The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity

by Devon Hartford

  “The power cord!” Lance shouts.

  That’s when logic returns. “Someone unplug it!” I shout, searching desperately for the cord.

  Charity screams,. “Mom! Help!”

  Mom reaches for the metal pool ladder, about to step into the water.

  “Don’t touch that!” Lance shouts. “You’ll get shocked! Someone unplug the damn cord!”

  Mom freezes, a pained look on her face, her hand one inch from the ladder. “My baby! Someone help my baby!!”

  Lance whips his head from side to side, examining the mess of DJ gear. His dad is standing right in front of the table, frozen. “Get the fuck outta the way!” Lance yells, pushing him into the grass where he drops on his ass. Lance claws at the jumbled loops of cords until he finds the main orange cord snaking into the bushes. He yanks it free from the outlet with a pop, then whirls around and dives fully clothed into the water. He freestyles out to Charity, approaching from the side and hooking an arm around her ribs. He leans back, pulling Charity on top of him so her face is above the water. “I’ve got you. Relax. I’ve got you.”

  “Oh goodness, oh goodness!” Mom shouts, still afraid to touch the metal ladder. She drops to her knees, waving a hand toward Lance, trying to reach Charity.

  Even though Lance has Charity, I’m overcome by the intense need to help my sister. I jump into the pool and swim toward them. “Charity! Are you okay?!”

  She’s coughing, her face pinched and red, her entire body shaking. For a second I think she’s still being shocked, but Lance is fine. I’m not getting shocked either. Then I realize Charity must be in shock.

  “Is the water safe?” Mom pleads, completely confused and oblivious to the fact that Lance and I are not getting shocked.

  “Yeah,” Lance says.

  Mom jumps into the water in her dress and wades over to Lance and Charity. “Are you okay, Charity? Say something, Baby! Say something!”

  “I called 911!” Lark shouts. “They’re on their way!”

  Charity coughs again, crying, “I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure?” Mom begs.

  “I…” cough cough “think…” cough “so…”

  “Can you stand up?” Lance asks. “We’re in the shallow end.”

  “I don’t know,” Charity whimpers. She’s acting like she forgot how to swim.

  “Don’t worry,” Lance says calmly. “I’ve got you.”

  “I’ve got her,” Mom says, reaching out for Charity, trying to take her from Lance.

  “No!” Charity barks. “Don’t let go!” She’s talking to Lance.

  Mom cringes and withdraws her hands, “Okay.”

  I give Lance a look.

  He shrugs it off. “Charity, I’m going to carry you out of the pool. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah,” she mumbles.

  He grabs the ladder with one hand. “Can you wrap your arms around my neck?”

  “Yeah,” she says tentatively.

  I plant my hands on the deck and lift myself out of the water. “I’ll help.”

  Lance climbs the ladder, holding it with one big hand while squeezing both of Charity’s wrists around his neck with the other. The two of them drip all over the cement as Lance squats down and lowers her to her feet. She’s way too big for me to cradle her like a child, but I try anyway. She ends up hugging me and I squeeze hard as we both sit down. She’s shivering like it’s freezing outside, but it’s summer warm. She really must be in shock.

  Soaked, Mom climbs the ladder and wraps her arms around both of us. “My babies,” she whispers. “My babies are safe. Thank you, Lord. Thank you.” She starts mumbling prayers under her breath.

  I smirk. Lance is who she should be thanking. But she seems to have forgotten all about him. The three of us are somehow excluding Lance, who stands to the side, looking between us and the heap of his Dad on the lawn, who remains where he fell when all the drama started and Lance knocked him down.

  Mr. McKnight looks sad and confused.

  Charity starts rambling in half sentences, her teeth chattering. “I was— swimming and— my arms— froze and— I couldn’t— swim and— I thought I— was going to— drown.”

  “I think she’s in shock,” Lance says quietly. “We should lie her down or something. And get some blankets.”

  I nod.

  “I’ll get some,” Lark says, jogging into the house.

  Mom hugs Charity. “It’s okay, baby. The Lord is watching over you. You’re safe. Everything’s okay. You’re going to be all right.”

  Lark rushes out of the house with blankets which Mom wraps around Charity. We lay her on a semi-reclined lawn chair, Mom by her side.

  When the ambulance arrives, everything is chaos as the EMTs rush inside with a portable stretcher, but things calm quickly as they check all of Charity’s vitals and assure us she’s okay.

  The head paramedic says, “We can take her to the hospital right now, if it’ll make you feel more comfortable.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Mom nods vigorously.

  “I’m tired,” Charity groans. “Can we go tomorrow?”

  Mom looks at the lead EMT.

  “Her heart sounds strong and she wasn’t burned. There’s no sign of serious injury I can find. To be safe, I advise you to go to the ER tonight, but you don’t need us to rush you there. Depending on your insurance situation, it could save you a thousand dollars. I’ll tell the hospital I consider your daughter’s case urgent, but without any burns or heart trauma, your provider might deny payment.”

  Mom winces and nods, trying to make sense of his words.

  “I don’t wanna go, Mom,” Charity whines. “I just wanna go to bed.”

  “We’ll take her,” Mom says.

  “I’ll pay for it,” Lance says.

  “No,” Mom grumbles, “I won’t take your charity.”

  The irony that Mom won’t take charity to help Charity is not in any way funny.

  “Then take mine,” Mr. McKnight says in a smeary voice. He’s been hovering in the background this whole time.

  “You’re still here?” Mom snarls.

  “I’ll pay for it,” Mr. McKnight insists.

  “No,” Mom barks. “I don’t want anything from you. I don’t need your help, and I don’t want you on my property. Please go home.” She turns her back to him and straightens the emergency blanket wrapped around Charity’s shoulders for no reason.

  Mr. McKnight sets his palm on her shoulder. “Now, Faith, I said I would—”

  She twists away from his hand like it’s on fire. “Don’t you ever touch me again! Stay away from me and my daughters and this house!” Her eyes flash like she wants to attack him. “And keep your son away too!” Her cheeks shake with rage and impending tears.

  “Mom,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “Lance saved Charity. If he hadn’t stopped me, I would have jumped into the electrified pool. You would’ve too.”

  She explodes. “If he hadn’t brought his infernal stereo over here, none of this would’ve happened, now would it?!”

  “Mom, you’re missing the point,” I whisper.

  “No I’m not! It’s his fault!” She snarls at Lance, then at Mr. McKnight. “And your fault too! Both of you get off my property! Now!” She throws her arm out like a sword. “I said NOW!!!!”

  Dejected, Mr. McKnight mumbles, “I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

  Lance rolls his eyes, his jaw spasming. He grabs his Dad high on the back of the arm and shoves him forward. “Let’s go, Dad,” he grunts through gritted teeth.

  Mr. McKnight stumbles, his free hand out to stop his fall, but Lance pulls him up before he hits the deck. When the man stumbles again, Lance hooks an arm around him and barks, “God damn it, can’t you fucking walk?” Everyone stares. Before his dad can answer, Lance spins and squats in front of him like he’s going to tackle him, but instead throws him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carries him around the side of the house.

  I dash to catch up
. “Do you need help?”

  “I’ve got it,” Lance snaps as we melt into the shadows between the house and the fence.

  “Are you sure?”

  He stops and scowls at me, his face dark except for his burning eyes. “This isn’t the first time he’s fucked everything up and it won’t be the last. So, no, I don’t need your help. And I don’t want it either. Your sister needs you. I don’t.” He starts walking.

  I know he’s angry. I won’t let it get to me. He didn’t deserve what Mom said. I want to reassure him, but all I can think to say is, “Do you want me to get your DJ gear? I can bring it over. Now or later. Whatever’s easiest.”

  He doesn’t stop or look back. “You can fucking keep it. Or sell it. I don’t give a fuck.” He kicks the gate open with his boot and it bangs shut after they’re gone.

  So much for my eighteenth birthday.

  It ended with a bang, but it was the wrong kind.

  ++++8++++

  LANCE

  “You’re a fuck up, you know that?” I grumble as I drop my dad on his air mattress. He falls in a heap and bounces once. After that, he doesn’t move.

  “Yeah,” he sighs, his face buried in the bare mattress.

  “You’re not gonna suffocate, are you?”

  He responds with a bubbling puff of air.

  “Fucking waste of space.” I grab his arm and roll him onto his other side and position his head so he can breathe. I slide down against the wall until my ass is on the floor. “How the fuck could you mess up tonight, dumbass?”

  “I don’t know.” His eyes are closed and he’s half-asleep already.

  “Panty Shields was totally into you. But you fucked it up. In one damn night.”

  “Who?”

  “Faith? Chastity’s Mom? Who the fuck do you think I’m talking about?”

  “Oh.”

  “Are you ever gonna stop drinking?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Same fucking answer every time. “You’re gonna kill somebody sooner or later. I was hoping it would be you, but you almost killed Charity tonight. And you weren’t even driving,” I snort.

  “Yeah,” he sighs, his brow tightening with what looks like regret, but could merely be the onset of whiskey farts.

  He’s already been in jail twice for DUIs and his license is suspended for another year. If he keeps at it, it’ll probably get revoked for good. The court would’ve made him use one of those Ignition Interlock Devices you have to breathe into to start your car, but he wrecked it. Beautiful 1971 Chevy GTO. It took him years to restore that thing to cherry and one night of drinking to demolish it. What a waste. The court did make him put an IID on his Harley back in Nevada. He looks like a dumbass when he blows on it. I always ask him if he likes sucking dick to get a ride. He always ignores the question or says at least he still gets to. I ask him how much he likes having to blow into it every 45 minutes to keep going. Same thing: at least he’s still riding. I haven’t broken the news to him that he can’t use it in California. They don’t allow them on bikes yet. Which means Dad’s walking, riding a bicycle, or taking the bus.

  Either way, I know he’ll keep drinking.

  Sometimes I want to ask him if he’d suck dick for real to get his next drink, but sadly I already know the answer is yes. Not that he ever has, to my knowledge, nor would he admit to it if he had.

  It’s so pathetic it makes me want to puke.

  My old man is nothing but a washed up useless drunk.

  “I miss your mom,” Dad slurs, all weepy.

  I scowl, “Shut the fuck up.”

  “I miss her so much.”

  I ignore him and dig a blanket out of a box and throw it in his face. It lands on his head like a little tent. He just leaves it there. I yank it off him and whip it open until it billows down on him. His boots poke out the bottom.

  I shake my head and squat at his feet and yank them off. Each one thuds when it hits the floor.

  I hit the lights on the way out. “Sweet fucking dreams, dumbshit.”

  He’s snoring before I close the door.

  ++++8++++

  LANCE

  Age 8.

  “Daddy?” I shake his arm. It’s night time. He sits in his big chair in front of the TV. The TV is really loud. “Daddy? Wake up. I can’t find Mommy.” I feel dumb calling him Daddy. If I call him Daddy, he yells at me for being a baby and tells me to call him Dad because I’m a big kid. I’m scared, so I forget. “Daddy? Where’s Mommy?” I turn off the TV sound so it’s quiet. “Daddy? Wake up.”

  He doesn’t.

  He likes to sleep in his chair with his beer cans.

  He doesn’t sleep in bed with Mommy anymore.

  Not since I was seven. But they still yell at each other every single day.

  I shake his arm again. “Daddy?”

  “Get offa me, God damn it!” He throws his arms around like tree trunks. He’s still asleep.

  I jump back and fall down hard on my butt. “You hurt my ear, Daddy.” I rub it. “Wake up. You’re having a nightmare. Daddy?”

  He snores loud.

  I cross my legs and stare at him.

  Maybe Mommy will come home if I think about it really hard for a long, long time.

  She doesn’t.

  “Daddy, wake up!” I whisper loud but it’s not yelling because it’s whispering. “Daddy?”

  After forever, he opens one eye. “Go to bed, Lance.”

  “Mommy’s gone.”

  His other eye opens.

  “She’s gone, Daddy.”

  Both his eyes open real big. “What?”

  “Mommy isn’t in her bed. I had a nightmare. I was scared so I wanted to talk to her. She isn’t in the house anywhere.”

  He sits up in his chair like it’s really hard to do, like he weighs a million pounds. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know. I’m scared, Daddy.” I’m afraid he’ll yell at me for not calling him Dad or hurt my ear again. He’s always hurting my ears.

  He doesn’t. He stands up like he’s dizzy and walks to Mommy’s bedroom.

  I follow him.

  He stands in her doorway. “Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know.” I’m whispering because it’s night time.

  He turns on the light and walks into her room and looks in the closet. “Her clothes are gone. Where are her clothes?!” He stares at me.

  “I don’t know!” I didn’t take them but his angry face doesn’t believe me.

  BAM!!

  He punches a hole in Mommy’s closet door. “Where the fuck did she go?!” He’s yelling at me with his beer words. “Where did she go, Lance? God damn it, where is she?!” He stares at me like I’m invisible.

  I feel invisible right now. Like I disappeared like Mommy. Oh, no. Did I make her leave? Or is it because she hates Daddy? I don’t know. Does she hate me too? I don’t know.

  I start to cry.

  Daddy is crying too. “She’s gone, isn’t she? Why did you let her leave? God damn it, answer me! Why did you let her go?!”

  “I didn’t!” I run to my room and close the door and crawl under my Batman blankets, all the way until I disappear.

  I cry and cry.

  Daddy cries too. In the hallway.

  We both cry until forever.

  Chapter 10

  CHASTITY

  Moonlight shines through my bedroom window.

  I lie in silence under the covers. Tears streak my face. I sniffle and wipe my cheek. Tonight was a disaster.

  We took Charity to the ER. Lark came along for the ride. The doctors said Charity was fine, but we should bring her in if anything strange happens in the next week or two. In other words, she’s fine. But we didn’t get home until 4:00am. Lark offered to sleep on the couch. Mom asked her to leave. She did.

  Now I want to forget about everything.

  Except Lance.

  I can’t stop thinking about him.

  I stare at my mirrored closet doors, imagining La
nce’s mirrored bedroom next door. If they were magic like I wanted, I’d walk through right now and apologize to Lance for everything Mom said. She definitely over-reacted about him. But I’m not sure how I feel about Mr. McKnight. Some day I’ll forgive him. But Lance? He’s not a devil. He’s a saint. He wouldn’t even have sex with me. We sure came close, and we both came, but that was it. No penetration. I’m still technically a virgin.

  I wish I was in his arms right now.

  I wonder if he’s asleep in his bedroom? Or is he awake thinking about me?

  I crawl out of bed and place my palm against the glass. It’s cool to the touch. I press my weight against it.

  For a second, I swear to God, my hand moves a millimeter through the glass like it’s liquid. When I push harder, nothing happens.

  It must’ve been the moonlight playing tricks on my eyes.

  I climb back into bed.

  Maybe I should just climb out my window like a regular girl.

  But Mom would totally wake up and grab me by the ankles when I was halfway out the window and pull me back into the room and cook me in her Gingerbread Oven like the witch that she is.

  Sigh.

  I can’t wait to escape the religious cocoon that is life with Mom.

  Maybe when I wake up in the morning, the zombie apocalypse will have happened and Lance and I will be the last two humans on planet earth. Then we’ll have no choice but to start repopulating immediately. Charity can survive too, but she’ll need to bring her own boyfriend.

  What am I thinking? That’ll never happen.

  So what?

  I’m eighteen.

  I can do whatever I want.

  I don’t need a zombie apocalypse. I can start my own lifestyle apocalypse first thing tomorrow.

  The idea puts a smile on my face.

  After I drift off to sleep, I dream about Lance. Oddly, he has a sexy Southern accent like Daryl Dixon on the Walking Dead. He even has the shaggy hair and scruffy goatee.

  ++++8++++

  LANCE