Salvage

by Tiffany Aleman

  Salvage

  ****

  Copyright © 2015 Tiffany Aleman

  Cover design by © Tabitha Coots

  Book formatting by Silla Webb

  Edited by Silla Webb

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any manner without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and for review purposes.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Disclaimer

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Acknowledgments

  Disclaimer:

  This book touches on some very serious topics. Alcoholism is a disease that affects more people than we realize. Child abuse is very real and so is bullying. I DO NOT condone any of these behaviors. Salvage touches on each and every one of these themes. If this is an issue or trigger for you, please enter into this book with caution.

  “I used to think the worst thing in life was to end up alone. It’s not. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel all alone.”

  ~Robin Williams

  I hate this.

  This world.

  This life.

  One day you’re here and then the next day you’re simply… gone.

  Machines beep across from me at the head of my father’s bed. I can’t help but stare at the equipment. On one hand, it’s my saving grace as it keeps my father pain free and alive… for now. But, on the other hand, it’s just delaying the inevitable… death. It’s imminent in our future. It rides around on its dark horse, claiming the souls of our loved ones, coming sooner rather than later for others. And for my father it’s here.

  I can feel it.

  The coldness wraps around me in this sterile room, and there is nothing I can do as the lines on the monitor grow further and further apart. Pain seizes my chest in a vise-like grip, and I want to cry. I want to scream at anything and everything. I want to hit nothing and everything all at once. Most of all I want to throw myself on top of my dad and beg him not to leave me again. But I promised him I wouldn’t shed a single tear. I promised him I would remember these last four years. I vowed to him and myself that I would cherish the memories we made. Finding out you have cirrhosis of the liver can make you rethink your dependency on alcohol. But finding out that you need a liver transplant to live can make you want to right all of your wrongs, especially if you know you can’t afford it.

  ‘Karmen, don’t cry for me when it’s my time to go, okay? I’ve done this to myself, and there are consequences I have to face. Death is my consequence.’ Sixteen hours ago was the last time I cried, when his raspy voice uttered those gut-wrenching words.

  Five years ago I came back. For one reason alone and that was to help my father lay my mother to rest. I didn’t have the typical relationship most people have with their parents. My life wasn’t some cookie cutter example. Our family didn’t follow the rules. My mother was addicted to meth. It became her life. It latched onto her soul and pulled her under.

  Once upon a time, she had been the loving mother most kids had. She would play with my hair, play dolls with me, take me on walks, cook dinner. She showed me love and affection, and then one day she no longer did those things.

  I’m sure it was a slow and steady decline, but I was ten and didn’t notice it until it was staring me right in the face. I walked in on her, lines of white powder spread out across a mirror in her lap. She didn’t even notice I was there. Transfixed on the image before me, I watched in horror and fascination as she lifted a shortened piece of straw to her nose and inhaled. I wanted to ask what it was she was doing, and yet at the same time I wanted to get the hell out of there, but I couldn’t. If I had known then what I know now, how her life, how my father’s life would have ended up then I would have gone to her, begged her to get help. By the time I was old enough to know what drugs were, it was too late. I understand I wouldn’t have known how to help her. I was simply too young.

  Not long after my mother abandoned me, not physically but mentally and emotionally, so did my father. Instead his weapon of mass destruction was the legal kind… alcohol. It was like a train wreck, and I sat back silently and watched it unfold before my eyes. For the life of me I tried to understand why. Was I not enough of a reason to stay clean? Did they not love me enough? But as I grew older, I realized it didn’t have a damn thing to do with me. They had their own burdens and demons tearing them apart. I was an innocent bystander caught in the crossfires of their demise.

  “I love you.” It’s a weak whisper that pulls me from my agony. I look to my father, his skin pale and gray. I reach over, taking his hand in mine.

  “I know you do, Daddy.” My voice is soft as I smile weakly at him. He can’t see my gesture and that kills me. It drains most of his energy for such a simple task like opening his eyes.

  “I know I’ve never told you this,” he chokes out, “But you make me so proud.” His grip on my hand tightens when he begins to cough, and I can’t help but squeeze his hand back.

  “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m right here. Just don’t talk anymore, okay?” I whisper in his ear as I lean across his bed, sweeping his salt and pepper hair away from his forehead. “You remember last year when you took me to that fishing hole that you called your lucky spot?” I soothe. “Remember how you caught fish after fish? You were so happy, and I didn’t catch anything.” I chuckle. “At that moment I was so proud of you.” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “We sat there on that pier for hours. You told me about how you and mom met at that same spot during a fishing tournament. She was the light of your life. You knew it from the first glance. You said she was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.” A single tear rolls down my face, dropping onto the blanket below. A cracked chuckle escapes me. “You said she had you hook, line, and sinker.” My eyes dart to the screen displaying his barely there heartbeat. “You loved her with everything in you. You still do.” I take a deep breath, screwing my eyes shut before painfully adding the words I’d never thought I’d have to say. “So go be with her. It’s okay, Daddy. I’m going to be just fine. You don’t have to suffer any longer. Your heart doesn’t have to be broken anymore,” I whisper through a choked sob. The monitor blares and I look to the lifeless, flat line streaming across the screen. I press my lips to his cool and clammy forehead. “I love you, and I’ll
miss you every day.”

  The doors burst open as nurses and doctors rush over to his side. “Miss?” One of the nurses says to me, and I look up at her and shake my head.

  “He’s free.” Tears roll down my face, and I can’t help but think about the promise I made to him, but it’s no use. I love him, he’s my dad, but now he’s gone and I’m officially alone. “Let him go.” The doctors and nurses nod their heads in understanding. I cast another glance at my lifeless father before walking out of the room. Now it’s time for me to heal and figure out where I go from here.

  This is beyond frustrating, I think to myself as I groan out loud. My eyes scan over the profit reports for the hundredth time. I’m at the point where I want to bang my head on the desk out of irritation. Ratings keep going down. I know if I don’t fix this my ass is as good as fired. That’s why when Doug approached me weeks ago about adding a sports section to the radio station that I currently manage, I had no choice but to agree.

  “Karmen, you have someone asking for you.” I look up to see Tammy, my best friend since grade school, standing right outside of my office. Her brown hair is pulled back into a sleek bun, and her green eyes are always friendly. There’s not a mean bone in that girl, well unless you piss her off. Thankfully, I’ve never been on the receiving end of her wrath.

  With furrowed brows I ask, “Who?” No one asks for me besides Doug, and he doesn’t count, well not personally anyway.

  A smirk creeps up on her face, and that piques my interest that much more. “Brayden Stephens.” Her tone is sweet, but inside I know she’s relishing this, my discomfort.

  And just like that my guard is up. I can literally feel all the blood drain from my face just from hearing his name. I have no idea why he’d be here, or what it is that he wants. Luckily for me, I don’t care either.

  He can go to Hell.

  The other night when Tammy and I were out, she told me she’d heard that Brayden was back in town. Immediately my skin prickled at the thought of seeing him again. I should have known that he’d show up here looking for a job. If I heard about him returning, I should have figured that Doug would have, too. I should have put two and two together when the very next day I came into work and Doug approached me saying he wanted to hire someone for a sports broadcasting position. I’d read about how his last concussion was the end all to his NFL career. I felt bad for him, but at the same time I never thought he’d end up back here. Not only did he come back to Reidsville, now he’s here, in my office.

  Brayden was the All-American boy in our town. You know the type: popular, high school quarterback that goes on to play college ball, the University of Georgia to be exact. Everyone talked about him like he was a God, and for the life of me I couldn’t understand what all the hype was about. Sure he was gorgeous, I’d be a blind fool not to think so, but he was an arrogant prick. Of course, I was the only one he was like that too. Living a short NFL career, he returned to our small town outside of Atlanta, a washed up nobody… at least that’s what I’ve heard. As mean as he was to me in high school, I still felt a twinge of sympathy for him. But I forced that sympathy away when I remember how he treated me in school.

  My life had never been a fairytale. My home life was shit, and I sure as hell didn’t have a prince charming riding in on his white horse to come and rescue me. I didn’t come from a life of expensive cars, mansions, and more money than a person could ever spend in a lifetime. I’ve come to accept that fact, and I’m okay with it. But one day, I will get married to someone who loves me for me.

  No.

  I came from the other side of the tracks. Where dilapidated buildings sat unwanted and in ruins. Shacks lined either side of the streets, streets you didn’t want to be out on after it got dark. And if you lived in a trailer, you were considered rich. But I worked my ass off in school to make sure that I graduated top of my class. The icing on the cake was when I was awarded a full-ride scholarship to the University of Tennessee. I had plans and dreams. Plans to get the hell out of Georgia, and dreams of moving out to Los Angeles and opening a recording studio. Instead, my dreams were put on hold. I came back to the one place I never wanted to see again. Reidsville, my hometown.

  It was just my luck that the day before I turned twenty-two and the day before I graduated from college, my father called and slurred the words that my mother had overdosed. I thought it would have happened sooner to be honest, but to say that her death didn’t hurt me would be a lie. Even though my mother was addicted to meth and basically ignored me from the time I turned ten, a part of me still loved her. That was five years ago. It’s been a year since my dad passed away from alcoholism. His loss affected me more than my mother’s, but I’m dealing with it. Every day I find myself healing more and more. I wasn’t left empty handed though. I got the nice little trailer I grew up in. And by nice I mean holes in the roof and floors, metal siding falling off the mobile home, overgrown weeds and grass swallowing the rickety front porch. I’m sure it’s a fire hazard, and if any state inspector were to come out, they would consider it condemned. Lucky for me, I don’t live there.

  “So do you want to see him or not?” Tammy asks with an eyebrow raised, bringing me back from memory lane. She knows the hell he put me through when we were kids and always told me she thought he had a crush on me. I didn’t see it, especially since it seemed like he despised me.

  Remembering that I’m at work, I sigh with a nod. My palms begin to sweat as I wait for her to show him in. My breaths come in quick succession as I try like hell to steady my nerves. My mind runs rampant as it begins to make up all sorts of different scenarios of why he, out of all people, would want to see me. Maybe he’s come back to apologize finally for being such a dick? That thought alone causes me to laugh out loud. Maybe he’s here to laugh at me for coming back to this shithole of a town when I’d told him that someday I’d leave this place and everyone else behind. God, I hope not. I mean we are adults now. I shake my head at that notion because I know first-hand not everyone grows up.

  The Last Day of Senior Year…

  It takes everything in me not to cry. I may be poor, where shopping at Wal-Mart is a luxury and the clearance rack makes me feel like I’m shopping on Fifth Avenue. I pull at my shirt two sizes too small, and even though I have no boobs or curves the tight material does nothing to accentuate the little I do have. The cheap foundation I have on does little to hide the acne on my face. But with all of that, damn it… I’m still human. To all of these people here minus Tammy, my feelings are irrelevant. To them I’m entertainment, their punching bag, and I’m at my breaking point. The worst one of all is Brayden Stephens, the asshole standing in front of me, arms crossed in front of his chest and a fucking smirk on his face. The rest of the school stands behind him, laughing at the last prank this prick will ever pull on me again.

  I’m leaving this town behind and when I do, I’ll never come back.

  “Why?” I ask as my head hangs down in shame. Tears prick the corners of my eyes, and I force myself to blink them away. There’s lube stuck to my face from the Saran Wrap I walked into. I didn’t see it. I don’t see much of anything since I always have my head hanging down in hopes that no one notices me—my attempt at being non-existent. As soon as the sticky substance hit my face, I reached up blindly, pulling the clear plastic away only to have feathers quickly replacing the Saran Wrap. Now I look like a chicken I’m sure, and on some level, I am. Not once have I ever defended myself. I’ve never seen the point. But now, I’m fed up. Done. Tomorrow we graduate, and I’ll never have to see these people again.

  “What? You don’t like your parting gift?” He’s taunting me, and I know it. It’s what Brayden’s sidekick Drew does best. Brayden doesn’t do the dirty work, oh no, he gets everyone else to do it for him. But I’m sure he’s the mastermind behind everything, even if I truly don’t believe that. But if you aren’t the one committing the act when you stand by and do nothing, you’re just as guilty.

  “Why?” I ask
again, louder this time. Rage boils within me like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Ever since tenth grade I’ve had to endure this torture…his torture and for what? To be the laughing stock of the school. “What have I ever done to you?” I lift my head, my eyes meeting his. Brayden stands next to Drew shoulder to shoulder, both of their arms crossed over their chests. While Drew wears a smug look, proud of himself, Brayden’s look is almost pained. Not that you’d see it in his face, but you can see it in his eyes. And that makes everything so much worse.

  Drew shrugs and that fucking smirk turns into a full-blown smile. While Brayden says, “It’s nothing personal. It’s simple really. You exist. That’s enough of a reason for us.”

  Nothing Personal? Is he serious?

  Before I can process what I’m doing, my palm connects with his face. The stinging of my hand and the collective gasps ringing throughout the cafeteria doesn’t stop me from losing it. Stomping forward into his personal space, I shove him backward. The tears I tried to hold back now flow freely down my face. “I hate you,” I seethe. “You’ve made my life hell, and I’m supposed to believe that it’s not anything personal?”

  Strong arms bind around me from behind, pulling me away. I don’t dare look at all the shocked faces that stand behind Brayden. I already know what they’re thinking…the trash is finally being taken out.

  “You all right?”