JASMINE

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Chapter 19- Cover Your Chest

Jasmine


I stood in shock. What were the skies waiting for to open up and take me? Or better yet, the earth cracking and swallowing me? Mr. Enrique was just staring blankly at Kim.

I believe that was what he called her. Her eyes filled with tears and her lips trembling like she wanted to speak but couldn’t. As for me, I just wanted to find the quickest escape.

She was average height, looked Latino, very curvy, with long, straight, black hair, and very beautiful. Her skin was tanned, straight nose and brown eyes. Her face was oval. Her makeup was flawless, and she looked so mature.

I felt like a kid in the midst of these adults. She was wearing white capris pants. It hugged her shapely body. A mustard peplum top made her attire look so simple, but exquisite.

Don’t ask me how I managed to see all that by simply glancing at the woman, who I also noticed had a nose ring and a gold bracelet that said, “Carlos”

Just when I was about to make a run for it, Kim picked up her small travel bag and headed for the door. Mr. Enrique attempted to say something but it was like he had a locked jaw. His mouth was moving, but no words came out.

I was staring at Mr. Enrique when I heard the sound of the luggage hitting the floor again. By the time I turned around I saw a mad woman charging towards him, jumping him like a wild cat. She removed her heels, slamming it into his forehead.

I screamed from the top of my lungs, as Mr. Enrique fell to the floor. There was blood oozing from his forehead.

The mad woman looked horrified. She put her shoes back on hysterically and ran out the door. She left her luggage behind. I guess she lost all reason.

I knelt on the floor next to Mr. Enrique sobbing. I removed my blouse and pressed it against his bleeding forehead. Once the blood starting to clot, the wound became more visible. It was a flesh wound. I wasn’t sure why his blood was so hot and thin.

Again, I smelt alcohol on his breath. Maybe he’d been drinking. I looked at his face. He looked more worried and ashamed than in pain.

“Sir, do you have a first-aid kit,” I asked, while keeping my blouse pressed on his forehead.

He got up from the floor, leading me to an upstairs bathroom where a first-aid kit could be found. I removed peroxide and cleaned the cut to his head. He didn’t even twitch. What an ironman!

He hadn’t said a word, but allowed me to dress his wound. I’d learned a little something from my health education classes.

His shirt was stained with blood. He removed it. I don’t think that this man understands what he does to me; never mind, changing his shirt in my presence.

His bedroom was huge. Clean and well arranged. Black and grey tiles. A king-sized bed. A small table and lampstand. Very large and properly arranged closet.

While he changed his shirt, I tidied the sink. The cotton buds were bloody, the bandage wrapper…I ensured that I left the place in the same way that I’d met it. Fresh and clean.

“Sir will you be ok?” I asked him politely, moving slowly to the door, indicating that I was leaving.

When he didn’t reply, I said, “Sir, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you. I should have stayed at home?”

By that time, the tears were already dripping down my chest.

“Jasmine,” he called my name softly, holding his head and sitting on his gigantic bed.

I turned around to look at him.

“You can’t leave without covering your chest.”

When I looked down, I realized I had no blouse. Only a bra and a cameo. What an embarrassment. I was too engaged in playing nurse to realize that I was half-naked in my high school teacher’s bedroom.

“Look in my closet and wear one of my jackets,” he instructed.

I placed my hands over my chest hugging myself, as if he hadn’t already seen all there was to see.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, throwing a football-looking jersey over me. Thank God it was huge enough to fit me. I would have been embarrassed if I had had to force it on.

When I turned around Mr. Enrique was laying on his back. I wanted to jump into that bed with him. To comfort him. To kiss that wound until it healed.

Mr. Enrique pretended like he hadn’t just kissed me. If he was intoxicated then it was probably the rum acting up. I have to conclude that he wasn’t himself when I came to his house.

As I was about to leave, he said “Jasmine, thanks for being here. I mean, thank you for staying and not running away.”

I smiled inside. But what did he expect? I mean after all, it was because of me that his cat woman almost killed him. The most I could do was ensure that he wasn’t going to the morgue.

As I made my exit, I smiled. Knowing that even if I am responsible for all that had happened tonight, my teacher wasn’t mad at me.

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