Blind Love (Sulfur Heights Series)

by Brannon, M. S.

  Darcie looks down at our joined hands and sheds a few tears of her own. We’ve dropped all childish acts with each other and have come together as a force to be reckoned with. With this nonverbal gesture—our hands holding onto the love we have for a friend—Darcie and I fuse together. We are uniting our love for Presley to save our best friend.

  “We have to save her,” Darcie whispers. “I can’t lose her. You have no idea how much I need her in my life. She’s like a sister to me. We went through some heavy shit when she moved here.”

  “Your secret,” I say out loud, knowing full well there is something she’s hiding. “Darcie, you have to tell me. Please, trust me. I won’t say anything. All I want to do is help my best friend. I’ve seen what depression can do to her, and right now, it’s beyond anything I’ve seen in the past.” I’m begging with every ounce of my will; Darcie needs to speak to me. We need to save Presley.

  Darcie gets up from the couch and begins to pace. She’s stalking the length of the living room, wearing the carpet with each pace. “You don’t understand. This is way beyond what you told me. It doesn’t just affect Presley, it affects all of us; and if I tell you, it will affect you, too.” She stops in the room, digging her thumb into her left wrist, making the skin red and angry.

  I stand and grab her hand, stopping the wearing on her scar, and plead, “Please, we are all she’s got. She needs help.” I look down at her deep red scar. “Does this have to do with your scars?” I boldly ask, not knowing how she will react.

  “It’s part of it.” Darcie looks to the kitchen and we hear Drake filling his glass of water. “You have to tell him. I’ve never seen him so lost. He loves her so much. Drake needs to know.”

  I nod to Darcie as she screams his name, asking him to join us. My heart is racing and I’m petrified to tell him.

  “What’s up?,” Drake says while looking around the room. “Where’s Mia?”

  “She’s napping in my room,” I tell him.

  “Just tell him. He deserves to know,” Darcie says gently. When I don’t say anything, she huffs out, “Delilah thinks she may know what’s going on with Presley. Apparently, she’s had problems with it in the past,” Darcie informs quietly. “Go on. Tell him.” Her eyes meet mine and they instantly gloss over.

  I am so scared right now. I know Drake is going to flip his lid and Jake’s not here to protect me. He left shortly after I yelled at him and hasn’t returned.

  Here goes nothing.

  “Before Presley moved here, she was institutionalized. Her parents recognized she had a major problem and immediately took action to get her help.” I ruin my shirt as I tug and pull it, making a knot. I can’t look at him. I can’t bear to see the anger in his eyes again. “She’s struggled with depression for a long time, and right before her parents died, she was doing so well, but then she moved here, and I can tell she is rapidly slipping back into her old ways. We have to get her help before she dies.”

  “Institutionalized?” Shocked and confused, Drake whispers back to me. “For what?”

  “Depression and anorexia. She has always been a sad person, which led to Presley getting teased constantly when she was younger, which only advanced her deep depression and led her to starve herself. I think she stopped eating because she was trying to give up on herself, but we wouldn’t let her give up. Her parents put her in a rehab facility where she learned how to cope with her depression. God, she was just so sad and skinny, but over the few months of therapy while she was there, Presley started to pull herself back up.”

  “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” As predicted, Drake’s voice booms through the living room, causing me to jump from fear. “Do you realize all of this shit could have been avoided if you would’ve enlightened me, Delilah?”

  “I’m sorry, Drake. Presley made me promise never to tell anyone. She was so embarrassed and didn’t want to be judged by her past. It just wasn’t my secret to share, and I really wasn’t sure she was doing this until I saw her this morning.”

  “Just like it wasn’t your secret to share when Presley went to the abortion clinic!”

  His jab hurts. I will never forgive myself for not saying anything, and I only wish Drake could realize how secrets are kept in my family. I’ve been trained from a young age that, if you give someone your word, you stick to it. My father has always been this way and will never change. Secrets are impossible for me to share because I feel like I’m breaking a code. I will get sent to the firing squad if I utter a single word.

  Drake begins to angrily pace the room while I shake in fear. He’s walking back and forth, mulling something over in his head while Darcie and I stand by and watch him, wondering what he will do next. Then she speaks up.

  “Drake, I think it’s only fair we tell Delilah what happened to Presley while she’s been here.”

  Defeated, Drake caves and my life is forever changed the minute Darcie begins speaking.

  Chapter 11

  Delilah

  Our plan is simple. We are going to approach her intervention style. We will give her no other choice and the three of us are doing it together. Drake has tried to take care of this himself, but with Darcie and me now a united front, he soon realizes it isn’t going to happen. Before we leave the Evans’ house, I call my dad briefly, explaining what is going on. He’s known what happened to the younger Presley, and helped her parents find a good rehab place for her. Now, I am depending on my dad to help us again.

  He is worried, tells me he loves me, and then gives me the name of a highly recommended place all the rich folks use. The cost is enormous, but Drake doesn’t care. He says he has the money in savings and would spend three times as much if it means getting Presley well.

  He’s such a good man. Presley is so lucky to have someone like him. He’s fighting so hard to keep her alive. Do I have that with Emerson? Do I have that kind of relationship with Jake? I’m appalled at the thoughts and the answers to those questions all at the same time.

  On the car ride to their apartment, I attempt to process Darcie’s story. How awful for her to be tortured her entire childhood, held captive and abused by the man who has been supposed to care for her. Then, to have your own mother allow it to happen; it disgusts me and pains me jointly.

  I immediately think of what Maggie has told me at the youth shelter and think of Darcie. All she has ever wanted is to be loved—her mother’s love—but instead she got handed over to a monster. A monster who happened to be Presley’s uncle and responsible for her current state of self-loathing.

  Then, there is Reggie. Here’s a man who would do anything for his family and for the love of his life. He did all of it, knowing the risks to his freedom. His heroism is awe inspiring, tragic and beautiful. Who are these Evans men? I thought I knew them, but after seeing so much self-sacrifice, I suddenly learn I really don’t know them at all.

  Does Jake possess these qualities? I’ve seen him protect me from dangerous situations, but I can’t say he would move Heaven and earth just to keep me from being in pain. He’s too self-absorbed to sacrifice himself for someone he truly loves. That’s what my head keeps telling me anyway.

  The car slams to a halt when we pull up to the apartment, and then we begin to make our way inside. Darcie and I sit on the couch, hashing out our plan and what we will say to her. I warn Darcie that, if she gets too aggressive, it will push Presley away and that’s the worst thing we can do. I glance down the hall and watch Drake, who has just left Mia’s room, standing just outside his bedroom door. He’s taking deep breaths. Nerves, I’m sure, are getting shredded as he realizes this is going to be a fight.

  Drake returns from the back bedroom, completely bewildered. “She’s not here.”

  “Well, where the hell is she? Could she be next door?” Darcie asks. She begins her own search of the apartment.

  “No. Mrs. Fields is out of town visiting family,” Drake answers, confused.

  This is the twenty-first century people, and she does
have a cell phone. She doesn’t go anywhere without her phone, however the obvious seems to be slipping away from Drake and Darcie. “Well, let’s simply call her cell phone and see where she’s at.” I reach into the pocket of my shorts and grab my phone.

  “You can’t,” Darcie shouts from the back. She moves up the hall, waving Presley’s cell phone in her hand.

  “What the he—” We all look at each other, completely confused, just before the sounds coming from behind the door sound like a dying cat that’s wearing really loud boots. Nothing but stomping and groaning, strange.

  When Drake opens the door, a man dressed in all black is dragging a very drunk Presley up the stairs. She’s moaning and trudging in step with the guy. It reminds me of how zombies walk, all disoriented and intoxicated. She is completely out of it. Then I really look at her. Presley’s hair is messily falling out of her bun and her clothes look like she hasn’t changed them in days. I want to go to her. Something is terribly wrong. I can feel it in my gut. I’ve never seen her so… so… gone.

  My feet quickly start to move, “Presley!” I scream. Drake stops me short, preventing me from getting anywhere. Oh, my God, Presley, what have you done? What has he done to her? “What are you doing with her?” I say my thoughts out loud, scared but needing to hear his reaction.

  Then Darcie ducks underneath Drake’s arm and runs to Presley. Before he can stop me again, I do the same. I help my best friend into the apartment as she speaks incoherent words into the air, making no sense. Darcie and I set her down on the couch. Darcie is a caged wolf right now. She is angry and saying every curse word in her vocabulary.

  When Drake walks in, he kneels beside me as I try waking her up. This is not good. She’s probably got alcohol poisoning. We should take her to the hospital. I feel really strongly about this. If she doesn’t wake up soon, I will drag her to the car myself.

  I tap her on the face. Lightly at first, trying to get her to wake up, then a little harder. Presley wakes momentarily to say something I don’t understand, and then passes back out.

  “What in the Sam-hell is wrong with her? Is she drunk? She’s completely out of it,” I say while peeling loose strands of sweaty hair off Presley’s face. “God, her skin is all clammy. I think we should call an ambulance. She… she doesn’t look well at all.”

  This is exactly why I hate booze. Look at my best friend, obviously hurting from what she’s experienced with her uncle, and is self-medicating with booze. It’s terrifying and infuriating all at the same time.

  “It’s not an ambulance she needs. I think she will snap out of it soon.” Darcie’s legs begin to pace. Now she’s making no sense. “Did you see it? Because I sure as hell didn’t fucking see it!”

  “What?” Drake and I ask in unison.

  “I didn’t see it. Man… I should’ve seen it,” Darcie keeps repeating to herself. Maybe they both need to go to the hospital; Darcie is acting just as strange. “She’s not fucking drunk; I can tell you that.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Drake is snapping his fingers and rubbing Presley’s leg. I wonder why we haven’t called an ambulance yet, or made a move toward the door. She’s sick. Can’t they see that?

  “Do you have any idea who that fucking guy was?” Darcie shouts as she points to the front door. Her feet keep pacing in agitation and her hands are fisting at her sides.

  “Will you keep your goddamn voice down,” Drake snaps, pointing to the back hall where Mia is sound asleep in her bed. “Who was he?”

  “That was Carter fucking Brown.” She expels an irritated sigh, then says, “Only the biggest fucking heroin supplier in town.”

  Did she just say heroin? That’s not possible, Presley would never do drugs. Would she? She’s has always been looking for ways to numb her depression in her youth. I guess it’s possible she’s turned to drugs because starving herself hasn’t been satisfying enough. The thought sickens me. Then I look at her skin, clammy and gaunt. Her behavior has been erratic, monstrous even, and the way she’s been speaking to the ones she loves—she’s pushing us all away.

  “What?” I look to Drake. He’s in shock. Complete and utter shock as the anger of Darcie’s words practically kills him. “I don’t believe it! She’s just really drunk or something. She knows… about my birth mom. Presley would nev—”

  What happened to his birth mom? I question to myself as Darcie begins to show Drake the reality of what’s going on with Presley.

  “Drunk? Really, Drake? If she were drunk, she’d be reeking of booze. Think about it. She’s completely out of control, losing weight, and she looks like fucking death. She’s a completely different person.” Darcie walks over to Presley’s limp body and motions to me. “Lift up her sleeves.”

  “What… why?” This is too much. I don’t know if I can handle what she’s saying. I can feel the tears driving their way to the front of my eyes where they begin to blur my vision, but I hold them in, trembling with the fear of losing my friend.

  “Track marks. If she’s shooting up, she’ll have track marks on her arms.” This only happens on TV, right? People don’t get caught up in hard drugs and have emotional outbursts and track marks.

  “Don’t! Don’t fucking touch her!” Drake is guarding Presley, not allowing Darcie to pull up her sleeves.

  “Drake! She’s a fucking junkie!” Darcie shouts back.

  “She’s not a junkie. She’s not,” Drake whispers.

  I’ve entered the twilight zone. This has to be a dream or something. I’m watching a man, who will do anything for his love, fall apart in anger and denial. Drake pushes Darcie to the ground, but she shakes it off enough to prove her point. A point I don’t think I’m ready to see.

  “Prove it.” Darcie points to Presley’s arm. “Pull up her sleeve and tell me there are no track marks because I can guarantee you will find them.”

  I gasp, “Oh, sweet Jesus.” Nothing could’ve prepared me for what I’m looking at—nothing. Presley’s arms are covered in holes; so many that there they are too numerous to count. What did she do to herself? This is so much worse than I ever imagined. Darcie has been right. My best friend is a junkie.

  Jake

  No one, and I mean no one, can piss me off faster than Delilah. I am so tired of her self-righteous attitude, walking around and speaking like she’s better than me. Yes, I like to have a drink every now and then, and yes, I do enjoy the company of random women, but what business is that of hers? She’s just pissed because she envies my lifestyle.

  Actually what she needs is to get drunk then get fucked. I mean, really fucked. Someone needs to rip her clothes off and dominate her, then let her work out all her pent up aggression on them. Maybe I should just get it over with and fuck her.

  I can tell she’s curious, jealous even. Not because she’s got any feeling toward me, but because she just wants to know what it feels like to be slammed into a wall and like it. I could show her that. From day one, I’ve dreamed about wrapping her knock out body around mine.

  All the thoughts of having sex with Delilah are starting to excite my body a little too much. Though she’s not worth the trouble. She’d probably scream that I’m doing it wrong when she has no idea how to even do it. Nope, I won’t ever fuck her, even if she begs for it. It’s too much work and drama; nothing good would ever come from it.

  I pull out my phone and text Reggie.

  Me: Have you seen my twin?

  Reggie: He’s here

  Me: On my way. Don’t tell him I’m coming

  I have yet to see Jeremy since he ditched me at the races and that was almost a month ago. He’s briefly stopped by The Slab with Ronnie tagging along, but when I get there, he leaves as soon as he sees me walk in. Jeremy is avoiding me, not only for the shit he pulled at the races, but for his constant absence. He knows I’m going to call him on it and I can’t wait to see what his answer will be.

  The anger from Delilah and our fight, plus the aggravation growing toward Jeremy, makes my fe
et walk that much quicker to get to the bar. Instead of walking in the front door, I decide to surprise him and walk through the back. Jeremy always sits at our designated table whenever he’s here, and that table is the closest to the back door.

  Swinging the door open, I step into the main bar area where Reggie, who is working the bar tonight, looks at me strangely. I pull a fifty from my pocket and pass it over to him, a gesture I’ve done in the past when I want the entire bottle and a glass. He obliges and I walk to my brother, noticing immediately he’s sitting with Ronnie. Their conversation is quiet, almost heated when I make my way over to the table.

  I slap my hands on the table top, getting their attention instantly. “Well, hi there, brother. Long time, no see.”

  Jeremy sits up straight, his indication that he’s ready for battle. He’s fought alongside me for years; I know exactly when he’s ready to kill.

  “What do you want, Jake?” His voice is low and controlled.

  “That’s a great question because I was just about to tell you exactly what I want.” I look over to Ronnie who’s grown increasingly more uncomfortable with my presence. Good, after I’m done beating Jeremy’s ass, Ronnie can be next. Pansy ass mother fucker. I take a pull from the Jack Daniels bottle and ignite my anger with my whiskey fuel. “I want to know what the fuck is going on with you.”

  I take another drink and offer some to Ronnie, who shakes his head no, and then I turn back to Jeremy.

  “Don’t worry about where I’ve been.” Ugh, wrong answer, Jeremy.

  “Now, you see, you’re mistaken. When my twin brother sneaks off at night, ditches on his obligations, and disappears for weeks at a time, I begin to make it my business. Now,” I take another drink of whiskey, embracing my slight buzz, then continue, “Tell me what’s going on with you.”

  Jeremy stands, pushing his stool away from the table, meeting me in the eye. I put the bottle down and turn my body, facing him, squaring up to my opponent. “I tell you now, Jake, stay out of it. What I’m doing doesn’t concern you. Now drop it.”