I. Hate. Him.
I need to get to him. I want to kill him, and I know I can. I push against the officers again, trying to take them off guard, however they stop me short. The next thing I know, I’m being drug backwards toward the chain link fence. The metal of the fence clanks loudly as I’m slammed in to it.
“You fucking killed her!” I shout. “You fucking killed her!” I scream then scream it again. “You fucking killed her!” I can’t stop. He killed Presley and now he’s killed this family. Jeremy has singlehandedly destroyed our family, and it will never be what it once was. I will never forgive him. I can assure that. I will only hate. Because the minute I saw the bundles of white powder fall from his backpack, every shred of love, trust and devotion dissolved only to be replaced by hate, doubt and apathy.
***
Several minutes go by, hell, maybe even hours go by. I don’t really know. All I know is that, from the moment my brother admitted he has been working as a drug dealer with Carter, betrayal and hate have become the only emotions remaining inside of me.
After the officers confirm I’m was calmed down enough, they take the handcuffs off my wrists as well as Reggie’s. The three of us—Reggie, Darcie and me—stand in the middle of the driveway completely dumbfounded and shocked. There are no words to say because no words can even come close to explaining how unreal the last hour has been.
I take Mia from Darcie’s arms and hold my sleeping baby against my chest. The anger reappears when I think of what Jeremy has done to my daughter. He knew what he was doing when he got involved with Carter, and now he’s taken a mother from her child. I am so mad that I can feel my skin heat and tense as the rage begins to boil under the surface. Turning my body toward the backyard, I take deep breaths in and out, expelling the rage slowly.
I can hear Reggie in the background; he’s on the phone with his lawyer, Tom Willington, explaining the situation. I try to get a grip on myself. I can’t let my baby see me lose it anymore. This poor child has been through so much in her short life that part of me is concerned she will grow up with issues. I know she’s small, but will she be mentally scarred from the trauma? The thought disgusts and worries me all at the same time. I don’t want her to be fucked up like the rest of us. All I want is for my baby to be happy and loved.
“Mr. Evans? Drake Evans?” I turn around to see two police officers are surrounding a short, older woman with ratty hair and wearing clothes from the 1980s.
Clasping Mia tighter in my arms, I’m immediately concerned. “Yes?”
“My name is Charlotte Raines. I’m with Child Protection Services.” She hands me her card. My gut clenches and my heart races. The boiling anger is surfacing again, but I do my best to keep it at bay. “I’ve been called by the local authorities to remove this child from her home. They alerted our department of the unsafe living conditions and possible neglect while she lives in your care.”
“You’re not taking my child.” My voice is low but laced with power. Over my dead body will they take my kid from me.
When the officers move to my arms, reaching forward to grab Mia from me, I step back quickly, evading their advances. “Sir, you will be arrested if you do not comply. Please, just give us the baby and you can visit with the office in the morning.”
“Like hell I will!” I shout, startling Mia awake. Reggie and Darcie move to my side, blocking the police’s ability to grab my daughter.
“What grounds do you have to take her?” Reggie asks, his voice as furious as mine.
“Unsafe living conditions and possible neglect,” the CPS worker answers again.
This is not happening. If I lose Mia, I will have nothing. She is the only link I have to Presley and I’m the only blood related family Mia has. We’re all we have left. I will not lose her. I can’t lose her.
“I’m not giving you my daughter. She’s never been neglected by anyone and this house,” I motion to the back of our house, “this is the safest place she will ever be. So I will tell you again,” I look right into the CPS worker’s eyes. “You’re not taking my daughter.”
The CPS worker is joined by several more police officers and suddenly the three of us are being swarmed. They divide and conquer, separating Reggie and Darcie from me. Then a man of my equal size approaches. He’s built and it looks like his arms are about to rip the sleeves of his shirt. “One last time, sir—please hand over the child.”
“Fuck. You.” I seethe in his direction.
The smallest smirk comes from his lips when an equally large forearm is being secured around my throat. I’m holding Mia tightly to my chest, but I’m losing my battle with breathing. Then, from nowhere, the burley police officer rips my daughter from my arms and quickly hands her over to the CPS worker.
“NOOOOOO!” I scream in their faces. I move to charge the officers, but I’m soon restrained once again as four men tackle me to the ground. Two of them are sitting on my back, each one holding my arms behind my back while the other has his knee digging between my shoulder blades. My face is scraping against the concrete and pain is shooting everywhere in my body, yet I refuse to acknowledge it.
“You can’t take her from me! She’s all I have left!” I plead into the air as I watch the CPS worker disappear from my sight, carrying my crying baby down the driveway.
She’s gone. I stop struggling as I watch my baby vanish from my life. The small glimmer of hope I’ve developed over the last few days has vanished as the rest of my soul is being ripped from my arms. My body falls limp into the cold pavement. My vision fades from red to purple then to black as everything I’ve ever had evaporates.
Chapter Four
Drake
Reggie helps me off the ground as the officers finally leave after a day of hell. The side of my face is torn up from my head being pressed into the concrete. I’m slowing dying all over again, but this time it’s much worse. My insides are gradually falling apart, and I can’t get a handle on anything I’m feeling.
When I lost Presley, I thought nothing could compare to losing her, but I was wrong.
There are no words to explain the helplessness I feel at having my baby ripped from my arms and watching her disappear from my sight. She is innocent. Mia has done nothing wrong, and tonight she has been forced to suffer the consequences of Jeremy’s stupidity.
After trudging up the stairs, I furiously stomp to my bedroom, slamming the door closed. Agony is evaporating as the anger sets in. I turn to my wall and start punching the shit out of it. I slam my fist into the drywall, sinking it deeper and deeper with every blow.
This whole time Jeremy knew how distraught I was after Presley’s overdose, and yet, he said nothing. That was the time for him to say something—to confess his mistakes. Wait? Did he know she was involved with Carter before she overdosed? Was he hiding this from me because he wanted to save face with his drug connections?
The very thought infuriates me even more, causing my fist to drive into wall again.
Several minutes pass, and my breathing is labored. I have holes covering the entire wall in my bedroom, and I don’t give a fuck. I exit my room and go to the kitchen to get a drink. I haven’t tasted alcohol since the day of Presley’s funeral, but now it seems like the right time to get annihilated.
I open up the cupboard, seeing the bottles are dwindling down to nothing. I’m not the only one nursing the hurt with liquor. Jake probably has been drinking, too. He’s been off since Presley’s funeral, and I know he’s been coming home wasted every night from the bar—more than normal.
I reach for the last clear bottle in the cupboard and down the vodka. It burns the back of my throat. I choke slightly as I soak my mouth in an attempt to become numb. I take another long chug when Reggie rounds the corner into the kitchen.
I haven’t looked at him in weeks. I haven’t really looked at anyone in weeks. As I finally focus on him, I see that he looks worn out. Stress undoubtedly has taken over his appearance, making him look older.
“Yo
u might want to take it easy with that.” His voice is demanding, pissing me off. What does he know anyways? His life has never taken a turn so horrible, therefore he really doesn’t have a say on how I deal with my emotions.
“And why’s that?” I ask without really caring what his answer is.
“I’ve reached out to Cindy—the social worker who helped me get custody of Presley—and she’s assigning herself to Mia’s case.” Reggie moves in closer and stands in front of me, crossing his arms over his chest—his typical authoritative stance. “Apparently, she’s managing things in the department now and has the authority to get things moving.”
“Thank you,” I whisper back to Reggie and then take another sip. The liquor is starting to take effect as my limbs start to go numb. The pain from today starts to slowly wash away in my now vodka soaked system.
Reggie motions for the bottle by stretching his hand out to me. “Hand it over, Drake. You have a meeting with Cindy in the morning, and if you go in smelling like booze, I highly doubt things will go well for you.”
Reluctantly, I pass the bottle over to Reggie and watch him screw the cap on then put the bottle back into the cupboard. He shakes his head at the empty cupboard. “Looks like Jake’s been self-medicating, too.”
“I better call Rich at the plant and tell him what happened. I sort of left without saying a word. Hopefully I still have job there. I can’t afford to be without a job right now.”
I move from the kitchen and quickly call Rich’s cell phone, leaving a message. I know my job is now in jeopardy, however my family will always come before a job. Mia is my priority, and getting her back into my arms is the only concern I have now.
Once my message is left, I head to the bathroom, stripping my body of its clothes and standing under the warm water of the shower. I face the stream falling from the faucet and bend my head forward. Using my left hand, I plant my palm on the wall of the shower to keep myself upright as the water streams down my back. My shoulders, back and arms throb from the police restraining me, yet nothing hurts more than reliving Mia being ripped from my arms. The physical pain of her being jerked from my body hurts more than anything I’ve ever experienced.
I can feel the emotions bubble to the surface again when I think of my baby in someone’s house. I can hear her screaming as she’s being escorted down the driveway. Her arms stretched out toward me, begging me to save her. The sight and sound is gutting. I’ve been sliced apart once again. It’s too much to handle right now. The constant ache settled in my chest feels like it’s been sliced wide open, bleeding profusely now that I’ve lost my daughter.
I vowed to Presley days ago not to worry about Mia—that she’d always be protected—and I failed once more. I couldn’t protect her. I’ve failed. I’m a failure.
I was doing so well—I haven’t cried in a week—but this…is too much. I clench my fist at my side and punch the shower wall with the other hand as I allow the hurt to seep from my body once again.
***
Darcie, Reggie and I spend the next two days cleaning up the house. It is a total wreck as we walk over broken and dismantled objects from our life. Picture frames in the living room are shattered. DVDs are scattered all over the place. Worse yet, Mia’s room is destroyed; her toys and clothes cover the floor.
I bend down to pick up a framed picture of Presley and Mia, becoming infuriated. The glass is splintered and it distorts the image held in the frame. This is the final straw.
My life needs a change, and it will have one, starting with getting my baby girl back. Looking at the broken picture is the wakeup call I need to get my life back in order. I once had order, and after everything that’s happened, I need it to be restored. I need the control back. It’s the only way I knew how to live before, and over the last three years, the order has been slowly dismantling, but no longer.
My appointment with Cindy at the CPS office went well. She has expedited the paperwork to the courts and I have a hearing next week. She feels confident I will get Mia back. In the meantime, I will need to hang in there—Cindy’s words, not mine. I’m barely hanging on. She has informed me that Mia is staying with a good foster family and is well cared for, but I don’t give a shit. She’s not with me. Therefore, she’s not well cared for. Only I know how to take care of my baby.
I’ve talked to Rich after everything that has happened. He’s told me he can’t guarantee me a position. I have a week to get my shit together, or they will replace me on the crane. I can’t afford to be without a job, and the crane operator position makes a pretty good salary. I know Rich is going out on a limb to keep me employed, but my baby comes first. And if it costs me my job, then so be it.
***
It’s been five extremely long days. I just got off the phone with Cindy, who has a hearing scheduled on Monday. The house has been put back together with the exception of the basement. The energy in the house is hateful, though.
Reggie and Darcie are at each other’s throats because she’s siding with Jeremy. Well, not siding with him, but she understands why he has done what he did. I, on the other hand, won’t even fathom any other idea than Jeremy is a selfish prick who royally fucked up. Reggie is appalled at Jeremy selling drugs to make money. He and Darcie go rounds about how it’s no different than Jeremy hustling at drag races for cash, but Reggie doesn’t see it that way. And neither do I.
We were raised by a drug addicted woman who ultimately chose drugs over us kids. When Reggie taught Jake and Jeremy the hustle game, he was clear from the start to never get involved in the drug game; it will only fuck up your life.
And now, Jeremy will have to eat those very words as he spends the next several years rotting away in prison.
My thoughts are disrupted when Jake comes trudging through the door. Darcie picked him up an hour ago from jail and apparently he received another slap on the wrist. Tom Willington has been able to get Jake off on the assault charges because the one person the DEA truly has wanted is locked up.
I have heard through random conversations that Ronnie was arrested the day after Jeremy. I’m happy about that. Ronnie won’t last a single day in prison, especially when he’s turned into someone’s bitch. He’s weak and I hate him. Just as I hate my own brother and the murderer of Presley. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate the three of them.
“Hey,” Jake says while popping a can of Mountain Dew.
“Hey,” I say back, not really wanting to have a conversation, but I have missed my brother. “How was jail?”
Jake looks over at me like I’ve lost my mind, and I can tell he wants to snap at me, but right as the anger surfaces, it dissolves just as quickly. “Oh…it was a fucking joy. When do you get Axl back?” Jake looks at me through pitiful eyes and I know he’s hurting just as much as the rest of us.
“I have a hearing on Monday, and if all goes well, I will get her back on Tuesday. It’s been almost a week and I’m going out of my mind.” Jake nods in agreement and slaps his hand on my shoulder.
“Are you going to Jeremy’s sentencing?” I’m really not sure why he asks, however Jake’s been in jail for the last week and really has no idea what my thoughts are toward our brother.
The anger skyrockets through my body and my fists instantly ball up. “I want nothing to do with him, and frankly, I hope he gets the fully twenty years. The fucker deserves it.” I glare at Jake, my eyes set to kill and my voice laced with fury.
He backs off the conversation instantly, sensing my anger.“Well… I’m off to shower. I feel gross and probably smell like a homeless man’s ball sack.” I try to smile at Jake’s joke, but it’s too hard. Smiling used to be easy, but now I’m too angry to do anything. The only person deserving of my smile is Mia.
I head back to my room and flop myself down on the bed. My mind is completely consumed with Presley…and now Mia. I don’t have room to think of anyone else, especially a traitor like Jeremy.
Chapter Five
Drake ~ 11 Months Later
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br /> It’s Saturday night, my one free night to forget about the pain in my life and get obliterated. I drive to The Slab and park in the back next to Reggie’s Camaro then make my way to my designated seat at the bar. The noise hits me like a brick, but the sight of booze calms me immediately. I sit at the far end of the bar, closest to the opening and the farthest place from other patrons, and begin to drink myself stupid.
I don’t talk to anyone. I don’t want to make friends or have pleasant conversations. I just want to get drunk then go home and pass out. I don’t have to care for my daughter tonight. I can sit and drink everything away, allowing my tense shoulders to relax slightly as I chug beer after beer.
Tonight, like every Saturday night, Mia and Mrs. Fields are having their weekly slumber party. Since Mia turned two, Mrs. Fields has asked if she can spend the night so they can do fun girl things together. Mia loves Mrs. Fields and I wouldn’t come between them. Then, on Sundays, I go over for lunch and spend the afternoon with the two of them.
It’s been comforting to have Mrs. Fields in my life, and I think she’s picked up on that. Mrs. Fields’s daughter lives several hours away with her only grandchild, and having Mia and I around gives her purpose. So for the last couple of months, I spend Saturday nights drunk and Sundays with the only two women in my life.
As for the rest of my family, I really don’t have too much interaction with them—only when it requires me to do so. For the most part, they leave me alone. Of course, we still have conversations, and I know the remaining members of my family care for me, but they don’t know how to deal with me. In true Evans fashion, they just leave me be and are probably waiting for me to make the first move.
The mood in the house has changed dramatically since Delilah has moved in. For a while there I was so sure Reggie and Darcie were going to split, as angry as they would get toward each other. There were many nights when something would get broken, voices would elevate and tears would inevitably be shed, yet the moment Delilah moved in, her happy personality became infectious to everyone. Well, everyone but me.
Surviving Love Page 3
