by V. L. Holt
The only problem was that the U.S. government hadn’t approved of it as a verifiable treatment because enough time hadn’t passed yet. They stood by their standard treatments of Army approved therapists and drug therapy.
Zack slammed the table. The worn business card in his pocket was for a more traditional treatment. He’d tried it before.
He’d tried the counseling. The backlog of guys needing it was so bad, he’d only been able to have meetings once a month with a burned out ex-vet himself with bags under his eyes and stale coffee breath. It had been too easy to let those sessions fade away. The drugs were iffy at best, and detrimental at worst. Some of the prescribed medicines alleviated the headaches, but irritated his stomach. Others caused him extreme fatigue and symptoms that were awfully close to clinical depression. Against doctor’s orders, he’d weaned himself off of them.
He leaned back in his chair in the quiet but well-lit business room of the hostel and stretched. All of this self-reflection was kind of eye-opening. He recognized in himself that pattern of butting heads with authority. He couldn’t believe he’d made it through Basic Training, let alone a couple tours in the sandbox. But he’d learned some skills, honed his body, and then seen things that would shock the devil himself. He came back a different man, but not necessarily changed. He still bucked authority, as evidenced by his quitting therapy and leaving a doctor’s care.
He jotted down the doctor’s contact information, but he left the business room with little hope. He couldn’t seem to earn enough money to even get there, let alone pay for the treatment. The good news was that for now, he seemed to be doing alright. Ha. If by alright he meant it had only been a few days since he’d mugged somebody. Damn he was a mess.
The hostel was quiet, maybe because it was September and most of the usual kinds of clients were starting up a school semester. He needed quiet. He needed isolation. Massaging his head with his right hand he realized with some disappointment that he needed some ibuprofen too.
Chapter Sixteen
I took a deep breath and opened the door. It was starting to feel like déjà vu. Even though I knew the couch was going to be gone it was still a shock to see the empty space on my living room carpet. I blew out an exhale of relief though, because Ray was gone too.
Ha! No couch, no Ray.
I closed and locked my door, kicked off my shoes, and threw my keys on the table. I let my purse fall to the floor and squealed a little.
I had my place to myself! I padded into the kitchen, and put a teakettle on. I was going to have a cup of tea at my little kitchen table! I got out a plate and put a slice of bread in the toaster. Tea and toast and my novel. I felt a little wistful missing my pretty vintage couch, but it’s not like I was getting to use it and appreciate it with Ray the Lump on it anyway.
I had to get my novel from my nightstand, and I would change out of my pretty green dress and into some pajamas. By then my tea should be ready.
I let my fingers trail along the wall of my hallway in my apartment and enjoyed the feeling of being officially single again.
I flicked the light to my room and there, in all his naked glory, was Ray stretched out in my bed and snoring like a herd of chainsaws in a Christmas tree forest.
My cheerful mood tanked.
Of all the dirty rotten stinking things to do. I glared at him while I grabbed my pajamas and robe, slippers and novel. I couldn’t believe he didn’t leave like he said he would and had the nerve to sleep in my bed to boot.
I paused. Really? I didn’t think he’d leave? I slinked back into the kitchen and sagged into a chair. I knew he wasn’t going to leave. What had he done in the last three months to prove he was good for his word? Nothing. And what had I done for the last three months to show that I meant it when I told him to get out? Selling my couch was actually the first proactive thing I’d done. Okay. I sat up straighter. I needed some positive self-talk here.
I did well when I sold the couch. It meant I was ready to change. So. I just needed to figure what to do next. I supposed I could sell my bed but…no.
My teapot started whistling, so I took it off the burner and started making my tea. Ray was naked as a jaybird on my bed. Maybe I could take a picture of him and sell him on the internet.
I sipped my hot tea and nibbled on my honey-drizzled toast. It was going to be a long night. I was so glad I’d gotten myself a book to read.
The problem was I couldn’t really get into my book. Not when there was a living breathing man whose handsome face kept intruding on my thoughts. Zack was someone special. Even though he was hurting.
Why did I go for the tortured souls? Look at Ray. The thing that drew me to him in the beginning was his boyish face and vulnerable side. What I took to be low self-esteem was actually false modesty though. It didn’t take me too long-okay, yes, it took me too long to find out that he was manipulating me. I felt a kinship with women who stayed with abusers. I was so tough with criminals and punks, but I couldn’t get the guts to throw Ray out on his ass.
I started chewing my fingernails as my stomach twisted. I didn’t like dwelling on my weaknesses but I had to do something.
My eyes drifted to the teapot. It wasn’t scalding hot anymore.
I picked it up off the cooling stove, and put my hand underneath to make sure it wasn’t blistering hot. It was room temperature.
I made my way to my room and took the lid off the teapot. Standing over Ray, I poured the water on Ray’s face.
He woke in a flurry of sputters, flailing his arms all over the place. “What the?” he shouted, and once he was fully awake he saw me leaving his room.
“Get dressed and move out, Ray,” I said. “Or don’t get dressed. But you’re still moving out,” I said.
I sat at my kitchen table and waited for him to come storming out of my room. My hands were shaking a little bit, but I expected that. I was finally standing up to him.
He came out, dressed thank goodness, and stared at me.
“What was that about?” he asked.
I raised an eyebrow at him and sipped my tepid tea. But I declined to answer.
“Lauren, you can’t just toss me out on my butt. We have a history together,” he said.
I wasn’t going to answer him. He was just going to try and convince me of all the reasons he needed to stay. I stared at him, sipping my tea.
He stepped closer and tried pouring on the charm.
“You’re so beautiful when you’re angry,” he said. “Remember when we first met at the baseball game, and you spilled your Coke on my pants?” he asked.
He got it all wrong. We met at the convenience store and I spilled nacho cheese on him. I opened my mouth to correct him, but closed again. It was not going to work this time. I was going to keep my mouth shut. He knew what I wanted him to do. All he had to do was do it.
I gently placed my cup in the saucer and stared at him.
He rocked back a little.
“I’m impressed, Lauren. This is the quietest you’ve been since I’ve known you. I don’t usually get to talk this much, do I?” he said with a subtle dig.
Gosh he was jerk, bless his heart. I wanted to say something so bad, but Mama’s voice was loud in my mind, telling me how I talk too much, and here he was saying the same thing, and darn it I wanted to prove to myself that I didn’t have to move my mouth all the time or have the last word.
I folded my hands in my lap and slowly blinked at Ray.
He folded his arms and stood there.
What was he doing? Why wouldn’t he just leave?
“I’m not going anywhere until you say something,” he finally said with a smile.
He was being such a butthole! I squeezed my lips together more tightly.
He grabbed a kitchen chair and pulled it out, sat in it, and stared back. “The ball is in your court, Lauren. Say something, and I’ll get out,” he said.
He was playing some kind of game. If he was really going to leave, he’d be packing his things. I shook my head no l
ike a little kid, with my own arms folded and my mouth clamped shut.
“Lauren,” he said, drawing out the last part of my name. “Talk to me Lauren,” he said. I felt my heart begin to race. He was manipulating me, and I didn’t know what to do to make him stop.
What was wrong with me? I scared off not one, but two punks who wanted to mess with me tonight. Why couldn’t I get it together with Ray? I started to feel myself trembling and cold from the inside out. It felt like it did when the Mickey Cobras had stopped me at the station. I remembered Zack holding me in his arms, pressing my head against his warm chest while I shook and trembled, until I could calm down. Had he seen his buddies go into shock? My heart melted again, thinking about Zack.
I couldn’t believe I ever saw anything in Ray that was worth holding on to. Here he was, taunting me like a child.
I stood up suddenly, and walked the long way around my table so I could avoid him. I marched to my room, my novel forgotten, and closed and locked my door. Of course my bed was wet, so I scrounged up my spare comforter and some blankets and my other pillow and made a bed on the floor. I had to work in the morning. I didn’t have time for this nonsense with Ray.
When I woke up, the sun was just starting to shine through the window in my room, and I stretched. Sleeping on the floor wasn’t doing my back any favors, but I was young. Today was a new day! I was going to figure something out as soon as I got home from work.
I got dressed and grabbed my phone charger from my nightstand. My phone was still in my purse where I’d left it the night before.
I snuck into my bathroom and started brushing my teeth when movement in the tub startled me. Ray was sleeping in the bathtub!
I screamed at him.
“Ray!”
He woke up slowly rubbing his eyes.
“Get the hell out of my bathroom! Get out of my apartment! Get out of my life!” I started throwing bathroom supplies at him.
The tube of toothpaste. The hand sanitizer. The liquid soap. The hair straightener. He was lucky that wasn’t plugged in yet.
He blocked the items and laughed at me.
“You’re so cute when you’re mad!” he said. There was a pillow and a blanket in the tub with him. I was furious. I reached in to take his pillow, correction, my pillow, but he grabbed me and pulled me in.
“Come on in, the water’s fine!” he said with a laugh.
I was so mad!
He held me against him and laughed, and I couldn’t help it. I started crying.
He was bigger than me, and he was using his strength to get what he wanted. Even though he wasn’t beating on me like cousin Jenny’s husband BobbyJoe back home in Texas, he was still abusing me. He was disrespecting my wishes.
And here I was, tumbled in the tub at an awkward angle, struggling to get up off him and out. With tears running down my face.
“Let me up,” I said, trying to push against him to get some leverage.
“Say sorry for trying to kick me out,” he said.
Something inside me broke.
“Sorry for trying to kick you out,” I said in my sweetest voice.
He squeezed me a little tighter before letting me go.
“That’s better,” he said. “Don’t you have a job to get to now?” he rose up in the tub and stepped out. He seemed bigger, bolder somehow.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“Why don’t you pick up this mess and I’ll make you some tea?” Ray said.
“Okay,” I said, picking up the toothpaste and soaps out of the tub. I folded up his blanket and placed his pillow on top of it.
“Here, I’ll take those,” Ray said. He took them and put them on my bed.
As I cried and spit toothpaste into the sink, I realized that Ray wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Defeated, I dressed in my waitress uniform and sneakers, grabbed my bag, and left for work without drinking my tea.
I sat slumped in the People Mover, ignoring the passengers and forgetting to write stories about them in my head.
I got to work two minutes late, and Pete told me he’d dock thirty minutes from my pay.
I shrugged my shoulders at him, and got my pad of paper and pen and began taking orders for the breakfast rush.
My regulars noticed something was off about me.
“Hey sunshine!” Mr. Watkins said. “You usually don’t forget to freshen my coffee. You okay?” I gave him a stiff smile and poured coffee into his cup.
He must have seen the tear waiting to drop, because he turned away, embarrassed for me.
I hurried to my other customers, pouring coffee, refilling ice waters, bringing extra napkins.
I just wasn’t myself. My dark mood followed me all day, and it hurt my tips.
Pete yelled at me for spilling and for forgetting to wipe down the catsups on the tables. Marjory snapped her gum at me and shook her head.
Saturday mornings were always busy, and I messed up an order and one of the customers ran off without paying.
“That’s coming out of your pay,” Pete told me.
I was a mess.
On my break, I snuck out the back and breathed in the cool September air. What was I going to do about Ray? This was messing up my life. I couldn’t sell the bathtub. I refused to sell my bed. No, my passive aggressive plan wasn’t working. And Ray had amped up his manipulative behavior. I had warning bells going off all over the place.
What happened to me this morning? I shut down like someone unplugged me. My light went out, so to speak. This was going to get worse and worse if I didn’t do something different.
I needed an ally.
My break over, I went back to work slightly more ready to do my job. It helped that I remembered I would be singing at Lonely Nights tonight, and I would get to see Zack. I wondered if I could muster up the courage to ask for Zack’s help.
That went against my personal code though. Usually the strays needed my help. I didn’t want anything in return.
I got off work, paid Pete his due from my morning mistake and waited to count my tips on the train. I felt lighter, with the sun shining, the fresh air hitting my face, and that hope springing up in my heart. It was going to be okay! I would figure out something.
Once I started counting the tips I’d dumped in my purse, my heart sank.
I’d felt lighter because my purse was lighter. I dug in my purse, occasionally looking at the other passengers to see if they were paying attention to me. They weren’t. My box of ammo was gone. My insurance was gone. I hadn’t noticed this morning because I was so upset at Ray pushing me around. And he had gone and taken my gun.
I sat back in my seat and had to gulp several mouthfuls of air.
A fellow passenger I recognized from my daily commute raised an eyebrow at me as if to ask if I was alright. I composed myself and nodded in his direction.
I had to keep it together. Ray was not going to ruin my life. He wasn’t.
I stormed into my apartment shouting Ray’s name.
“Get your butt out here and give me my gun!” I yelled. Gone were my Southern belle manners and my easy pace. I was furious. You can take a girl out of Texas but you can’t take Texas out of the girl.
“I mean it!” I shouted. I marched to my bedroom, since he wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room. My place wasn’t that big. He was nowhere.
I started flinging things around in my room, looking for my box of ammo and my gun. They weren’t anywhere that I could find.
I went through his bags of things in my front room. As I searched them, I piled them up. They were getting tossed out the window as soon as I was done. I’m sure my below stairs neighbors were through with the nonsense of me stomping around last night and this morning, and of our shouting. Hopefully it would all be over soon.
He must have taken my gun with him, wherever he went.
I sat on my haunches and looked at his bags of things. I got up and tried to open the window. It was painted shut. I cussed and fussed at it, and
tried to pry it up, but it wouldn’t budge.
Time was running out and I had to get ready for the lounge tonight.
I gave up and got dressed. Tonight’s look was a little more sleek and bluesy. I chose my favorite, a long black gown with subtle shimmers to it. I had a fur stole and long dangly earrings. Once again I tied on sneakers and carried my fancy shoes in my purse.
I cussed some more, missing the weight of my protection against thugs, punks and gangbangers. Downtown Detroit was no walk in the park. I just had to cross my fingers tonight and hope for the best. At least I had my phone and my mace. I wondered where exactly Ray was, what exactly he was doing and why exactly he needed my gun to do it. Smelled like old fish on a hot day, if you asked me. I perfected my makeup on the ride over and arrived a little early for my show.
Saturday nights usually consisted of a more sophisticated crowd. My set included older favorites like Cry Me a River and Blue Velvet. Andy and I really got into it on Saturday nights. He always begged me to lay on the piano, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I would walk out into the crowd a little bit. I could feel my adrenaline start to flow the closer I got to my stop. I loved Showtime! I loved singing my heart out, feeling the energy of the audience flow between us. I would be lying to myself, though, if I didn’t admit at least some of my giddiness was because I was hoping to see Zack again. Even if he turned his back on me, it was still a nice view. Not a bad perk of working in the lounge.
This job was my life now. It was my main reason for staying in Detroit when home and family were back in Texas. Mama and Daddy were gone, but I did have my baby brother and a passel of cousins. I smiled thinking of Curtis Lee. He was a builder and doing well for himself in Texas’ booming economy. Unfortunately, Harley thought my smile was for him, and he snapped me out of my reverie.
“Hey beautiful. Come back to my place after your sets tonight?” he asked me with a smile I wouldn’t pick up with a pair of tweezers.
“In your dreams, Harley,” I said and pushed my way past him. His smelly bulk resisted, but he knew not to mess with the entertainment before the shows started. Brenda met me in the hallway outside my dressing room.
