Juliet's Monologue

Good Essays
I have reread and reread my sister’s words. The screen door opens. Quickly, I refold my sister’s tortuous letter, lift a hip, and slide it in a back pocket. Juliet doesn’t say anything, but I know she is there, hovering. I hit the blunt, inhaling deep into my lungs, exhaling all the fucked up shit about my life.

“You’re smoking weed?” she asks, her voice thick with the pain I cause. She tries to hide it, but I see it. My actions rips her heart out. I don’t know how to not let her down, how to not let everyone down. Letting people down is the story of my life. That’s who I am.

Sitting on the steps, I lean forward, elbows planted on my knees. “It’s none of your damn business,” I tell her raking a hand through my hair. The night sky is black
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She turns white as ghost. “You mean about us?”

I tamp down my annoyance, if she doesn’t want her family knowing she’s been hanging out with the tattooed freak, then whatever. “That’s not what I was asking, about school?” I return in a dry tone. “Did you tell him you dropped out?”

She stiffens, returning, “I’m not a dropout. Not yet.”

I’m a shitass. I know it. Why do I hurt those that I love? Love? Where the hell did that word come from? It’s not a part of my vocabulary, but I do care about this girl. That’s a given. My hand lightly touch her chin, lifting it so that she’s looking me directly in the eyes. “It’s never too late to change the direction of your life, Juliet. If you don’t want to teach, then don’t. But don’t not go to school because of some bullshit a guy says. You’re too good for that.”

Her sad eyes drop, her voice small as my mother’s every single time that asshole manipulated her into doubting herself. “You make me want to believe it.”

“Then believe it.”

“I don’t like lying to my parents. I know that for certain. It’s probably time for me to go home and talk to them.” She smiles up at me, her words like a knife to the gut. Shit. First I tell her to stop letting guys dictate her future, then I want to retract it all and be selfish enough to beg her to abandon it all to stay with me. I really am a dick. Her lips are still moving but I’m struggling. Her voice is sexy, early morning raspy, “You’re
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You can do anything you want to do.”

My chest constricts when she asks, “Should we talk about it?”

I straighten, ice running through my veins. “I don’t have time to talk,” I lie. “Gotta be at work in less than an hour.” I pause, giving her a sideways glance, “I kind of need to know before I go to work, what you plan to do?”

“Go home I guess.”

“So you’re leaving?” Her announcement causes my chest to constrict. Don’t leave me. Please don’t abandon me. Stay! “Okay, well….”

Immediately I rise to my feet, scoop up the keys to my motorcycle, and cram my wallet in my rear pocket. I need air or I’m going to suffocate. I need to get out of here or I’m going to explode. My gaze slides over to where Juliet is stretched out on the sofa, so beautiful, so tempting it hurts. In a different world: we would give what we have a real chance to develop into something significant.

“Did you hear me?” she is asking. “I said I’m going home.”

“Yeah. I heard.” “Thought I might grab some breakfast before work.”

“How do you feel about me going home, Beau?”

I shrug. “It’s up to you.”

“Are you relieved that I’m
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