of Naomi’s presence. For a second it feels metaphorically depressing, and I’m filled with a desperate longing I can’t seem to shake.
A part of me wants her back while another part of me recognizes that I used her for way too long as a crutch. Getting along with her was effortless because she listened, because she was always here. When it came to my breakups, she would pick up the pieces that others left behind.
It was easy to have someone catch me when I fell.
Because heartbreak always hurt less when you weren’t alone.
It had happened so many times that eventually I became dependent on her. Just like she became dependent on me, using my emotional state as a way to avoid her own fucking feelings. I recognize it now for what it was and had probably known all along but refused to accept.
I put us in dangerous situations to try and get back at Dimas. I dragged her to fucking Shark Mouth, the bar at the sleazy side of town that was always filled with criminals. I should have been smarter about that, but I’d been plagued with heartbreak and a vicious need for vengeance.
You know what they say about a woman scorned and all that.
Makes us as stupid as a good dick does. In hindsight, Dimas’ dick couldn’t even give me an orgasm, so that just makes me stupid twice.
And that’s why Naomi doesn’t think I’m capable of choosing a roommate on my own. It’s why she worries about me and didn’t want to move out and be with the Krakens in the first place. It was only dumb luck that ensured I discovered the truth in the first place.
And by dumb luck, I mean her big brute of a sweetheart accidentally slipping the truth in front of me.
I can’t help but wonder if Delfin said it on purpose so we could have a much-needed talk, and I could give her the shove she needed to accept them fully into her life and move in with them.
She didn’t need to worry about me. I’ve been broken up with Dimas for a long time now. I’ve reclaimed a life of independence. A life free of mediocre dick and relationships so I can focus on myself.
I’ve declared this loudly several times, and Naomi still doesn’t believe in me. She doesn’t believe I can make it on my own.
I wanted to be pissed, but I knew it came from a place of caring. She was just being a good friend who was worried about me, but it still stings to feel like I’m so pathetic that I need someone to babysit me.
I’m a fucking adult.
Kinda.
Sometimes.
When I wanna be…
When I can be…
Well, shit, it’s not like I was ever taught how to be a functioning adult, so who’s to blame for my idiocy, really?
Regardless, I want to prove her wrong and show her that I can do all of this.
So I take a deep breath and place my new roommate’s bags on the bed before I turn to face her. “I’ll let you get settled. When you’re ready, how about I make the both of us a nice dinner? We can talk over some arroz con pollo.”
“That sounds perfect,” she says shyly, still standing awkwardly in the doorway, staring inside.
“Well, uh, I’ll let you get to it?”
I wait for a witty remark, the kind Naomi would make, before I remind myself she’snotNaomi. I’mindependent.
And I need to repeat the words like a mantra.
I’m shaking my ass to Frankie Ruiz, moving around the kitchen in a series of steps that have been ingrained in me since birth. My voice echoes his, the salsa moving through my veins like a drug.
Right when we reach the chorus of the song and I’m shaking my boobies and shoulders over the stove is when I’m interrupted.
