by Avelyn Paige
Don’t get me wrong, Dr. Matthews seems nice, but judging from her office and lack of any personal touches, I’m betting that she doesn’t have much in the way of the family and friends department in her life. Maybe she is hiding just like me or maybe she’s just a lonely cat lady in need of a vibrator. The possibilities for her chosen lifestyle are endless in my mind, and it’s almost a game for me to think of some new scenario, while I pretend to engage in our weekly sessions.
I never thought in a million years, that I would find myself on the leather chaise lounge of a therapist’s office, opening up about the demons hidden in my closet. Well, only the ones who could play nice any way. The other ones were locked away in their cages. Group therapy was one thing, but one on one with a certified therapist is a completely different animal. In group, I could hide away in the background and not talk, but here it’s only the two of us, and not talking isn’t acceptable for what I am paying her.
Every time one of our sessions rolls around, it takes everything that I have to walk into these doors, but according to my brother’s caseworker, I have to prove that I am a fit guardian. I just wish I had thought about that before digging my heels into the idea of trying to save him from the system. Come to find out, it isn’t as easy as walking into the Child Services Office and filling out a form to claim him as my brother and bringing him home. Apparently, there’s red tape and multiple hoops to jump through in order to even get to meet him. I don’t know why I thought it would be as easy as claiming an item from the lost and found, but that goes to show how little I know about the decent part of the world. It’s been months since I came back home, and I haven’t sniffed at the opportunity to meet him thanks to my previous court records, lack of real employment history, or a permanent residence. It’s not like I could put drug dealer and the Heaven’s Reject Club House on my application, which has only added more shit to my to-do list.
Fucking bureaucratic rules.
She continues to write as I sit there like a bump on a log waiting for her next ridiculous question. Lord, I am already using country slang. I need to get out of here, before I start chewing on wheat stalk and wearing the latest Tractor Supply store clearance rack fashions. As much as this town loves their flannel shirts, wranglers, and cowboy boots, this girl does not.
Returning my gaze back to the good doctor, I can’t help but wonder if I were to peek over her shoulder, would I find “She’s certifiable” scribbled across the pages from our session today. I continue to watch her in the awkward silence of the room, but just when I think about making a break for it while she’s distracted with her note taking, she sets her pen down and returns her attention back to me.
Damn. I wonder how much longer my session is going to be today. It can’t be more than a few minutes.
“Let’s start with something easy, Erica. How was your week?” Dr. Matthews starts.
“My week?” I snort. “Same shit, different day. I work and I try to sleep, Doc. Nothing too special about that.”
Her brow furrows at my smartass response. I know she’s trying to help, and I should be more cooperative, but I just don’t feel comfortable enough with her yet. The fear that she will have me committed is always lurking in the back of my mind, and that will do nothing for helping me with my goal of taking custody of my brother. These sessions are nothing but a check in the box to prove I am not crazy. Sure, it’s a lie, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them. My only concern is crossing the state line with my brother in tow.
“Well, I see talking about your current emotional status isn’t something you would like to do today, so let’s try something else. Could you please tell me about your childhood? Was it happy?”
I snort again, while she asks her absurd questions.
“Is something funny, Ms. Delmont?”
I shake my head, trying to curtail my laughter.
“You obviously aren’t from around here, Doc,” I tease, straightening myself up on the leather sofa across from her. “Do you want the full version or the cliff notes?”
Her eyes narrow, “What’s the difference?”
“About two days, and a bottomless bottle of whiskey.” I fire back, while she frowns at me. “Okay, judging from that look of yours. You want the short version,” I declare, before inhaling a deep breath.
“Mom was a whore. Dad ignores my existence. I grew up in a trailer park here in town, probably not a surprise there, while my momma whored herself out. From the time I was nine, I did odd jobs around the trailer park to keep food in my belly, before my momma decided my body was better served in her line of work.”
Dr. Matthews sucks in a deep breath and looks on in horror. No doubt the imagery from my personal hell is filling her mind.
“Your mother forced you into sleeping with men for money?” she questions. “How old were you?”
“Thirteen. It was either sell my body or starve to death on the streets,” I coolly reply, while forcing those memories back into the dungeon I try to lock them down in. “And before you ask, I did go to the police, but it was already too late for me.”
“Too late for what?” she questions.
“Too late to save me from what my life has become today,” I squeak out, before the timer on her phone begins to chime. “Why would they believe the daughter of the town slut when she comes to beg for help?”
Saved by the damn bell.
I dart from my chair, fling open her office door, and bolt, before she could even dismiss me. It’s not because I don’t like Dr. Matthews, but spilling my soul out to a complete stranger leaves me rattled, by the time that our sessions are over. I’ve sat in her office three times a week for the past two months, and I don’t feel anywhere close to finding absolution for my past.
I shut the door to her office building behind me taking in my first deep breath, since starting my session with her. Talking about this shit is supposed to give you peace, but it only makes my anxiety even worse. Had this not been a strong suggestion from my caseworker, I doubt I would have ever stepped foot in her office, but I need to see this through. Not for me. Not for closure. But for the life I am trying to save.
I quickly walk to my ride, throwing open the door and sliding into the worn, leather seat. I knew the day I left the clubhouse that taking the car that the club had provided to me wasn’t an option. It could be reported as stolen, and I didn’t want the heat from the club on my ass, while I tried to take care of my family business. So I took a page out of Dani’s escape plan playbook and bused it to Kentucky instead. No way for them to track me down, and it bought me more time to handle things on my own.
This beat up pick-up truck may not be easy on the eyes, but it gets me where I need to go, and it doesn’t hurt that it came at the right price. Free thanks to some schmuck who my mother probably conned it out of for the pleasure of her company. Even now after looking through the pictures she had in her trailer, I couldn’t understand her appeal to the men of the town. They all knew what kind of woman she was, so either these men were desperate or just plain fucking stupid. But hey, I have a free ride thanks to her. Herby, as I have named him, isn’t exactly fuel efficient, but broke bitches can’t be choosy in my position.
The biggest hurdle I had once I got here was finding a place to stay, but thankfully for me, my mother left me yet another gift. Her trashed as fuck trailer. It took a lot of cleaning, but it was finally livable. I’ll be honest when I say that I was shocked to find out that she actually owned that piece of shit on wheels, since she never seemed to own a single thing in her entire life, but it was a welcome surprise. I know in the long run it was just a temporary solution, but until I could afford something better, it’s what I called home.
Turning the key in the ignition, I let the engine creak and grumble like an old man. Saying a silent prayer for the damn thing to turn over on the first attempt, it actually does. I pull away from the curb and cruise down the tiny streets of my hometown. This place hasn’t changed a bit
since the day I turned my back on this part of my life for a fresh start. I should have known then that no place was ever going to feel like home for me, but I was young and naïve enough to believe that happy endings really did exist.
My destination is the same every weekday around this time. A place where my heart breaks more and more each passing day. My truck dies as soon as I pull into the secluded spot of the parking lot just, before the school bell rings. Kids pour out of the doors like the place is on fire, but it’s one child I am looking for amongst the crowd. It doesn’t take long until his mop of curly, dark hair comes into view. My brother Asher steps out of the front door of the school, animatingly chatting with another kid. The moment I set my eyes on him I knew he was my brother. His smile lights up the moment he is free from the confines of the school day just like mine did at his age. I’ve spent the last few months studying his face from afar, and each day I notice another similarity between us.
His face turns to the sunny sky and soaks up the rays, before a horn interrupts his happy moment. His smile instantly fades as a black town car pulls up to the curb and honks. I watch as a tall man exits the vehicle and greets him, before ushering him back to the car.
His guardian and my father, Ronald Boatman. His hardened, wrinkled face has not changed since the last time I saw him. I was an abomination to him, and the thought of him being the foster parent to my brother, only strengthened my resolve to get him back. Even after my mother publicly outed him as my father, he continued to shun my existence and me, like I was a figment of his imagination. Pray as he might, his blood was in my veins, and there was no denying that fact. Unfortunately for my mother, she didn’t have the strength or the will to fight him for child support, when the state already paid a handsome sum to her as a single mother on welfare.
By the time I could take care of myself, she saw me as a means to obtain more money from the state and through charitable groups. I was just a burden to her that came with paycheck perks, food, and gifts around the holidays. Even now, I don’t think she saw me as her daughter, but a hindrance to her lifestyle. What man would want to slut it up with her when there was a child in the house? There was only so many times a kid could watch the same cartoon VHS tape, before getting bored and wandering into her room, while she was in a compromising position with her latest financial mark. After that, my new “uncles” stopped coming by and my mother disappeared for longer periods of time. Hours turned to days and then to weeks before I learned to just fend for myself. Well, until I became attractive to men, and I could earn my own keep by lying on my back.
The way my skin crawled as they touched me. The vile words that slipped from their mouths as they tried to sweet talk me into giving them possession of my body. And the sheer utter fear of not being left alive the next time, while also wishing for death every single night those men came for me. Obviously, I wasn’t in a mentally stable place. Visions of those horrors flash through my mind, before the honking of the horn brings me crashing back into reality.
I watch as my father ushers my little brother roughly into the waiting car. He slides out of view and my emotional dam shatters as heavy, wet tears streak down my face, while the town car pulls away. The one person in the world who never wanted me, his own daughter, now has the one thing I want most in the world, my brother. The world has a funny way of dishing out a sick and twisted sense of irony.
I thought my mother had only made one mistake in her life, but I couldn’t be more wrong. She may have set me on a path of self-destruction, but I’ll be damned if I let the same thing happen with my brother.
One day soon, he won’t have to go home with that monster.
It may not seem possible now, but that day will come.
After two days of waiting for Voodoo to work his computer wizardry, I finally got to hit the road heading to Ricca. Most men would have taken the fastest route possible, like a plane, when it comes to a matter such as this, but I needed time.
Time to think.
Time to plan.
Time to figure out what the fuck I was going to do if and when I found her.
Voodoo’s information tracked her down to a small town just inside the Kentucky/Indiana state lines, but who knows if she is even still there. It’s been months since she took off, and this could all be some wild goose chase. I couldn’t sit by and wait to see if she would come back to the club and to me. I owed it to myself to at least try.
The club may have saved her life and sheltered her, but she knew a debt like that could never be paid back. As a man, that is something that I would never ask of her and neither would the club. It’s not a small task to bring someone back from the brink of death and get them back on their feet again. I know what it feels like to be lost, hungry, and broken. There’s no coming back from that kind of pain and leading a normal life. There wasn’t for me any way.
Our clubhouse was the only place she could find solace in her past, and she knew that, but she still chose to run. While I had hoped that her mother’s death might be the cause, I wouldn’t allow myself to explain it away so easily. She has her demons, and I knew that going into whatever this is between us. It had always been a flight risk relationship, but I stupidly thought after she’d been there a year, that it was never going to happen, until it did. Assuming she felt safe with the club and myself, got me nowhere until now. Her running fueled the fire inside of me again and gave me a purpose. Find the answers to my questions and try to reach her again. Long shot as it may be, I had to at least try one more time. For her sake, and my own.
The plains of the Midwest zoom by as I ride Route Sixty-Six towards Kentucky. The ride thus far was smooth with decent weather, but Mother Nature was about to give me the finger. The blinding sun, when I started my day on the road, quickly faded into storm clouds. I rode for a few miles and watched the lightning in my path strike the ground one hit after another. With the way this morning had started out, I had hoped to make it to Kentucky before sundown, but the storm ahead was about to rain on my fucking progress for the day.
Realizing that the storm to the east of me wasn’t going to play nice and move out of the way, I pull off onto the road side, and grabbed my rain gear from the saddlebags. I unbuckle my helmet and lay it on the seat of my bike. Tossing the raincoat over my head, I start to feel large, wet drops pinging off the metal of my bike and hear them sizzle from the heat of the running engine.
Shit. I need to move faster.
The rain begins to steadily increase in intensity as I pull off my boots and slip on the rain pants over my jeans. I replace my boots, but my socks are already soaked. That fact alone is going to make this last leg of the trip less enjoyable. Not like arriving at my destination could be called “enjoyable” especially if I walk into the fiery storm of a pissed off Ricca. Honestly, the odds were twenty percent at best for her not trying to clock me for tracking her down, but hey, I’m a betting man. I’ll take what I can get.
Thunder claps as I strap on my helmet and mount my bike.
“Shut the fuck up, Mother Nature. I don’t need a damn reminder of what shit storm I am riding into. I already know,” I mumble under my breath as the thunder rumbles through the air again. “I already fucking know.”
I pop my kickstand and head straight into the storm, cussing the entire way.
Hours later, a tiny road sign with white letters gives me the first sign of hope that I am getting closer to my destination.
“Ten more miles to go,” I say to myself. “Ten more miles to see if she kicks or kisses my ass for showing up here.”
The sun has long since fallen and the darkness of night settles into the quiet of the country road that I find myself traveling on. It’s been miles since I’ve seen a single house or gas station. It’s a reminder of how stupid I might be for even trying to do this. The only kind of person who would run to a place like this is someone who doesn’t want to be found. Am I making a fucking mistake for driving all this way to see her? Self-doubt
creeps in just as the illumination of a small town comes over the hilly horizon. As the lights grow brighter and closer, my heart begins to race.
Jesus, man. Calm the fuck down. You don’t even get this fucking jittery when you’re killing some dumbass motherfucker.
I force myself to shake whatever the hell is going on with me off, just as I enter into the small town. Tiny houses and trailers are alternating on either side of the streets without a soul to be found outside. The rumble of my bike’s engine echoes off the dark houses as I pass by.
Shit. Does anyone even live here anymore? This place looks like a fucking ghost town.
Passing a few more dark streets, I finally see signs of life. There are neon signs of two neighboring bars flashing ahead. I pull into the conjoined parking lot and kill the engine of my bike. The parking lot is nearly half full, which would explain the lack of people roaming around town at this time of night. I mean shit, just because it’s ten o’clock at night doesn’t mean that it’s time to roll up the sidewalks and roads until the next day. I can’t even imagine Ricca staying in a place like this. Then again, the two bars gave her options at least.
In the year or more that I have known her, she’s been pretty much a night owl. Rarely did I ever come back to my room and find her asleep, before three o’clock in the morning. Hell, half the time it was almost dawn before she settled down. She would get so pissed at me when I’d purposely make noise to wake her up, but it was a part of the fun I liked to have with her. Ricca would scrunch up her eyes as soon as I turned the light on and huff at me. Even pissed off, she was still beautiful sprawled out in my bed. Her long, blonde hair used to fan over to my side of the bed, and just getting a chance to smell her on my pillow, was enough for me while she healed. I took the chances she gave me, and this time I had a game of chance to play myself.
