Brave Heartz Taliyah's Bittersweet Revenge

Motherfucker

Chapter One

Life After Death

Dear Diary:

As much as I hate my brother, selfishly I can say I am very thankful for him being the perfect donor. If he hadn’t died, my pathetic life would’ve been over. Young, gullible and blissfully naïve, I let my guard down on trusting people and in doing so allowed Demarco and Avery to steal my heart. Dealing with these two men, I was introduced to a lavish street life. Popularity came quickly but not easily.

I had to do things out of my character to achieve and maintain my status. Like a fiend to crack, the streets kept calling me. I was overly obsessed with money, power and respect, and my infatuation to have it all in a large dose led me down a dark and lonely road, forcing me to become a drug addict and a murderer, all in the name of love.

Do you know what it feels like to want something and never get it? Family: something that’s naturally given to you through life. Love: that special connection between two people. Both so simple but yet so complex for me to have. Love is a very powerful word and it’s actually depressing to see how deluded people are about what love is, including me. We tend to think love will make our lives better when in fact love is blinding. It makes us completely ignore the truth. All my life that’s all I ever really wanted is to be loved. In the absence of my stepfather I turned in the wrong direction to get it. I was raped, beaten and battered in the name of love and at this present time the only feeling I have left is hate. This is not a journal about forgiveness; it’s about my bittersweet revenge!

Sincerely, Taliyah

***

Valentine’s Day is a holiday about love. Family members, lovers, friends, husbands and wives exchange gifts of appreciation, but this isn’t the case for me. Lying in bed at New York-Presbyterian University Hospital, staring at the ceiling, trying to will my body out of entropy, I relive each incident that put me here.

No matter how many times I play the scenario out I keep coming up with the same verdict. It’s easier for me to blame the people I surrounded myself with than to blame myself. Since this whole situation took place I never heard from my stepfather again. There’s a little piece of me that still misses him and wishes he would come around.

Frequently I cry myself to sleep at night, blaming him as well for every wrong deed that was done to me. If he had stuck around I wouldn’t be suffering. My dearest mother visits as much as possible. I cut her visits short because of the compulsive nagging.

I’m sick of her reminding me that my father cheated on her and she never thought in a million years my ribs would be cracked open to replace my heart with my departed brother’s. No matter how many times I ask her how she feels about losing her son, she always finds a way to change the topic. I can only imagine it freaks her out knowing somehow both of her kids are combined into one.

Although Eli saved my life, I still face a great risk of death. Eli’s heart is a foreign body and my immune system may attack it if I don’t get the proper medicine. This is where all the fancy Jewish doctors with big names I can’t even pronounce come in. They are constantly monitoring me, making sure my body doesn’t reject this so-called new heart.

Tough times like this require my mother’s full attention but instead she focuses more on the rumors her so-called friends spread about our family in Red Hook. It didn’t take long before she packed her things and relocated back to Long Island. She never could control her emotions when things got hot and sticky.

As a matter of fact, this is the only instance where she and I both agree: Brooklyn wasn’t the best place we lived in. The only good thing that came out of living in the projects is it taught me a very valuable lesson…I was a sheltered, spoiled suburban brat who needed to be broken.

***

The hospital is so enormous. I have a large, comfy room all to myself and unlike any other hospital; this one is friendly and welcoming. In the mornings, the sun comes through the blinds, slowly creeping until it fully reaches my face, waking me up.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Taliyah. Hurry up and finish eating your breakfast. It’s almost time for your therapy session, Patty says, rushing into the room pushing a wheelchair.

Yeah, yeah. This food is disgusting. I’ve already lost a lot of weight due to the cardiac diet you guys have me on. It has no salt at all. I don’t see how the doctor says it’s better for me this way. Everyone knows food tastes better when it’s cooked with a little seasoning salt, I reply in a sassy tone. It seems to me that none of you know what you are talking about or doing.

Yes. Low sodium keeps your pressure down, which means a healthier heart. We are all licensed professionals and we are here to help you get better, Patty replies, lightly lifting her voice, trying to talk over all the noise coming from the hallway.

Well, I don’t care what license you have, this right here is not going to work, I hiss, slamming the top back on the plate of food. I need something that’s going to stick to my ribs. Being here has made my body no longer desirable and that’s a no-no, I boldly state, fluffing the pillow.

Enough talking. You need to hurry up and eat so you can have strength for therapy.

I flop back against the nicely plumped pillow, folding my arms over my chest. I don’t feel like being bothered with you today, Patty.

Taliyah, you say this every morning and what always happens?

Agitated, I turn on my side, giving Patty the cold shoulder. You drag me out of bed and take me anyway.

That’s right, now finish eating your breakfast and I will be back with your medicine.

Patty’s an Irish woman with bright orange-red curly hair and a slim build, five-two with crystal blue eyes. Every day it’s the same task but a new struggle for Patty dealing with me. At first she’d put up with my shenanigans and after a few weeks of dealing with each other we’ve developed a love-hate relationship. She used to be soft-spoken but now she fights fire with fire. When I disrespect her with my slick mouth and rude behavior, she sternly checks me.

One time she told me I act worse than her two-year-old. Every time she comes to my room it feels like she’s entering a nursery. Patty’s constantly reminding me of her job description: to provide me with counseling and exercise training. She’s not a babysitter and if I keep acting like a baby she’s going to transfer me to another nurse.

I only bust her chops because she’s the only person in my life full time and she acts as if she gives a damn about me. On this day of love my mother should be here with me but instead she’s probably hugged up with some man that she barely knows.

Briskly, Patty returns, handing me a small white paper cup filled with immunosuppressants. It’s time to go, Taliyah. Why didn’t you eat your breakfast? She refills my cup with fresh ice water and peeks over my shoulder. Every morning you get up and write the same four names on your napkins. Are these names of your loved ones?

I snatch the napkin off the table and crumple it. A single tear rolls down my cheek. I cry more looking down at my chest. The heart transplant left me with a long, crusty, gruesome scar. There’s not enough cocoa butter or aloe in the world to fix this. I feel less attractive every time I look at it.

Smiling, Patty assists me with getting out of bed and on to the wheelchair. Come on, young lady, let’s get you down to therapy. I promise you things will get better.

***

The symphony of weights being lifted and jump ropes lightly tapping on the floor breaks the dazed state I’m in. Reality hits and once I’m aware of my surroundings, I remember how much I hate this place. I’m supposed to come here two times a day but I give Patty such a hard time she’s lucky to get me in here once a week. I’ve always hated the salty smell of sweat, let alone the feel of it. I guess that’s part of the reason I refuse to participate in the hospital’s cardiac rehabilitation recovery program.

Frantically, I unlock the brakes on the wheelchair to get the hell out of Dodge. Again, very accustomed to my foolishness, Patty grabs the handle on the chair before I can roll away.

Are you crazy, woman? I told you I don’t want to do physical therapy today.

And I told you I’m not concerned with what you want; my job is to give you what you need. Now stand up and take hold of the rail. Patty aggressively hoists me to my feet.

I grab the exercise bar and slowly pull myself to the wall. Just doing this little bit makes me exhausted. Perspiring, I use the collar of my hospital gown to wipe my brow. The gym is fully packed with other residents of all ages exercising. A little old man, possibly in his late eighties, is putting me to shame. I can’t help but stare at him pedaling an exercise bike faster than a toddler hyper off a ton of candy. I assumed he wouldn’t be able to do much because of his age but he’s doing more than I am.

Hi, my name is Jade. What’s yours? a girl asks, prancing over to me.

I screw-face the extremely happy girl and sit back down. Mine is Taliyah, and why are you so damn happy to be in here?

Well, if you must know I’m very ecstatic to be here because I could be somewhere else, she answers with a semi-quirky tone.

Oh yeah, like where?

Duh, six feet under. So turn your frown upside down and be thankful that you are here as well.

I’m annoyed that little Miss Mary Poppins is trying to share her rainbow. Yeah, well, if the universe were to spin in a different direction we all would be somewhere else doing something different. So don’t come over here trying to cheer me up. I have nothing to be happy about.

Why do you think you have nothing to be happy about?

Because God sentenced me to life as a handicap without eligibility for parole. Do you see me smiling?

Patty interrupts our conversation before it turns sour. Taliyah, how many times do I have to tell you about speaking negatively? Now, this is Jade. She’s one of our many residents who have congenital heart disease. She’s going to be your partner for today.

Patty walks away to get my exercise chart.

How old are you and why do you keep looking at me like that? I sarcastically ask, rolling my eyes.

I just turned eighteen and I think you’re pretty and I like your hair.

Jade’s hair is shoulder length, jet-black with deep waves. Her perfectly arched eyebrows show off her slightly slanted hazel eyes. Voluptuous lips and a mouth full of pearly white, perfectly straight teeth stand out clear as day on Jade’s Afro-Asian sun–kissed, naturally tan face. Her body is that of a goddess, slim and very tightly compact.

A silhouette of Ava’s face surfaces. Breathless, I clutch the arms of the wheelchair. Every time I think about what Ava did to me I have an anxiety attack. Tears flow heavily, making the room become blurry.

Jade waves her hand in front of my face. Taliyah, are you all right?

I tune her out as Avery’s voice softly recites in my head, Only weak people cry, baby girl. You’re brave-hearted and strong.

Fighting through tears, using my sleeve to wipe them away, I become angrier touching the scar on my face.

Hyperventilating, I hear my stepfather’s words recite in my head, overpowering Avery’s. Count to ten, baby girl.

I slowly count. Reaching eight, I now have full control over my breathing. As friendly as Jade appears, I refuse to befriend her. I can’t afford to put myself in harm’s way ever again. Without acknowledging Jade, I wheel past her, making sure to run over her feet.

***

Stubborn and bullheaded, I never take advantage of the gym. I don’t feel the need to because I am capable of standing and walking, just not for a long period of time. As I enter my cold, isolated room I stare at the chair placed in front of the window.

Granny’s voice echoes in my head over and over again. You got yourself in this mess, now get yourself out.

With a smile, I tighten my ponytail and wipe the salty dried tears off my face. I say a prayer, looking down at my ugly hunter green non-skid socks. Father God, please help me muster up enough strength to get from point A to point B. Believing God has my back, I lock the wheelchair brakes. Confidently I plop my right foot down on the cold, dirty white floor. I grip my left leg and firmly plant my foot on the floor next to the right one.

My confidence level is at an all-time high. I know I can make it across the room on my own. It’s a clear walk from the door to the window; the only thing stopping me is gravity. How hard can this be? All I have to do is move one foot in front of the other. I got this. I wiggle my legs and lock them into place. I attempt to take my first steps. SHIT, I shout, slamming facedown on the floor.

You know Taliyah, mature young ladies don’t use that kind of language, Jade says, slowly entering the room. Also, the way you stormed off reflects the image of a little girl who’s been hurt. I’m offering my hand to you as a friend to help you move forward. The choice is yours. Standing in front of me, Jade extends her hand.

Frustrated, I swing, swatting it away. I don’t need your damn help, I hiss, trying to push myself up.

Jade walks over to the chair and sits on the windowsill. Fine, suit yourself. This sun sure feels good. She flips her hair to the other side of her face, letting the light show how gorgeous she really is.

You think you’re pretty, don’t you? Well, I used to look like you. Hell, I used to look better than you.

That was then and this is now. Look at you, she replies sarcastically, glancing at me with a smirk. Again, I’m not interested in what got you here. The only thing I want to know is what are you willing to do to get out? She turns her head back toward the window.

With very little room for self-pity, I look at the sun’s rays shining brightly on the floor and think about Jade’s question. I extend my right hand outward and slightly smile. The sun glowing on my skin gives me a warm feeling inside. I fully smile, placing my left hand outward. One arm in front of the other, I let the sun’s warmth guide me toward the window. Grinning, I hoist myself into the chair, staring at Jade.

So, there’s still some life left in you. She stands up and leaves the room.

Along with street codes, Avery also taught me it’s always good to have friends in high places. Over the time span of being here I have managed to apply most of my teachings. Rule number one: Always look for the weak person; once you find their weakness you will own them forever.

I meticulously sorted through the hospital’s staff of employees. After two weeks I was able to narrow down a list of wrongful staff members and by the end of the month I befriended them all and now I have my own private stash of drugs. When I was a savage beast running the streets, snorting heavy amounts of cocaine made me feel like Tony Montana, invincible! No one and nothing could stop me.

Right now, at this very moment, I feel worthless crawling on the floor in front of Jade. Having this heart problem portrays me as a weak person and I don’t like this feeling. If I plan on getting through this with any type of dignity, I need more than Patty’s words of encouragement.

I retrieve a small napkin from my hair care bag. Unfolding it, I consume the devil’s candy. It takes no time to run its course through my body. Fully high, I pass out.

***

It’s a new day and I still feel depressed but hopefully not for long. I’ve been doing a lot of plotting and planning and pretty soon I will have all the logistics mapped out.

Good morning, Miss Taliyah, Patty says very warmly, entering the room.

I stop writing and use the napkin to wipe the tears streaming from my eyes.

Is everything all right? Are you having any pains? Patty asks in a concerned voice. She walks over to the window and opens the blinds.

I know Patty can’t help herself; she’s just inquisitive by nature. To avoid having her ask who are the names on the napkins I stuff them inside a cup of water.

How do you fix a broken heart?

She lifts the blanket up and pauses for a split second then removes my hospital socks to check my dorsalis pedis pulse.

Boyfriend problems? Hmmpph, those are very tricky. The best advice I can give you, Taliyah, is never love someone more than you love yourself. People tend to use the word love in vain.

Yeah, tell me about it. I’ve allowed so many people to hurt me because of a meaningless word.

Meaningless? I didn’t say that. When your parents say they love you does it mean something?

It used to but not anymore, I reply, releasing an onset of tears.

Do you pray, Taliyah?

Why? Should I? Will it fix my emptiness?

I don’t believe in forcing religion on anyone but I do believe that everyone should worship some type of God. And to answer your question, yes, I do believe it will fix your emptiness but you have to believe in God’s power first.

I’m not a believer in Him any more.

I think you should try to rebuild your relationship with Him. Holding on to pain only destroys your heart and your spirit. Let go of your doubts in God and turn everything that causes you pain over to Him and watch the changes He will make in your life. You’re too young for heart problems.

Patty, you know nothing about me so don’t act like you do, and besides, some babies are born sick everyday. Hell, some of them die at birth so please don’t try to convince me I’m too young to be here. I’m done with blaming other people for my screw-ups. I did this to myself and more than likely I deserve it.

Fine, suit yourself. If you ever change your mind the hospital provides an excellent support group on the level below us. It’s full of girls around your age who have the same negative outlook on life. Maybe you should check it out, she replies, stepping out of the room.

Patty’s problem is she’s too busy trying to fix something that doesn’t need to be fixed. I love who I am, just not like this. If this is God’s way of cursing me for my past then He’s going to send me straight to hell for what I’m about to do.

Rule number two: Vengeance is a dish best served cold. Back when I first got Eli’s heart