by Shelly Crane
This girl… I shook my head and smirked at Mason. "Not sampled the goods yet, brother? She's mighty skittish."
"Shut your face, Milo," he stood and growled.
I was actually taken aback a little. This was as worked up as I'd ever seen him. And over a girl of all things? Holy crap. He was in love with this chick. I felt my hatred soften a little before snapping it back in place. I rubbed my neck again on that itchy, cold spot.
"Whoa, Nelly," I joked. "Calm the eff down. It was just an observation."
I laughed. It sounded strange even to my ears. It sounded like a sick person's laugh. I glanced at Emma and felt a little bad at the embarrassed way she tucked her hair behind her ears. I squinted. Was there a story there I didn't know?
"I'm Milo," I mocked. "Nice to meet you, princess."
"We've met before, and you know it," she countered easily.
"Yeah," I muttered and rubbed my cold neck. "I remember. You held my hair back as I puked." I laughed condescendingly.
"Basically." She smiled, not falling for my ploys to piss her off. "You're welcome, by the way."
I didn't respond to the beauty queen. I just pointlessly stirred my root beer. She was beautiful to the point of distraction—sweet and annoying all wrapped up in one—and I could tell she had my brother wrapped around her finger, whether she knew it or not.
And it pissed me off. Mason shouldn't be so freaking happy.
And he was, I could tell. He watched her when she wasn't looking. His entire presence shifted when she did. Thankfully, the waitress brought our food, and just as I was taking a bite, I saw the ring on Emma's finger.
"You're getting married?" I heard my gravelly voice ask.
Emma pulled her hands into her lap, as if unsure if I was supposed to know that. Mason lifted his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, kissing her temple. It shocked the hell out of me how much I wanted to be happy for him.
"Yeah," he said low. "I asked Emma to marry me."
I didn’t ask when or how. I didn’t care.
"And she said yes," he continued harder.
"That's great," I spouted sarcastically with a mouthful of food.
"And Mom's doing fine, too, by the way."
"I didn't ask," I growled and took another bite. I could see I was going to have to get out of here so the food-shoveling kicked up a notch.
"She has a nurse who comes and helps take care of her. I work with her every day on her exercises, but she still can't walk. She and Emma get along great, too. Emma was one of my patients and lost her memory as well."
I jerked my gaze up to the beauty queen. She was watching me with parted lips, her eyes practically begging me to give in to Mason and stop the feud. I wondered if she knew what Mason had done, how Mason had—
Mason leaned forward and glared as he barked, "Don't look at her like that. And yes, I told her all about me. How I'm the devil who destroyed your life and Mamma's. How I killed my best friend." She gripped his arm, tugging on it and pleading with him to stop. "She knows it all."
They stared at each other, and I believed him that they had talked about it. It looked like they had talked about it plenty, in fact, but I could also tell she kissed his boo-boos and made him think that it was all okay.
But it wasn't.
I chugged my root beer and grabbed both pieces of toast, wrapped them in a napkin and stuck them in my pocket, scooting down the bench seat. "I'm out of here."
"Will you just eat, Milo," Mason said in exasperation. "I'm not going to make you come home. Just eat."
"You couldn't make me," I spat. I stood and leaned right in his face with my palms on the table. "Always trying to run my life. Good ol' Mason." I saw him flinch slightly at that. He stood, too, licking his lips angrily in an attempt to calm himself. "I hate you so much. You killed our mother."
"Our mother is alive," he replied loudly.
People in the restaurant were now privy to our conversation, but I went even louder. "What she is isn't alive! When she doesn't even remember me?"
"She remembers you," he countered.
"Not in the right way."
"She remembers you in the most important way. In the only way that truly matters."
"What could be worse than her not remembering me as I am?"
"Not remembering you at all," Emma said, barely. She looked up, her eyes dark. "When I woke up from my coma, I didn't remember anyone. Not my parents, or my friends, even the guy I had been dating. I still don't." Mason sighed, as if all of this was exhausting. "It could be worse, Milo. She could not remember you at all."
"Doesn't matter," I steamed ahead, unwilling to let them deter me. "The fact is that you ruined my mom. It's pointless to even go see her because she won't remember I've been there."
"Doesn't matter," he spouted back at me. "Doesn't negate the fact that you should come see her."
"Ooh," I mocked. "Using big words on little high school drop-out Milo. Whatever."
I turned to go, scratching my cold neck and feeling the rawness of my skin begin to set in. He grabbed my arm and before I knew it, I was looking at Mason holding his jaw as he leaned back against the table. Emma fussed over the blood coming from his lip with a napkin. I hadn't even realized I hit him until my hand started to ache. The entire diner was watching us with these looks of disgust on their faces. Well, they were watching me.
I shook out my fingers, wincing but not regretting it. I turned to go once more and heard Mason from behind me. "I love you, bro." That stopped me in my tracks. I didn't turn around. "I love you, and I know you won't ever forgive me. It took me a long time to forgive me. I would still hate me if Emma hadn't come along and showed me that I couldn't blame myself forever. It was an accident, nothing but. I not only lost my best friend that day because he wouldn't listen to me and drove anyway, and my mom, the way she was, but I lost you, too. I take care of Mom; I became a physical therapist to take care of her. But you, I don't know what to do for you, Milo. I don't know how to help you. If you ever need anything or want to come home, the door's always wide open. Always. I love you, even if you can't love me back."
I hated the fact that he made me want to turn around, to make-up and forget everything that happened.
I hated him. I hated all he'd done. I hated how he tried to reconcile every time I saw him. And I hated that he was getting this great, perfect little life with a wife and probably kids on day.
I didn't look back again as I weaved through the tables on my way out. He yelled my name and something about giving me some money. I should have taken it, and would have had it been anyone else, but I didn't want his money.
I walked for a long time to a friend's apartment over the Irish Mug bar. Not only would he let me crash, but more than likely he had some smoke he'd front me. After Mason's little haphazard intervention, I needed it. I crossed the street to the bar and heard the honking before seeing the bright lights. I raised my hand and saw the car screeching to a stop right in front of me. The driver cursed and honked. I flipped him off and kept walking across the road. I heard him peel away as I climbed the stairs on the side of the building to my friend's apartment. The bar was hopping; the music was so loud I couldn't even hear my footsteps on the stairs.
I knocked, but knew my friend couldn't hear me, so I tried the handle. When it turned, I pushed it open. He had called me a few times, but I never checked my messages. My phone was basically a drug ferry. I never used it except for making a drug buy or to find a friend to stay with because minutes cost too much for someone who never had money. I had odd jobs sometimes, but after you don't show up on time for a few days in a row, they can you. That was the only way I could buy minutes and buy weed on a regular basis. Usually, I floated until my next paycheck, whenever that may be, and friends would front me things if I didn't have the money.
But I was a little behind right now and owed a few people. Okay, a lot of people, and a lot of money. Even the friend I was going to see had threatened to cut me off if I didn't p
ay him something. I usually avoided the ones I owed money to.
I'd gotten into the other side of the business a couple times, but didn't sell much of it when I smoked it or snorted it instead. I had my foot broken once for not paying up when they realized the drugs were all gone and it was me who had used them.
I still walked with a little limp because I couldn't go to the hospital without them calling Mason or my mom. My friend put a makeshift cast on me, and I practically dragged the thing for a few weeks.
Nikko's place was dark, and I couldn't hear anything but the noise below us. I turned the corner to find him on the couch, some girl on his lap. I turned around to keep her naked behind out of my sight. I heard him curse.
"Milo! What the hell, man?"
"Sorry, uh…" I peeked back, but it was still too soon and turned back around. "I wanted to see if I could crash here."
"Damn it, Milo…" He kissed her, I heard the smacking, and told her he'd see her later, that he needed to take care of something. She walked by me and gave me a sullen look for ruining her night. I turned to find him pulling a black wife-beater on. "Dude, you can't just come in like that."
"I knocked. The music's too loud." I stuffed my hands into my pockets. "Let me crash, okay?"
"Milo." He shook his head. "You look like a heap of hell, man."
"That's because I haven't had anything all day and my nosey brother wanted to flaunt his hot girlfriend in my face."
He sighed. "There's nothing wrong with getting lit on the weekends and making a living off selling, but you...you're not just having fun anymore. You're hooked. You're hooked, messing with deals you shouldn't, and people are looking for you." He took a step forward and looked at me sadly. "I tried to help you. I knew you had it rough at home, but…you can't stay here, man. Go."
Oh. It wasn't sadness he had for me—it was pity.
"Just for the night," I begged.
"I can't." He gulped and leaned against the kitchen bar. "Mikey's looking for you. And…so is Roz. Go. Now."
The curses piled in my head. I knew I owed Roz money, but for him to start actively looking for me wasn't good for my health.
I needed a place to stay and I needed…something, anything to make me stop shaking and scratching. It felt like ants were in my veins, and Nikko needed to give me something. "Fine," I bit out. "Just…float me a J."
"You already owe me for ten joints, not to mention all the blow and nuggets I fronted you."
He looked around, nervous as all get out. My brain was in a fog. I didn't care if I slept on a bench outside. My friends usually came through for me, but lately they seemed less eager to let me stay. Fine, he could throw me out as long as he gave me something to tide me over.
"I'm good for it. My brother said he'd give me some money until I get back on my feet. I've got a job lined up starting next week," I lied. "It's just been bad lately. I'm under so much stress."
"Classic druggie line," he scoffed. "Get out, Milo. The longer you stay here, the worse you're making it for me." We heard a car door slam outside and he sucked in a breath. "Go, man, now!"
I went to the window and peeked past the dingy blue curtain the previous tenant had left and saw one of the guys who always set up my buys from Roz. I shook my head, backing away, and looked at Nikko to help me. "Go out the back. And don't say I never did anything for you," he growled and went to the front door. "Go!"
I ran, but as soon as I opened the back door, there was another guy there. "You got Roz's money?" he asked.
I stalled and started the typical plea. "Well, I'll have it—"
He didn't wait for anything else. His fist connected to my jaw and I heard the crunch, knowing it would hurt tomorrow, as I went down. He followed me and gripped my collar before slamming my cheek with his free fist. He beat on me for so long and hard all over that I blacked out. I came out of it a couple times, but it was so blurry and the haze of pain was thick. I could never grasp reality.
No time at all passed for me. I closed my eyes and the next time I opened them, I was in a hospital bed. No one was there with me. It was a regular room, not the ER. I lifted my head to survey the damage and immediately regretted that hasty decision. My head hurt so badly, I thought I might black out again. I pushed with my elbows and made myself sit up. I touched my head to find a bandage, my eye was swollen, my lips all busted up, and my jaw was so sore, it hurt to even touch it, let alone try to open my mouth.
I remembered being brought there, the cops, they asked questions…but I was so out of it I didn't get a word out. They said they'd be back.
I had to get out of there.
Right then, that was the only thing that truly mattered. I hadn't rolled over on Roz, that I was pretty sure, but I owed so much money to him and knew all his operations…he was still going to kill me.
I had no idea how long I'd been in the hospital, and the lack of drugs made me way more lucid than the drug-induced stages I usually resided in. There wasn't any morphine in that IV drip. I hurt all over so badly, I thought I might vomit. The fact that they hadn't given me any morphine made me realize that they knew I was a…drug addict. There, okay, yes, if I didn't get drugs every day, I felt like I'd crawl out of my own skin. So, yes, I was addicted. And they knew it because they hadn't given me anything to help with the pain.
And I knew I was in deep.
It hit me how bad things had gotten all at once as I yanked the needle out of my arm. I'd run myself into the ground. It had been way too long since I hadn't had anything in my system and my hands shook as I eased off the bed onto the floor. I tried to yank off the hospital band, but I was too weak. The name on the band read John Doe. So they didn't know who I was. I pulled on my jeans from the back under the bed. My body ached so bad all over, but I knew I had to get out of there.
Once all my clothes were on, I peeked out the blinds to see an officer standing by my room. I cursed under my breath. That was probably the only reason Roz hadn't come after me. But the cops wanted me for something, and I could guess it was for me to roll over on Roz. They didn't just guard anybody—only the people they wanted something from.
I pushed the food cart to slam into the bed and then jumped behind the door. When he opened it, like I knew he would, I waited until he came into the room. He cursed and moved forward, bending to look under the bed. I scooted behind him around the door and acted as normal as I could as I walked down the hall. I heard him on his radio as he said that the suspect was missing. Then he argued with them that he'd been by the door the whole time. I turned into the first stairwell I saw and took the steps as quickly as I could. I heard rushed footsteps coming from the lower floor and stopped. I could hear the crackle of a radio, so I jumped through the door with a peeling number four on it.
It led to an alcove in the hall, and I waited for them to go up as they passed. When it was quiet, I opened the door slowly and crept my way down the stairs, out of the hospital, and into the street.
I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I had to get away. It was then that I knew I'd never see Mason or my mother again.
I went to the highway, even though it was almost dark, stuck out my thumb, and waited for someone to stop and take me away—give me a ride to anywhere but there.
Two Years Later
Milo
I sat and looked at the envelope. It had the results of my GED exam. Finally, I was going to have a piece of paper that told me I had finished high school instead of just dropping out and being a runaway.
I flipped it over and over in my fingers. It wasn't like this was an application into Harvard or anything. It was a GED, but it was my GED. It was all I had.
"If you don't open that already, I'm going to stab you with my fork."
I glared up at Joey playfully. "Shut it."
Joey had been my friend for a long time now. It felt like forever, but had only been a little shy of two years. Joey worked at the shelter I crawled into a few nights after I left the hospital. I hitchhiked for two days, someti
mes with a ride, sometimes walking or sitting on the side of the road. I was starving, so weak I could barely walk, dehydrated except for a bottle of water a trucker gave me. Joey and her father, the pastor, pulled me into the shelter at the church in some town.
Joey was the one who made sure I got a bed in the shelter that night and for the next two months while I tried to straighten myself out. There were many bumps in the road. I still wasn't sure exactly how many days the hospital had kept me, because I hadn't known what day it was when I went in, but the detox had begun then. I struggled with it, but had already gotten through some of the hard part. They made it clear that drugs would not be allowed in the shelter and anyone on drugs after the rules had been explained would be removed.
To be completely honest, I fell hard off that wagon once or twice. I couldn't believe how difficult it was. That first pill or sip or hit after days and days of not having anything was like pure ecstasy, my body betraying me and making me believe it was what I needed and wanted.
But Joey came and got me from wherever I was, yelled and told me how I needed to get straight, snuck me back into the shelter, and made me promise never to do it again. Finally, that promise stuck. It's been more than a year since that wagon had caused any problems for me. After I moved out of the shelter and got a job, with their help, I was clean for the most part, but every now and then it would hit me out of nowhere, and I caved. Then I felt guilty as hell, called Joey, and she'd yell and carry on, come and stay at my apartment that night to make sure I was sober and the high was gone before she went back home.
Yeah, Joey's a girl. And she was my unofficial sponsor. She was also moving away to Houston for a job since she graduated and got her degree and had a position lined up to be a social worker. I'd never done Alcoholics Anonymous or any Narcotics Anonymous or any other anonymous there was. Joey always kept me in line, even as she finished up her schooling and helped her pastor father in his shelter.
