Did she really want to be reminded? The images already burned in her mind. She would have to watch it eventually, but not tonight.
She replied to Shania, sent another five texts in response to her mother’s frantic messaging, then turned her attention to her followers.
Melissa Jones’s channel had millions of subscribers, many of whom were avid viewers. She talked about fashion, celebrities, life and her own experiences with her mother’s many illnesses. A couple of her posts went viral, her subscriber numbers shot up, and it snowballed from there. She had no idea why her channel was so popular, but she did her best to post regular updates and respond to her fans. Of course there were haters too, but Melissa had a thick skin and didn’t let them get to her. That’s why she was able to screen out the vile comments without absorbing what they said.
Howie Do deserved what he got…
Donate to Officer Hagley’s defense fund…
Hagley did us all a favor today…
Maybe Jones will shut the fuck up now…
Melissa let them all slide past her like she always did with the inevitable hatred surfacing in the wake of everything she posted. Usually her real fans drowned out the shit. Not today.
Thick skin sister, she told herself.
But the trauma of today was unlike anything she’d experienced before. She knew she would have to post something about it. In the past she’d taken on causes, but they were for other people’s benefit. She was far too close to this to handle it at the moment. She wasn’t about to launch a fight for justice or anything like that. She wasn’t strong enough yet. She wanted time to grieve, and then she would talk to her followers.
One last text went to her agent, thanking her for arranging the hotel and flight, and promising to be in touch soon. Jasmine was a dynamo, a true angel on Earth who had taken Melissa under her wing and fought tooth-and-nail to get her and Howie an astonishing deal with a major US network. It had all been so exciting, until this morning when it all came crashing down.
She missed Howie so much. The thought of him caused physical pain in her chest. She curled up exhausted and wanting to sleep but with her eyes remaining stubbornly wide open. She had boyfriends before, but none of them were like Howie. He understood her on an emotional level, on a sexual level, and on an intellectual level. He was so smart. Nobody realized how smart he was. Most of her boyfriends had been man-child idiots attracted by her body and her rising fame. Howie loved her body, oh God his passion for her left her breathless, but he loved her mind too.
What would she do without him? How could she carry on alone? Now that she knew what was possible when you truly make a connection with someone special, how could she live without it?
A new text popped up on her phone from a number she didn’t recognize.
Hey Melissa. This is Howie’s brother, Wilson. You holding up?
She wanted to put the phone down, to just shut it all out. But that wasn’t fair to Wilson. She’d never met Howie’s brother; she was supposed to meet him and his folks today. He would understand if she didn’t reply right away. It was nice of him to check on her though.
Doing OK. Thanks for texting. Tired. Can we talk tomorrow?
His response came back quickly.
Sure. Get some rest. TTYL.
And with that, her battery died and her phone went dark. Taking this as her cue to turn in, she plugged in her phone and grabbed the toothbrush and toothpaste she’d bought at the same time as the painkillers.
There was a commotion coming from the street outside. She moved to the window, trying to ignore her painful arm. Parting the curtain she saw nothing unusual, but more noise drew her attention to much further along the street. Her head pressed against the window, she struggled to see far enough down the road to find out what was causing the noise.
Then they came into view. Hundreds of them, marching along the main street, waving banners and chanting. She wondered what they were marching for, as this was clearly a protest.
She had seen before on the news people holding signs at such demonstrations that read things like, ‘#icantbreathe’, or ‘Hands Up, Don’t Shoot!’, or ‘Black Lives Matter’, but it had always been an abstract thing. BLM existed in Toronto too, she’d seen them at Gay Pride and other events, but this was something else. This was a reaction to something. What?
As they drew closer and filled the street from side to side, Melissa was able to read some of the signs. Most were as expected, similar to what she’d seen before. She could make out what they were chanting now too.
Her mouth fell open.
“Justice for Howie!” they called. “Howie Do, killed by you!”
Melissa sat at her window and watched the march for some time, tears rolling down her face. It went on for a while, and eventually she could cry no more. Her eyes were growing heavy, and the weariness she felt seeped into her bones.
She stood up and drew the curtain, wondering if she’d be able to sleep with so much noise outside. She stripped down to her underwear and checked herself in the mirror. There was an ugly bruise on her side, which hurt if she touched it but thankfully caused her no discomfort otherwise. Her arm was a different story. Clearly it wasn’t broken or she’d be screaming if she touched it with her other hand. Nevertheless, the bruising on her upper arm was extensive. Her arm bone ached where the officer kicked her. Clearly the damage was deep, but she felt no desire to go to hospital.
She climbed into bed and laid down on her good side. The noisy protest and the pain in her arm kept her awake for a time, as did the images flashing through her head of a day straight from hell. Thankfully the pain was easier to ignore now that the pills had kicked in. She concentrated on saying a prayer, clearing her mind of her troubles one by one. Eventually she fell into a merciful sleep.
“Hey Penny, it’s Tim.”
“Hey Tim.”
“Hey. Sorry to call you so late.”
“Oh that’s okay. I was watching the protests on TV.”
“What protests?”
“Some rapper was shot by police this morning and his girlfriend beaten up. You didn’t hear about it?”
“No, I’ve been in meetings all day. You’re supposed to tell me about this stuff.”
“Sorry, I thought you knew. How was your meeting with Granger?”
“Not great. He wants to me to stall all my bills.”
“Really? Why?”
“I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. I need you to start thinking about who else we can tap for donations and support.”
“Granger’s not paying any more?”
“I can’t do what he wants me to do, Penny. I can’t sabotage all our work because the moneyman says so. I’d be no better than the guys we defeated to get here.”
“No chance of a compromise? Delay some bills and not others?”
“He made it pretty clear I gotta do what he says or no more funding.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. So, anyway, I figured it was time to cut ties. Nothing official or public, just line up alternative backers and quietly ignore Granger.”
“He’s not going to like that.”
“No,