Strip Me Bare

by Marissa Carmel

  “Where’s Sean?” I demand in a low voice.

  She hesitates, gazing at me with distrustful eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re lying. Tell me.”

  “I haven’t seen him in over a week.”

  “That doesn’t mean you don’t know where I can find him.”

  She huffs and looks away, a worn expression on her face.

  “Ryan is sitting in a jail cell for the second time because of Sean, and it’s clear you’re not going to do a damn thing about it. So I am. Now please just tell me where he is,” I press forcefully.

  She sighs painfully, and I know she’s torn between giving up one son to save the other. “It’s no place for a sweet girl like you.”

  I lean over the counter enraged, my blonde hair falling forward. “If you don’t give me the address, I’ll show you just how sweet I can be,” I seethe.

  She glares at me surprised and then reluctantly pulls out the pad from her apron. She scribbles something down, then rips off the paper and hands it to me.

  “I hope you’re prepared for what you find,” she says contemptuously.

  I snatch the piece of paper, turn around and leave without even so much as a thank you.

  I punch the address into the GPS and begin to drive. The ETA is twenty-one minutes, I’ve never been to the bad side of Asbury, but I have a sinking feeling I’m driving straight into the heart of darkness.

  I travel into Asbury Park following the robotic voice’s commands. The buildings are all spray painted and worn, the sidewalks covered with debris and the shady looking characters hanging out on the street corners are eyeing up the white girl driving the Bimmer. If Emily’s car gets jacked, she’ll decapitate me. I double check to make sure the doors are locked. I pull down a little side road with dilapidated houses, chain link fences and barking dogs. The GPS tells me I have arrived at my destination, a two-story house with dirty siding and a few boarded-up windows. Just looking at it turns my insides arctic.

  I park across the street and cut the engine, but I don’t get out of the car right away. I need to mentally prepare myself for what’s inside. I’ve never known a full-fledged drug addict. I’ve known people who do drugs, but this here, is on a whole nother level.

  I can’t stop myself from picturing Ryan, sitting alone in a concrete jail cell with his entire future on the line while Sean roams around free; insolent and blameless.

  It’s eating me alive.

  I finally get out of the car wishing I was armed with a fully loaded semi as I walk up to the decaying house, climb the front steps then knock on the door; timidly at first, then a little harder. I wait, and then knock again, the dried paint crumbling under my knuckles. Finally, the door cracks open and I catch a glimpse of a man with a thick beard and grungy clothes.

  “What?” he croaks.

  “I’m looking for Sean Pierce,” I say with a shaky voice.

  “Who?”

  “Sean Pierce,” I enunciate.

  The strung out guy eyes me over, “You looking to score?”

  My heartbeat ceases to exist.

  “Yes, a friend told me where I could find him.”

  There are so many pretenses in that sentence.

  The door swings open, and I hesitate for a split second before I walk in. I’m so jittery I must have convinced him I needed a fix.

  The inside of the house is disgusting; garbage is littered all over the floor, dingy people are lying on dirty blankets and filthy pillows, and it smells like burnt hair. As I walk cautiously through the living room, everyone gawks at me with vacant eyes; phantom beings who look like the life has been wrung right out of them. I wrap my arms around myself as I follow grungy beard guy through the house. He stops in a doorway adjacent to the kitchen. “He’s all yours,” he says, then shuffles away.

  This whole experience seems surreal; a ghostly dream stemming from a deep dark reality.

  I walk through the entryway and nearly puke from what I find. Sean is passed out on a soiled mattress. His face is sucked out and his body is thin. He looks almost dead. I inch slowly into the ice cold room and stand over him. I don’t understand it. Addiction. The pull or the control, the want or the need. I don’t understand how this beautiful boy can be laying there so far gone and still look as innocent as a child. Staring at Sean, I think about what he said at Culture, how he’s afraid Ryan will end up like him. An addict? Or just hopeless and alone. Seeing him now, I’m sure I’d die before I let Ryan, or anyone else I loved, end up like this.

  I also realize Sean’s not insolent or blameless, he’s trapped. And it whisks a welter of emotions inside me.

  I don’t know how long I wait; minutes, hours, days maybe for Sean to wake up, and just when I can no longer take the frigid temperature or the heartrending scene in front of me, he stirs. He moans softly as he shifts and moves, like he’s trying to remember how to use his limbs. I just stand there statically, watching him come back to life. Finally, he opens his eyes and takes in a deep breath. He looks around a little disoriented, like he’s not sure where he is, then his eyes fall on me. They’re bloodshot and hollow and have purple rings around them.

  “Alana?” he croaks, staring at me vacantly, trying to decipher if I’m a mirage or truly flesh and blood.

  “Sean?” I answer. My body goes numb, and it has nothing to do with the temperature in the room. He looks like a blood starved vampire.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, the question rippling with so many emotions; fear, concern, terror, dread.

  “You need to come with me,” I tell him, not wasting any time with small talk.

  “For what?” He gets to his feet and straightens his sweatshirt, pulls up his baggy pants, then yanks his hood over his head.

  “Don’t play dumb. Ryan’s in jail, they rejected his deal.”

  Sean paces the small room like a caged cat. Back and forth and back and forth, agitated and uptight. “I can’t Alana, I’m sorry.”

  I step towards him cautiously, “Sean, listen to me. Ryan needs you-”

  “No, Alana,” he snaps his head up and I see so much sorrow in his eyes.

  “Sean, don’t abandon him,” I plead earnestly; careful not to spook him, “he’s already given up his future for you, now you’re asking him to give up his life.”

  Sean takes one, slow, tentative step towards the door. “I’m so sorry, Alana,” he says with such intense grief, it strikes my chest like lightening, shattering my heart.

  “Sean-” I say trembling, circling around him.

  “For what it’s worth,” he adds quickly and solemnly, “I never thought you were going to hurt Ryan, you really are the only one who’s ever loved him right.” Sean’s words rattle me straight to the core, because they sound like a goodbye. Then he bolts.

  Damn it.

  I dart after him through the long, narrow kitchen and out the back door where the sun is setting like a dying fireball behind dull, ashy clouds. He’s so goddamn fast, maneuvering effortlessly through the back yard that’s scattered with old tires and junk. He scales the six-foot chain link fence at the back end of the property and I know then that I’ve lost him.

  “Sean!” I shout slapping the fence with my palms, the links jingling and clinking, “Sean, come back!”

  But he quickly disappears out of sight.

  “Shit!” I scream, shaking the fence furiously. Then, hopeless and defeated, I sink down onto the cold ground, and all I want to do is fucking cry.

  I drive back to my uncle’s house in a daze. All I keep seeing are Sean’s dull, sorrowful eyes. They may be the same shape and color as Ryan’s, but they’re nowhere near alike; Sean’s eyes are haunted, dim and void of any light.

  I pull into the driveway, a red and purple stone path that leads up to the massive brick house. I park Emily’s car next to my uncle’s black Mercedes truck and stare straight ahead.

  I step out of the car and into the frosty January evening. It smells like snow and the temperature is s
o low it’s cutting right through my clothes.

  I walk sluggishly to the front door, but stop when I get to the stone stairs. I sit down and drop my head into my hands, shivering in the cold. Then the snowflakes begin to fall; big, wet crystals that shower heavily out of the sky. I look up and let them hit my face, flooding my eyes with the tears I can’t cry. I try to force the emotions out, but the swell just won’t come. Soon, my clothes are wet and my hair is covered in sparkling flakes, but I just can’t bring myself to move.

  “Alana?” I hear my uncle’s voice behind me. I turn around; cold wet snow dotting my face. “What are you doing out here honey?”

  “Trying to cry.”

  “What? Why?” He grabs two jackets and comes outside to sit next to me. He throws a big puffy coat around me, and then snuggles up to my side; the snow pelting down harder on our faces.

  “Because I can’t. I haven’t cried since that Christmas mom died. And all I want is to feel better, but I can’t cry.” I wipe some snow away from my cheek with my sleeve.

  My uncle looks at me with a contrite expression. “Alana, do you know why you can’t cry?”

  I shake my head, no.

  “Because you’re too strong.”

  “I’m not strong,” I dispute. “I couldn’t even help Ryan.”

  “You’re helping him by being there for him.”

  “That’s not helping him. Helping him would’ve been me convincing Sean to help him.”

  “You found Sean?”

  “Sort of,” I pull out the now-damp piece of paper from my pocket with the address on it, “He ran when I confronted him.”

  My uncle takes the piece of paper and glances down at the address, “Alana, this is one of the worst neighborhoods in Asbury.”

  “I’m a total badass,” I say dejectedly.

  “Dumb-ass maybe,” my uncle jokingly contests, “but it does establish one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Truth. Whether you believe it or not, you’re strong.”

  I look up at my uncle with chattering teeth and woeful eyes. “Uncle John,” I say direly, “I’m really tired of being strong.”

  “I know honey.” He puts his arm around me and I rest my head on his big chest, “But I’m going to help.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll put in a call to the sheriff’s department. I’ll tell them I got a tip on Sean’s whereabouts. I’ll drop Judge Reynolds’ name too. They’ll sniff him out.”

  “You think?”

  “I know.”

  “What if they don’t find him by next Thursday?”

  My uncle shrugs, “We’ll appeal.”

  I’m sitting on a metal folding chair in the corner of the jail’s visitor’s area. I’m dressed in a turtleneck, puffy vest, and jeans. My hair tucked under a pink Yankee’s cap. I keep my head down and one knee pulled into my chest as I wait impatiently.

  The room is small and filled with all sorts of people. The diversity is staggering; there’s everyone from mothers with their children to tattooed biker chicks, to groups of guys who look like they belong in a frat house.

  And me; the rebel princess.

  The correction officer announces the visitor door is open, and he’s no-nonsense. He’s young, with light blond hair and a youthful face. Everyone in the room gravitates to the left, bottlenecking into a single file to get through the metal doorway. I’m the last one in line. I shuffle behind the crowd, my stress level spiking from the unknown. I step into a large room with huge glass windows, ugly yellow cement walls and little seat dividers, each with a small stool and a hanging telephone receiver. It reminds me of a kennel. Most of the seats are taken, but I find an empty one in the middle of the room and sit down. There’s a low hum of conversation as we wait for the - I’m really going to use this term - inmates.

  After a few, slow minutes, they start shuffling in; a bunch of men in dark green scrubs and cheap slip-on shoes. Okay, I can’t lie; I was expecting orange jump suits. I see Ryan and my heart catapults into my throat. He doesn’t look thrilled to see me, which is discouraging.

  We both pick up the phone when he sits down. “Hey,” I say eagerly, but he can barely look at me.

  “Alana, what are you doing here?” his voice is husky and uncomfortable.

  “I wanted to see you. Give you some moral support,” I try to say it lightly, but this whole situation is a total downer.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” he looks away grimly.

  “Ryan,” I murmur, “please look at me.”

  He doesn’t turn his head, so I wait patiently until he’s ready to draw his eyes to mine. When he finally does, they’re full of so much pain and resentment and despair.

  “I love you, and you being in here doesn’t change that.”

  He stares at me callously, and for the first time he’s openly wearing the scars of his past.

  “I found Sean,” I tell him, and his face perks up.

  “Where is he?”

  “Gone, for now. But my uncle has the sheriff’s department looking for him.”

  “Where did you find him?” Ryan asks anxiously.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Alana, you shouldn’t have gone there.”

  “I shouldn’t do a lot of things, but that’s never stopped me before.”

  Ryan drops his head.

  “I didn’t mean you,” I clarify lovingly. “You’ve always been right.”

  Ryan lifts his eyes and they’re cloudy with tears. “You’ve been the only good thing in my entire life,” he says and my heart separates.

  “Then please don’t shut me out.”

  “I don’t know what else to do. It’s over. My fate is sealed.” He runs a hand through his hair defeated. “I’ve always known I’d end up here.”

  “It’s not over yet. I still have one card left to play.”

  “What are you talking about?” He cocks his head up with the receiver to his ear.

  “If they can’t find Sean, I’m going to talk to my father.”

  “Alana, don’t you dare.” He sits up straight. “Don’t you dare throw your life away because of me.”

  “It’s no kind of life without you,” I respond meekly.

  “There has to be another way. We can appeal? Right?”

  I shake my head sadly, “Ryan the evidence against you is overwhelming. The decision will never get overturned.”

  “So how is you talking to your father going to help me?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I can appeal to his emotional side,” I say sardonically.

  Ryan just shakes his head feverishly, “Alana it’s over, just let it go.”

  He’s completely given up.

  But I just can’t accept that.

  “Ryan, listen to me. Don’t get sucked down into a pit. I need you.”

  “Need me, for what? I’m stuck in here. What can I possible give you now?”

  “Strength.”

  “What?”

  “Strength. Your strength is my strength,” I say ardently. “Do you remember when we first met, how closed off I was? It drove you crazy.”

  “I remember.”

  “Do you remember what you told me?”

  He pauses, his blue eyed stare getting lost in the memory. “That showing emotion isn’t weakness, it’s strength.”

  I nod my head, “You changed my entire life that day, and I don’t even think you realized it. I never meant to fall in love with you, but I liked who I was when I was with you. I like who I am now. And it’s because of you. So please, stay strong so I can be strong.”

  “I don’t want you losing everything,” he says, his eyes piercing.

  “It’s going to happen regardless,” I grip the receiver tighter. “The question is, are you going to be the one who picks up the pieces when it does?”

  “I want to be.”

  “I want you to be too.” I put my hand on the glass and a buzzer suddenly goes off. Visiting hours are over.

&
nbsp; Ryan puts his hand to mine; one, thin, maddening piece of transparent solid separating us. Not being able to touch him is agony. I just want to punch through the goddamn window and grab him. Hold him, hug him and tell him everything is going to be okay.

  Even when we know it’s not.

  I watch as the correction officers herd him and the other inmates away; all of them blending together like a green-clad mob, Ryan vanishing from my sight.

  As I stand there, I feel unexpectedly cold.

  It’s exactly what I felt when I watched Sean disappear.

  And suddenly I’m alone, powerless, and want to fucking cry all over again.

  I sit on the bench outside the courtroom. Today is Ryan’s sentencing hearing.

  I know I shouldn’t be here, but I just can’t abandon him when he needs me most. I keep holding out for hope, praying the sheriff’s department finds Sean in time. It's 7:53 AM, Ryan’s court appearance is at 8:15. Twenty-two minutes. Twenty-two minutes left for fate to decide how Ryan’s future and mine is going to play out. Life changing together or life changing apart, because even if I do confront my father, there’s no guarantee I can keep Ryan out of jail. I can, potentially, give up everything and get nothing in return.

  I hear the double doors at the end of the long hallway swing open and the sound of high heels tapping vigorously against the marble floor. I look up to see Emily and my uncle walking quickly towards me.

  “Alana,” Emily hugs me when she reaches me. I’m a little confused. I wasn’t expecting them to be here today.

  “What going on?” I ask puzzled.

  “Honey,” my uncle John says, a little too grave. “They found Sean,” he hands me a piece of paper and I grab it.

  “They found him?” Hope sprouting in my voice. I look down at the paper and my vision gets blurry.

  “He was dead when they got there,” my uncle says sorrowfully.

  I read the police report: dead on arrival, suspected cause of death, heroin toxicity.

  I crush the paper against my chest and stumble, my uncle catching my arm. I try to get a grip, but the enormity of what I just read levels me.

  Sean’s dead?