Seconds of Sunday Afternoon

         Frail were her fingers, brushing against her cheeks. It was her matted, black hair that fell effortlessly to her dainty shoulders as silver streams of cigarette smoke bleed from her rouged lips. After every drag from that Marlboro or every sip from the expensive bottle of champagne, which she cradled in her lap, she could feel the pain eluding. As she sat upon the cold tile that spread across the kitchen floor, she could feel her body desperately crave more and the wrath of her desires made her only want to shriek in despair. Alone in her parents’ Manhattan condo, she yearned to drift up and away from New York.

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She could recall the day it happened in that tattered, Morelos, Mexico motel. She could recall how exhilarating it felt to scurry from the refined university and wealthy scholar s and indulge in all of the rapture of the small, Mexican town. She could have gone anywhere but being with Nick Castleman was enough.

         She pressed her hand against the flushed of his tawny cheek and gazed into hazel eyes beaming effulgently amid the night stars. So elevated in the heat of desire and obsessed with the taste of bliss from every thing they had done together, she felt as if she had entered another space and time.

         “You’re beautiful,” Nick smiled, obviously feeling just as superior as she did. He was the greatest of gifts given to her by chance. Half white and half Cuban with dark, curly hair and bright eyes, Nick had been the object of her affection. He, like her, was set apart from the world. Together, they knew the downfall and setbacks of living in rejection and heartache. They found happiness in each other and the abundance of substances they could pay for with their urbane, traditional families’ wealth.

         She knew distraught and she remained accompanied by pain. A victim of the world’s greatest aggression, she lived a life filled with Bright Eyes songs and collecting scars on her dainty wrists. She survived a childhood overflowing with nights of her African-American father coming home to add bruises to her Colombian mother’s gallery—displayed across her worn body. At 7, he finally agreed to leave and less than three years later, she was placed in to foster care when her mother died. After lonely nights and starving days, she was adopted by a wealthy, republican family who sent her off to private schools and etiquette schools. She was an outcast—whether she was at the university or unaccompanied.

         As she looked at Nick, she noticed he didn’t seem the same. Something in his eyes had changed. They still beamed ridiculously brightly, but now, they seemed to not focus. She kissed his lips and then his cheeks until she was overflowing with elation.

         “I want more,” she giggled. He shook his head and she nodded in response.

         “You want more? Seriously, Sunni?” Nick was so charming and so charismatic.

         “Yeah, baby, I want to touch the sky!” Sunni wrapped her scrawny arms around his neck and kissed his face. As he took a tiny sack from his pocket, she watched in relentless anticipation.

         After taking in all of the powder that went marvelously to their heads, they fell in love with each other all over again. Sunni ached with heat.

         “I’m so hot!” she began to remove articles of clothing from her flimsy body, leaving on her expensive, lace undergarments. She placed his fedora on her hat and began to spin in circles. Sunni felt as if she had not only been touching the sky, but dancing in it. Everything became more radiant—especially Nick’s hazel eyes. He sat on the edge of the motel bed and watched her in awe. She was so beautiful. Sunni was the most spectacular sight to see. Her frail frame, voluminous hair and long, thick eyelashes—Sunni was extravagant to watch. 

         Everything vanished but her, Nick Castleman and Morelos, Mexico. Sweat glistened on her chest and she began to feel invincible.  She could go anywhere and do anything, it felt like to her.

         “You feel alright?” Nick asked as sweat began to glisten on his forehead. Sunni nodded and leaned in to press her lips firmly against his. She remembered the first time she had ever kissed Nick. They were in the midst of a gathering of their friends and were quickly dared to kiss. Not reluctant, they began kissing and found themselves indulging in the most spontaneous of rendezvous. They shared an apartment near the university and hardly attended class.

         “I love you.” The words hardly fell off of Nick’s lips as he sat there watching her in pure elation.

         “I love you,” she replied, still dancing around. Nick fell back, staring at the ceiling. Sunni laughed. “You’re so silly—you’re always silly.”

         Sunni watched Nick. She was so in love. No-one had ever gotten her, but he did. He understood the scars on her wrists and the wounds in her heart. He knew why she smoked cigarettes and he knew how to rub her back firmly enough to make her fall asleep. She sat neck to him and brushed her fingers through his hair.

         “Let’s order a pizza,” she filled the silent room with her soft, whiny voice. Nick didn’t respond, but lay there. “Nick?” Sunni began to shake her boyfriend frantically, but he failed to respond. Horror spread across Sunni’s face as she backed away from her boyfriend. Frenzied, she scattered for her sanity. In one movement, she rushed out of the door.

         “Alguien, la ayuda. Es un emergency!”

         She rushed back into the motel room. Confused and alarmed, she took in the rest of the sack Nick had stashed away in his pocket. She yearned to overdose. She wanted to be wherever he had gone and she would do whatever to get there.

         It wasn’t long before an ambulance arrived followed by a couple of cop cars, searching for the menaced couple. Sunni didn’t overdose and sat in the furthest corner of the motel from the door. After asking several questions and discussing with the paramedics, the cops had yet another interview with the frail, college student. They came to an agreement to send her back into the United States, where she would serve time in rehabilitation centers and then a psychiatric facility. After months of convincing doctors that they weren’t trying to commit suicide, she tried once more and spent a great deal of time persuading again.

         “You told doctors you weren’t trying to commit suicide only to actually try a couple of months later? That doesn’t look very good,” one doctor said, writing down on his many papers. Sunni studied the doctor. He looked just like the rest—old, judgmental and over-fortunate.

             “I have nothing left anymore. Obviously, I don’t even have my sanity left. Nick was all I had and now, I don’t have him. What is there to live for?” Sunni felt tears flood from her eyes. “I have no family. I was adopted by a bunch of rich people so they could boast and brag about how heroic they were for taking me in. Nick was all I had. Tell me, what do I have now?”

         “—A second chance,” the doctor smirked. As the words fell from the man’s lips, salvation had come to her all at once. Sunni thought there wasn’t life without Nick, but she had been wrong. She was still breathing.

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         Her Marlboro flickered ghastly. As she sat on the tiled-floor she prayed that the next attempt be successful.