Ugly Young Thing

by Jennifer Jaynes

  Sweet sixteen.

  Her muscles relaxed when she remembered she was with Johnny. He wasn’t a client. He was her boyfriend. Well, maybe he wouldn’t call himself that, but she liked to. He was from California, but he was driving a truck delivering baked goods from Texas to Oklahoma for the year to raise money for college tuition. They’d met late one night at a diner outside of Houston and had been together ever since.

  She loved being close to Johnny. Loved curling up against his hard, warm body when they slept at night. Loved feeling his breath tickle her face as he slept. It lulled her so much it usually sent her back to sleep for another hour, until he gently shook her awake so they could get back on the road. In fact, Johnny had been the only man aside from her brother who she’d ever even liked. She was hoping that he would save her.

  She turned to face him.

  And found his side of the bed empty.

  Her bare feet hit the carpet. She peered around the corner to see if there was a light on in the section of the small bathroom that housed the toilet.

  There wasn’t.

  His duffel bag? Her eyes darted to the corner where he always left it.

  Crap! Gone, too.

  His keys. He couldn’t go anywhere without his keys. Were they still there?

  She hurried to the little round table next to the window and saw that they were also gone. In their place was an unopened pack of Camel Lights, a twenty-dollar bill, and a note scrawled on the back of a guide to the motel’s cable channels.

  Li’l Bit,

  It was real fun getting to know you.

  Now go home and do something with your life while you still can.

  xoxo

  Johnny

  “No!” Her shoulders slumped forward and she began to sob.

  Johnny had been nice and handsome and funny. She could’ve grown to love him, even. Well, if she hadn’t already. Maybe he could’ve been someone she could’ve grown old with. Someone she could’ve belonged to. Someone who could’ve taken good care of her.

  She searched for the bottle of vodka that she always kept handy, but it was empty. Sighing, she drew the curtains and sunlight spilled into the room. Squinting out at the parking lot only confirmed his rig was gone. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Ripping open the cigarette pack, she shook out a cigarette and lit it, then took a long, desperate drag.

  She had known it would only be a matter of time until Johnny would decide to leave her. She had been stupid to think he wouldn’t.

  Everyone abandoned her at some point.

  Her father, when she was just two years old. Her mother, when she was twelve. Then her brother . . . and every other man she’d met over the past nine months since she’d been on the road.

  She knew people considered her beautiful. Stunning, even. And it wasn’t just something she’d made up. Everyone said it.

  Such a pretty young thing, they’d always say.

  People had seemed spellbound with her looks when she was a little girl. But when she turned twelve and started budding breasts, she noticed that her looks began to polarize people.

  The stares she got from the men suddenly turned from innocent admiration to something that felt greedy . . . sometimes downright dirty. Women began to see her as a threat, their faces hardening just at the sight of her.

  She didn’t understand it because she thought she was far from pretty. Yes, since adolescence, she had learned to cover some of her flaws with makeup, and she was careful to hide most of her bad angles and avoid harsh lighting when possible. But still, it baffled her because when others looked at her, they seemed to see someone completely different than the girl who stared back at her in the mirror. The girl who, when she wasn’t very careful, looked hopelessly grotesque.

  Almost like a monster.

  The relationship between her and her brother changed, too. He suddenly became aloof, distrusting, distant . . . and wanted nothing to do with her anymore. The harder she tried to be close to him, the more he resisted. And he’d been the only person she had ever truly cared about.

  When she was younger he had taken good care of her and comforted her when she needed it. But then, things changed . . . and she’d somehow become the enemy.

  She slumped lower in the tattered chair next to the window. Suddenly, she was as lonely and exhausted as she could ever remember being.

  Without her brother and without Johnny, there was no point.

  CHAPTER 3

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Allie was still slumped over, smoking at the little table in the motel room. The sun was higher in the sky and people were emerging from their own ratty rooms. She watched enviously as families packed SUVs and minivans. Everyone seemed to be heading somewhere this morning.

  Everyone but her.

  She already missed Johnny. When she was with him, the big knots in her stomach loosened and she managed to pull more air into her lungs. Most nights he even held her in his strong arms. Something no one had ever done.

  He had been the only one who had been truly nice to her for a longish period of time. And he’d been honest from the start. He’d said he wasn’t in it for the long haul and one day would have to leave without her. He also said he could never take her home to his family.

  And, of course, she knew why. She simply wasn’t good enough.

  She had done her best to keep Johnny. When he was around, she was always carefully made up, moisturized, and scented. She worked hard at strategically displaying her body, the only part of herself she was proud of.

  She was also careful to always be situated to the right of him, so he could see the better side of her face, and she kept her chin pointing in all the right directions, so he didn’t see her many bad angles.

  Even while they slept, she wore a full face of dime-store makeup, so very careful not to expose her natural looks. Looks that often alarmed her. She was careful to present the image of someone she desperately wanted to be . . . an image that he must’ve finally seen through.

  She’d also let down her guard lately, something she knew she shouldn’t have done. It first happened one night while she was keeping Johnny company on his usual route, a run from Houston to Bridge Creek, Oklahoma. She was sitting in the passenger side of the rig sucking the jelly out of a donut and sipping a chilled Corona when she drunkenly admitted she was only fifteen. He spit out his Dr Pepper.

  “So if you’re from Louisiana and only fifteen, how the hell did you end up way out here?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I hitched rides.”

  “At fifteen? My mother barely let me out of her sight at fifteen. Besides, I didn’t know shit back then.”

  Allie was beginning to think she didn’t know shit either. Nine months before, she seemed to have more answers. Now, she was more than a little lost . . . and more desperate than ever.

  “C’mon, things couldn’t have been that bad at home,” he prodded.

  “Yeah, well, they were. Besides, there’s no one left.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She stared out the window. “It’s a long story.”

  “Well, we’re about a hundred miles from our next stop, so I’m pretty sure I have the time. Go ahead. Tell me.”

  Allie took a deep breath and then, stupidly, blurted it all out. She told him about her father abandoning the family. About her mother being a prostitute . . . and how she used to dump bodies in the pond behind Allie’s childhood house. About how the woman had abused her brother and how screwed up he’d become. Then, about how her brother killed their mother and ended up taking care of Allie. How he paid the bills and bought the food but then became sick in the head and began hurting people, too.

  “Nine months ago he killed himself, and now there’s just me. That’s what I mean when I say I’m all alone.”

  Allie’s stomach knotted as she squeezed the last of the words out because as she was telling her story, she’d gotten the sense that she was doing something wrong. As though she were making a huge mistake telling Johnny the truth ab
out where she’d come from. About who she was.

  There’s a reason you don’t talk much, Allie. You just remember that, she reminded herself.

  The two rode in silence. Allie stared down at the remains of the jelly donut on her hand and wished she could undo the last few minutes.

  “And you’re telling me no one is looking for you?”

  Allie shrugged.

  Johnny turned and stared at her, then his eyes went back to the road. For a moment, the silence was deafening. Then he started laughing.

  Allie frowned, thoroughly confused. But after a few seconds, she got it. He thought she was joking.

  “You have quite the imagination, Li’l Bit!” he said, then began laughing some more. “Oh my. Really, you’re something else! C’mon, give me that beer. I think you’ve had too much!”

  Allie found herself laughing, too—out of relief—because she realized that if he had believed her there was a good chance he wouldn’t want her around anymore. That he wouldn’t save her.

  Now, sitting in front of the motel room window, she lit another cigarette and chastised herself. She should’ve known he was about to leave. After three weeks of traveling back and forth together on his pastry routes, out of nowhere two mornings ago he’d just said, “Go home, Allie. Surely someone misses you. Besides, you have no clue who I really am.” His blue eyes had held hers as he said it. And it was the very first time she’d ever seen him look so serious.

  But he was wrong. No one missed her.

  Everything she’d said in the rig had been true. And she didn’t care who he truly was. She would like him no matter what. After all, who was she to judge anyone?

  After two hours and smoking all but three of the cigarettes, she finally rose. Her heart knocked angrily against her chest. The nicotine hadn’t calmed her one bit. In fact, it seemed to have done the opposite.

  Her situation was beyond hopeless and she was miles beyond exhausted. She had nothing and no one. The world was a frightening place. And a place where she had never seemed to belong. She was tired and just wanted it all to end.

  She stuck her hand in her brother’s backpack and rummaged around her belongings, drawing out a bottle of pills she’d stolen from a truck driver. She examined the label and wondered if there were enough of them to end it all—the whole miserable mess of her life.

  She went to the room’s little bathroom to fill up an empty beer bottle with water from the sink. Then she sat on the bed and took the pills two at a time—a total of twenty-three—until the bottle was empty.

  The air conditioner kicked on, the fan sputtering. She walked back into the filthy bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Her gray eyes were puffy and raw. Black mascara coated her cheeks, and a thin stream of clear snot had worked its way out of a nostril.

  No wonder no one loves you. You’re hideous.

  Drawing warm water into the tub, she undressed, stepped in, and lit another cigarette. Then she lay against the fiberglass and closed her eyes, welcoming the comfort of drifting away from her world. Away from the unbearable loneliness.

  And hopefully toward her brother again.

  CHAPTER 4

  THE PRETTY BLONDE from the supermarket was in the master bathroom, running a bath.

  He waited in the adjoining bedroom just inside the doorway, listening to her each and every movement. Hunting knife in hand, he stood motionless, enjoying the adrenaline rush. The heat coursing through his veins.

  His short stint as a small-town local was making him claustrophobic. He was ready to be back in the big city. But he couldn’t leave yet. No, he had to wait. He had responsibilities. People who finally needed to be taken care of.

  She splashed quietly every now and then. But for the most part, she was quiet. She was reading a novel. He’d watched as she had taken it in with her. Some sort of thriller.

  Apparently, she likes to be afraid.

  A few minutes earlier, she’d walked from the bedroom into the bathroom, her firm little naked backside swaying left to right. She was holding a bottle of wine, a glass, and something else. Something odd.

  A freshly sharpened knife.

  Strange, he thought.

  Eerie even.

  In fact, during his first thirty minutes of being there, he’d watched her sharpen two knives in the kitchen. She’d placed one beneath her pillow before disappearing into the bathroom. The other was now in the bathroom with her.

  He smiled to himself. As if wielding a knife against someone like me will keep you safe.

  Maybe the knife had something to do with the thriller she was reading. Maybe the book had her just a little freaked out. Although he had watched her check the locks on all the doors and windows of the house, perhaps she was still feeling insecure. If she was, she had good reason to be. It had taken him less than a minute to pick the cheap lock on the back door.

  Since he’d been in the house, he had learned several things about the woman. From the books strewn around her room to the affirmations scribbled on several sticky notes she had posted on various mirrors and walls, he could interpret her most private concerns.

  She was having relationship troubles, or had at some point in her life.

  She was seeking advice on getting out of debt.

  And, she wanted to lose weight.

  He thought her body was perfect. In fact, it looked much better naked than when it was in clothes. Luckily he’d been in eyeshot when she undressed and had been able to commit the image to memory. It was a memory he could replay over and over as much as he liked.

  Wherever he liked.

  She had small but perky breasts, a nice slender stomach, narrow hips, and strong, lean legs. Her behind was small, but high, taut, and plump in all the right places.

  Splashes from the bathroom. She was moving around in there again. He tensed and another surge of adrenaline poured through him. When she became still again, his gaze went back to her things.

  Her bed was unmade. She had tossed her panties, bra, and a pair of jeans on the floor. A T-shirt was also balled up on her bureau next to a dirty plate and a previously used wineglass.

  She was a slob. She should be putting her efforts into keeping her space clean, not trying to lose weight. It put him on edge to see things in such disarray.

  More splashes, these louder. She was getting out of the bath.

  He smiled again and went to his hiding place.

  CHAPTER 5

  DUST SWIRLED IN the blistering air as the black Grand Cherokee sped away. Standing on the dirt drive, Allie lit a cigarette and stared at the small house . . . a place she hadn’t seen in nine months. Since the night she’d watched her brother kill himself.

  She inhaled a combination of smoke and putrid bayou air, then retched. Her eyes watered and the lining of her throat felt as though it had been scalded with acid. She had never felt so sick. It had been a whole day since she’d vomited the pills in the motel room and the pain hadn’t eased a bit.

  Back in the motel bathtub, the pills came back up, but after about five minutes of retching, she thought for sure she was still going to die.

  Just not painlessly, like she had hoped.

  Naked and shivering, she’d crawled out of the tub, across the dirty, threadbare carpet, and retreated back into bed, where she dry-heaved until she was kicked out of the room by the day manager, who had demanded thirty dollars for another day in order for her to stay. She would’ve given it to him, but all she had was the twenty-dollar bill that Johnny had given her, plus a little loose change.

  She was such a loser.

  She couldn’t even manage to kill herself right.

  Sick and dazed, Allie had stood, clinging to her stomach, outside the motel for what seemed an eternity before she was able to untangle her thoughts enough to figure out where she could go.

  Just a place to rest until she didn’t hurt so much.

  Then slowly, it had hit her. The only place possible, really. The house in Grand Trespass, Louisiana, where she had live
d with her brother. Her childhood house. The town that was little more than a pit stop for people who were going to real places, traveling the I-10 highway. It was a sad little place. And technically it wasn’t even in Grand Trespass proper, but in Weston, an even smaller and drearier town.

  It had taken Allie twenty-four hours and rides from four different men, but she’d gotten there. The problem was she was too afraid to go in.

  She swallowed hard. Just seeing the house again made the reality of all that had happened there so much more real. She dragged on her cigarette and stared at a used hypodermic needle next to her foot.

  The tall grass and wiry weeds had grown tall, strangling the old house. Old, faded strips of yellow police tape littered the sun-beaten front porch, and nasty graffiti in large red letters blared hateful things about her family against the peeling siding. Reading the words stung, and her knees grew so weak they came close to buckling.

  Allie had been staring at the house for almost an hour when a searing pain shot through the center of her stomach, doubling her over and forcing her to finally go in.

  It was now time. She had to lie down . . . to sleep.

  Clutching her stomach, she shuffled up the dusty gravel path that led to the house and climbed the rickety porch steps.

  She froze.

  A skeleton of a dead cat—isolated tufts of coarse black fur still attached to its backside and tail—rested in the corner of one of the stairs. She wondered if it was the cat she’d been feeding during her last weeks in the house. The cat she’d heard her brother call “Ian.”

  Her eyes went to the front window. The glass was completely gone, leaving nothing but a dark, gaping hole into the living room. The front door was also ajar.

  She opened the screen door, then pushed the wooden door wider, breathing in the musty odor of the neglected house. The scents of mold, decay, and urine flooded her nostrils. It looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to the room. Fragments of glass, drywall, stuffing, and pieces of furniture littered the floor. The couch slumped over with broken springs. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust.