He was on his back when the heel of Dalisay’s foot came shooting down to his face.
“Bahhh!” he belted out and snapped his head out of the way just in time. Dali’s foot slammed into the polished wood floor. A flat kick to his ribs quickly followed.
“Fu--!”
A second kick flew to his face. He got his guard up and broke some of the hit at her ankle, but he still absorbed a fair amount on his face. At least I hurt this puta’s shin. I think. In between his shielding arms he scanned the hallway of Thompson’s subconscious and saw no sign of Yusef.
Jesse scrambled up on his feet while shuffling backward, keeping his arms up to parry and block a flurry of blows coming at him. He heard sharp exhales and grunts coming from her as she kept her chin down close to her chest.
How is this the same person I saw struggling to breath on the street just a few motnsh ago? Where the fuck is Yusef? Jesse’s back slammed into a wall of metal lockers. Dalisay’s jabs started slipping through Jesse’s guard and he took some shots to the face and one to his liver, which actually hurt the most.
“Time to die, bitch!” Jesse used his leg to push himself from the lockers and threw a jab at her face. She dodged it, which he anticipated, and a stronger right hook followed. Goodnight, Puta.
Jesse’s arm swung hard and fast. Bracing his fist for impact, he instead felt pain in his whole body and he fell to his knees. His hands were on his liver. “Fu--fu--ugh,” Jesse gasped for breath and grimaced as he kneeled helplessly in front of Dalisay.
“Stay away from me, Jesse. And from Moises.” Dali threatened as she stood above him.
“Wha--”
Dalisay reached back with a clenched fist then sent it crashing straight into Jesse’s nose.
“Arrgghhh!” he screamed from red and yellow lights of pain that flashed all over his vision. Jesse grabbed his nose, which he was sure had been broken and bursting with blood. It was fine.
“Jesus! Pobrecito! Again?” Lita cooed as she rushed over from her mattress.
“Shut the fuck up, Jesse!” Alfredo griped over his shoulder as he tried to scoot further away from Jesse so that he was practically flat against the bedroom wall. He shoved his only pillow on top of his head.
“The fuck?” Jesse sat up and looked around. Marcy was sitting up on her mattress, studying Jesse with concerned eyes. He caught her stare, which was deep and seemed to come from afar, even though she was only seven feet away or so. “Shit. I’m sorry, guys.”
Lita and Marcy stared silently at him.
“It won’t happen… I’ll try...” Jesse kicked off his blanket and pushed himself off the mattress. “Imma get some water.” He unplugged his charger from the wall and took it with him, along with his phone. He snuck down the hall, trying not to disturb the Arcos family, at least not more than he already had. He could hear murmured voices and shushes through their door as he passed.
In the kitchen, Jesse drank a glass of water with his eyes half open then went to the living room and plugged in his phone. He collapsed on the couch, ready to start figuring out what had just happened.
The blaring, penetrating tones from his phone yanked Jesse from deep slumber. “Ohgoddamnit.” He reached over from the couch and snoozed the alarm.
It hit him again, and it was even harder to get up this time. He felt exhausted, like the morning after the first time Yusef had made Jesse run five miles of hills near the beginning of his training. He slowly sat up after turning off his alarm and rested his head on his hand. “Pinche La Puta.”
Jesse’s energy level hadn’t been this low since the beginning of the school year, before he started his training. He slowly got ready for school and slumped his way there. Taking his stiff pancakes and a cold, old sponge of scrambled eggs from the cafeteria, Jesse wondered how he was going to survive the day. Klinkhammer’s diatribes on Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar had been engaging for Jesse in the last week, but now he considered how long-winded they typically were, and he worried about falling asleep and slamming his face into his desk or even falling out of his seat.
Barely lifting his feet, Jesse slowly shuffled to his first period class, holding his breakfast in front of him. “Fuck me,” he said, grabbing his liver which didn’t actually hurt, but still echoed pain.
“Nyeeeeeeeh!” he heard from behind.
“Really?”
“Jessseeeee! What up, foo’? Long time no toke. Nyeeh!”
“I’m fucking tired, Racha.”
“Were you beating it too much last night?”
“Yeah, to your mom.”
“Nyeeh! Still got it, pendejo. You gonna need that comedy act when Raymond comes around. Your best chance is to make that foo’ laugh so he doesn’t fuck you up so hard.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jesse asked irritatedly, shoving his cardboard basket of breakfast outward as he threw his arms out in a big shrug. His scrambled egg sponge flung to the edge of the basket.
“Your poetry is popular, Homie. It’s good. So good that Raymond read it. And he wants to let you know how much he likes it. Because, you know. You got a big tiny boner for his girl. Nyeeeh!”
Jesse froze and stared at Racha, his arms still stretched out to his sides. The egg sponge teetered off the basket and bounced off the ground, landing against Jesse’s white sneakers.
“Fuck.”
“I hope you’re ready for a fight, homie. I’d have your back, pues… It’s Raymond.” Racha shrugged as he drifted on his skateboard around Jesse. “I like my face how it is, you know? In one piece. Nyeeeeeh!”