To Love Preciado

How could Jaime expect me to be able to sleep on the couch all week? Shit, how could he expect me to sleep at all? The last three nights have been long and quiet. I've been left alone with my retched thoughts all day and night, resulting in little sleep. I'm restless, weak, miserable, exhausted; I'm a fucking mess right now.

Ever since that drunken mistake I made, Jaime hasn't said a word to me. Instead, he walks right on by, pretending as if I wasn't even there. He won't cook for the two of us, he won't tell me where he's going when he leaves, he doesn't even put the toilet seat down anymore. I make one mistake and suddenly I no longer exist.

Not only is Jaime quite frankly aggravated by my actions, Tony and Mike have seemed to grow a hatred for me as well. One stupid, drunk move and I lose my boyfriend and two best friends. Great.

It's a little after noon, I'm barely getting up from that rotten couch. Of course, after heading to the bathroom, I went straight to the coffee machine. I can't start the day off without that little boost of energy.

I took a sip of my rich, hazelnut flavored coffee and found myself sinking into a slouch against the kitchen counter. I shut my eyes, taking in the sweet yet bitter substance.

As I tried to start off my day, I was disturbed when hearing Jaime's voice for the first time in forever. "Rosaline, you haven't even started packing your shit. You have four more days, if I were you, I'd get to it."

"Of course." I muttered.

Without even looking my way he continued to speak to me. "I have band practice today, so I'll probably be home around 9 tonight."

"Okay. Have fun."

"Yeah, I'll try." Jaime said before grabbing his keys and walking out the front door.

As the door slammed shut, I let out a sigh. "Fuck!" I hoarsely whispered to myself. "Four more fucking days." I mumbled.

I found it impossible to believe that him and I are actually through. I cannot process the fact that he is kicking me out. We've been living together for quite a while, now I'm expected to move back into my old house and be perfectly fine with it.

Fuck my life.

I continued to run through these thoughts over and over again. Reiterating the fact that there is no longer an us and there'll never be an us again.

Before letting the sorrow drag me to the ground, I took a seat in the dining room. I slumped down in the old fashioned chair and held my cup of coffee close to my chest. With each sip of the strong drink, I felt more relaxed. I was finally at a point in which I had stopped thinking, but then my eyes came across something on the dining room table.

I sat up, leaning towards the table. I reached my hand out towards a stack of mail, finding an unusual envelope amongst the standard advertisements and bills.

A letter for me from the prison here in San Diego.

Shit. No. This is not what I think it is.

I struggled to rip open the envelope, for my hands were shaking like crazy. I was finally able to pull out a flimsy, thin piece of paper with neat print filling up every line.

"It can't be." I whispered as I held the letter out in front of my face.

Dear Rosaline,
It's been a while since we last spoke. Let's see... The last time we saw each other was in court, right? I'm guessing this is all you've ever wanted; for me to get locked up in prison. What, now you think you can live a perfect life with your pathetic boyfriend and just forget about your old pops? You're fucking wrong. You're fucking retarded if you think locking me up is going to solve anything. I mean, c'mon. You're mom is fucking dead. You have no family. You are all alone in this cold, cold world. What do you win from this? Nothing. If anything, you have lost from this. You see, you are not safe anywhere. Being the top guy in the drug industry, I have guys that will do anything I fucking tell them to. Do you know what that means? Huh? That means you could be dead meat in a matter of minutes. One phone call away and you will have no future. I can make one call and you'd have ten guys on your ass, literally and metaphorically. The thing is, you'll never know whether or not I plan on doing so. Do I want to end your pathetic little life? Or would I rather you spend the rest of your days worrying and anticipating death? You'll never know. You'll never know what I plan on doing you worthless little bitch. I hope you have fun with your new daddy-free life.
With love,
Your father.

Notes