Author's note. This romance story does contain trigger words and actions. If talk of rape, violence or sexual assault are triggers, please do not read.
"Someone's got to be the bad guy," I say to myself in such a low voice that no one else hears. Not that there's anyone near me to hear even if this basement is packed with people. I'm in the far back corner of the apartment complex basement, alone in the shadows.
That's what everything thinks of me, that I'm the bad guy. The felon. The ex-con. The huge, scary looking man that never talks to anyone nor does anyone want to talk to him. The one they gossip about but never ask why I was locked up. The one they assume is responsible for every crime.
"What's her problem?" One of the residents calls out to the speaker who is standing on a box so she can be seen above all the people here. I take it the box lady was the one that called this meeting and now she tries hard to maintain everyone's attention.
"Who cares what the problem is?! The question is what are we going to do about it?" another resident yells, to which there is much muttering from other upset residents.
Looking around the basement, I would guess there are at least a hundred people at this secret resident meeting, not that it needs to be secret. The way people gossip, I'm sure "she" already knows and still doesn't care.
"The bitch knows no one is going to be able to afford double rent," another upset resident yells, again a lot of agreement.
"And this place has become so crap no one is going to move in or pay the new rent!" Another yells out and this gets the loudest agreement of all. It nearly sets everyone off in complaining that that the speaker nearly loses control of the meeting.
"She's doing it to run everyone off!" I hear amidst the jumble of yells, mutterings and shouts. I can't help but nod at this settlement as it is true.
This apartment complex is the slums. Well, it's the slums now. It wasn't always like this, but the past two years have turned this once decent place into a ghetto. It used to look well kept, complete with a small garden out front and a well-lit sign. Now it's the place where the paint is faded, the plastered chipped and many of the residents have forgot what their morals once were.
Jorge Martinez was the owner of this apartment complex, and a dozen others in the city. He was a good man, which is quite the thing to say these days. Sure, he was rich but never acted like it. Unlike anyone else that had a bit of money, he cared for the people in his buildings as if they were his own family. He even lived in this complex to show he considered it worthy of being a home.
Friendly wasn't the right word to describe Jorge. He was more than friendly. It was almost supernatural how Jorge seemed to remember everyone he came across. Not just people, but events, special dates and more. It was very common to receive an anniversary or birthday present from him during rough times. Just like it was normal to see him smiling when he saw you.
Everyone was devastated when Jorge passed. It was very as the man was only forty years old. The poor bastard had a genetic defect that he didn't know about. Some weird Latin sounding thing wrong with his brain. It got triggered one day and sent a blood clot killing him. At least he went fast. Most people don't.
When he passed, most of what he owned went to his wife, Renee. From what I heard, a few properties went to their kids to make sure they would be taken care of, but most went to the love of his life, Renee.
Oh, how Jorge loved Renee. And Renee loved Jorge. She was his world. And when you saw them together, you knew they loved each other. It would make the hardest of hearts believe in soulmates.
Renee used to be a very sweet, kind and shy woman who seemed to always be embarrassed by attention. Her life seemed dedicated to helping her husband in any way he needed, even if that meant painting an apartment or using a plunger to fix a resident's toilet. Most of the kids called her Mama Renee due to how kind she was to them.
But after Jorge passed, Renee changed. Oh, how she changed. The shy, unassuming woman retreated to parts unknown where no one saw her for a long time. She seemed to disappear off the face of the planet. Many thought she died.
Then Renee reappeared, but no one knew it was her. Everything about her had changed. Body, soul and mind.
I remember seeing her in a store once. I didn't know it was her but was some Karen wanting to ruin minimum wage worker's day. Then one of them said her name, letting me know who it was.
Renee, who used to be so kind and timid turned into the Queen of all Karen's God. To call her a bitch would be an offense to bitches. She turned into something very vile and uncaring that only wore the most uncomfortable looking designer clothes. Where it was clear she enjoyed the suffering of others like it was candy.
"Bitch needs to get laid!" Some woman yells out in a bid to be funny. There are a few chuckles at this and a lot more grumbling.
"You do not know how right you are about that," a woman in a hoodie that is over her head says loudly, serious as a heart attack. This causes everyone to go quiet. No one dares laugh or say anything more as the woman makes her way towards the box to be seen.
"I...I do believe that is right, and what is needed...but you all do not know the full story," the sixty-year-old woman begins as she lowers her hoodie. Her eyes are filled with tears and her voice waivers with sorrowful emotions.
Now that I see who the woman is, I know her, as does everyone here. She's the Curandera, a healer. For minor health issues you go to her and she'll know what herbs to mix into tea or whatever. I don't put a lot of stock into shit like that, but people here swear by it. And more than that, she sent more time with Jorge Martinez than anyone.
"I do not want to share this as it is a betrayal of Jorge's trust, but I feel I must because of how dire this has become," the Curandera tells everyone, wiping a tear away.
"There are parts of a person's personal life that should always remain personal, such as their love life," she explains to the group, looking very conflicted. It's easy to see her loyalty to Jorge, even if he's passed.
"But I share this because I think it will explain what is wrong with Doña Renee," the elderly continues, fire of determination starting to come from her voice.
To this I smirk, finding the meeting is becoming very interesting. It's been rather boring and predictable, but with the Curandera making an appearance, it throws some chaos into the mix.
"I was tasked with making Jorge a special tea every Saturday. It had to be Saturday because of what it made him do, for he would go to Mass on Sunday morning to be absolved of his sins," the Curandera continues.
This catches more of my attention, as it does everyone else. I didn't know anything about special tea, which sure sounds like a drug. This is surprising as Jorge wasn't the type to do drugs. But I will say that I doubt Jorge could do anything so horrible that he had to repent. That man was the gentlest person on the planet. I once saw him refuse to kill a roach for fuck's sake.
"The tea was a special blend that I refuse to make ever again. It causes the blood to rise, so aggression deep in the soul is unleashed. And he drank this every Saturday to make violent love to his wife," the Curandera explains to the very quiet crowd.
No one says anything to the woman when she pauses, but they do look at each other, very confused. Then there's soft murmuring, as if people asking each other if they believe what she's saying.
"It was his curse due to the love he had for his wife," the Curandera continues, wiping tears from her eyes as she starts to cry. Her emotions get the better of her and she has to pause again to get ahold of herself. This lets people start to mummer again, with more looking like they doubt her sanity.
"Do not try to say you do not believe what I am saying. You all see the results of her not receiving this...special type of love making," the Curandera then scolds, much like a mother to her bratty kids.
"Curandera...are you saying..." a young woman in her early twenties says loud enough to be heard over the muttering crowd.
"...she is acting like this, cause she isn't getting fucked hard enough?" the woman finishes her question in disbelief. Unable to help myself, I chuckle even if I'm the only one.
"She requires a very hard form of love making. I would call it violent," the Curandera answers but everyone understands that the young woman was right.
"Hell, I'll fuck her then! The bitch is in her precious top floor lair right now! I'll go and dick her down right now!" an overweight man wearing a not so clean sleeveless shirt yells out.
"Shut up you fat bastard! You can't even make your own wife orgasm! Fred has to do it!" Another man yells out in response, to which there's a great deal of laughter. The fat man then throws up his middle finger in response.
"Let me be perfectly clear. This is not sex. Nor would I call it love making," the Curandera tells the crowd, to which everyone grows quiet to listen.
"This is violence. A fight. To watch it would be to watch a sexual assault," she continues with a grave expression.
"Healer, if she receives this, will she turn back to the way she was?" a woman from the back of the room asks, having to yell. The way she asks is deathly serious, to which no one dares interrupt or make any joke.
"I cannot say for certain, but I feel she would. Whatever imbalance exists within her soul should be satisfied and she should return to normal," the healer answers, causing murmurs again.
