by Kim Jones
“Where am I?” I ask, sleep still thick in my voice.
“Home.” Home is a trailer with no skirting and a leaky bathroom faucet. This is not home. Memories of court and the shit Regg and Luke pulled has anger building inside of me. Who the hell did they think they were?
“Let’s get one thing straight, Reggie.” I draw out his name as I turn sideways in the truck to look at him. “This is not my home and you are not the boss of me. Nobody asked you to do what you did. So, whatever shit you and Luke have brewing stops now. I’m calling my friends, they’re coming to get me and I’m leaving.” Immediately I start searching for my cell phone that I already know I don’t have. Fuck it. I’ll walk.
“Let me give it to you straight, Denny. This is your home for the next ninety days. I may not be your boss, but I am responsible for you. You’re right. Nobody asked me to do this, I offered. Luke is my brother and I’ll do anything in my power to help him. You don’t have any friends. Those junkies you were hanging out with, they probably don’t even realize you’re gone.” I glare at Regg, my hazel eyes challenging his brown ones that are full of determination and something I know so well-disappointment.
“Fuck you.” I jerk on the handle of the door, my clammy hands fighting with the lock as I struggle to get it open. I feel sweat bead across my upper lip as I try to focus on opening the door and not ripping the son of a bitch off the hinges. I know the drugs are almost out of my system. I can already feel my body starting the grueling process of withdrawal.
Anger consumes me, blinds me and has me beating on the window screaming when the door opens. I fall out of the truck, thankful for the seatbelt that keeps my face from hitting the gravel. But it’s not a seatbelt holding me. It’s the huge ass forearm of Reggie fucking Rawls.
“Let me go!” I scream, finally finding my footing and pushing against his chest. His arm releases me and he takes a step back, his face completely void of emotion. “Just leave me alone!” I step forward, giving his chest another shove that does nothing but cause pain to shoot through my wrists. I turn from him, stumbling down the long driveway that seems to go on for miles. When the world around me begins to blur, I slow my pace and then have to stop all together to keep from passing out. Shit. If I just had a bump. Just one. I could get through the rest of the day. I could walk right out of here and back to my life.
“In less than an hour there are gonna be a whole lot of people here, Red. So either you can come inside and deal with this shit, or you can try to run. But, there’s only one way in and one way outta here, babe. And unfortunately for you, that same road you’re taking to leave, they’re gonna be drivin’ down very shortly.” I place my hands on my knees, gulping in mouthfuls of air that never seem to quite make it to my lungs.
Sure enough, the Youth Challenge Work Program was bullshit. The only program I would be attending was the ‘Devil’s Renegades We’ll Get You Off That Shit’ program and it was under the direct order of Regg. This was the pisser of club life. Nothing happens that everybody doesn’t know about and everybody wants to help. And they would be here, all of them-telling me they love me, telling me what a fuck-up I am and promising me that they would be here if I needed them. Because there is no one else to take my anger out on, I spin on my heels and focus all of my rage on Regg.
“Why would you do that? You don’t want to help me, you want to make me look like a fool.” Even from a distance I can feel Regg’s tension. His eyes narrow and he starts towards me.
“I would never make a fool out of you. And to prove it, I’m gonna do for you what you obviously don’t have the willpower to do for yourself.” He dips and his shoulder connects with my stomach in one swift motion. The sudden movement has my stomach flipping and I open my mouth in hopes of vomiting all down the back of Regg’s jeans. When nothing happens, I start screaming, kicking and punching him with as much force as I can manage.
“You motherfucker! Put me down! I hate you! I fucking hate you!” I’m like a cat that’s been backed in a corner. I’m pissed and I’m coming out fighting. I do everything in my power to hurt Regg with not only my fists, but my words too. I tell him what a piece of shit he is. I tell him he is dead to me. I threaten to take his life. I scream so loud that my throat hurts, but the pain makes me feel like a fighter, so I scream louder. My head bobs back and forth. The rushing of blood to my brain causes a heavy ache behind my eyes. But still I fight. I watch the strands of my stringy, dirty hair sway back and forth in front of my eyes, and that pisses me off too.
These people-my family are coming to see me, and instead of supporting me from a distance, they are gonna be up close and personal while I’m at my worst. And I hate them for it. But right now, I hate Regg more. My fingernails dig into his ass. Between my screams, I try to lock my teeth on anything within reach, but I can never make contact. I hear the sound of water and look down to see the white, claw feet of a tub.
“What are you doing? Stop!” I scream, but it’s useless. I’m flipped back over and before I can adjust to my upright position, I’m drenched in a spray of freezing cold water. My breath is taken from me as I fight against the strong arms that force me to remain in the tub. The water is so cold it hurts, but the shock of it clears my head and reality seeps back in. When I can form words, I stutter out a plea that I pray like hell doesn’t fall on deaf ears.
“P-please.” Instantly, the cold water is turned off. I dig my nails into the arm around my waist, using it as a support while I try to catch my breath. Warm water pools at my feet, filling the tub. With his arm still around my waist, Regg guides me until I’m sitting, completely submerged in the water that does nothing to keep my body from shaking. My eyes zone in on the stainless steel faucet in front of me, focusing all of my attention on it and nothing else.
I don’t know how long I sit there, but eventually I regain control over my breathing. I’m still shaking, and it’s not from the cold. This is my body’s reaction from the lack of heroin. Soft, brown eyes come into view and they are still just as determined as they were before. But there is no disappointment in them, only promise.
“You’re gonna get through this, Red. I know it.” I stare at him, feeding off of his faith in me and trying to find some in myself. I concentrate on his face until he becomes nothing but a blur. Then the tears start to fall. I try to blink them away, but they pour down my face in hot, heavy streams that sting my cheeks. “I’ll stay and help you if you want me to.” I feel my eyes widen in panic. Just the thought of being alone in this moment with only me and my demons has my grip on his arm tightening further.
“Don’t leave me,” I manage, hoping he sees the desperation in my eyes. And for once, hoping that he takes pity, something I’ve never wanted from anyone, on me and stays.
“I’ll stay. I promise. But, you have to let go of my arm.” A slow, sexy smile moves across his face and my eyes follow his down to my fingernails that are dug deep into his skin. I loosen my hold and he removes his arm, but keeps a reassuring hand on my leg. I let him strip me, bathe me, and wash my hair while I turn my attention to the slow, steady drip of the faucet.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Even when I’m wrapped in a towel and lifted into his arms, I envision that faucet. I sit on the edge of a bed, my eyes staring off into nothing, while Regg dries my body that suddenly feels battered and bruised.
“I don’t want to see anyone,” I say, looking down at him as he kneels between my legs to dry my feet.
“I know.” He doesn’t look at me. He just continues his task before standing and slipping a t-shirt over my head. Taking a seat beside me, he readjusts his hat and lets out an exaggerated breath. “They’re coming because they care. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but you need to at least make an appearance. This is your family, Red, and they’re not going anywhere.” I pick at the red polish on my acrylic nails, feeling a small hint of satisfaction at each piece I manage to flick off. “Tell you what. I’ll make you a drink an
d maybe that will help calm your nerves a little.” Just the mention of a drink has me off the bed and heading downstairs.
For the first time, I notice Regg’s house. It’s a colonial style home that is void of any décor. The walls are white, the floors are hardwood and each step creaks and groans as I make my way down them. I push through a swinging wood door and find myself in a massive room that stretches the length of the entire house. Deer mounts line the walls along with turkeys, a hog, several bobcats and too many guns to count. A camouflage sectional is centered in the room in front of a T.V.. To the right of it is a massive brick fireplace and to the left a pool table and a loveseat. In the corner of the room, an array of liquor bottles line a mini bar and I can almost smell the vodka before I even see it. Without bothering to look at the label, I grab the first bottle I see and start pushing on doors until I find one that leads to a kitchen. I open almost every white, wooden cabinet door before finding the glasses. I drop a couple of ice cubes in it, fill it to the brim and throw back the entire glass before making another.
“I was thinking coffee, but vodka will work too, I guess.” I find Regg propped up against the small table in the center of the room. He is giving me that damn smirk and from his finger dangles a pair of black, basketball shorts. I move the glass away from my lips long enough to look down and see I’m only wearing one of his shirts. Throwing back the remaining vodka, I snatch the shorts off of Regg’s fingers and pull them up my legs. When I reach back for my drink, it’s gone. My eyes swarm the kitchen, looking for the small, empty glass that is ready for a refill. “You’ve had two, Red. I think that’s enough.” Immediately, my vision fogs.
“Regg,” I start, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth and biting to try and contain my temper. I squeeze my eyes shut and ball my fists. I try to count to ten, but I’m too pissed to remember what comes after three. I try to think of the leaky faucet, but the clear water only reminds me of what I’m being refused. I open my eyes, locking them on Regg and mutter one word that packs so much meaning; I know for sure he will get the message. “Don’t.” He stares back at me for a moment before taking the bottle in his hand and walking out. Because there is nothing in here to throw, I turn to follow him into the only room in this fucking house containing shit I can destroy. I scan the room, figuring I could start with that big ass wild boar hanging on the wall.
“Let’s compromise.” I spin around to find him standing behind me, my glass in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. “I’ll let you have another drink now if you’ll drink something that doesn’t contain alcohol while everyone is here. When they leave, if you want, I’ll let you have another.”
“I’m not a fuckin’ kid, Regg,” I snap, feeling my hands fist as I curl my toes into the rug.
“No, Red. You’re an addict. And I’m not gonna let you swap one addiction for another. I’m not trying to sound like a dick, it’s just the facts. The vodka will never be enough. It doesn’t matter how much you drink. You’ll wipe out every bottle in here and start drinking mouthwash trying to get that high you’re craving right now. So, that’s the deal. Take it or leave it.” Everything he says is matter of fact. No humor, and no fucking compromise. It’s his way or no way. And as much as I don’t want to give in to his offer, I have no choice. I need something right now. It’s either that or me and the pig is fixing to have a pissing contest.
I walk over and snatch the glass from his hand. He pours the drink and I have an urge to take the bottle and hit him over the head with it. The only thing that stops me is the scent of the alcohol and the water that builds in my mouth. I knock the glass back, being sure to drain every drop before handing it back to him and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand in a very unladylike way. Who the fuck am I kidding? I’ve never been a lady.
“I like my coffee strong and sweet,” I snap, hoping like hell he sheds mercy on me and spikes it with a little Kahlua.
“Funny you should say that,” he says, that shit eating grin is back on his face.
“Why is how I like my coffee funny to you?”
“Because it’s exactly how I like my women.” He walks back to the kitchen and I’m glad he gave me a little insight in to his personal preference when it comes to females. It’s reassuring to know that there is no chance of a connection between us. Because strong and sweet are the two things that in this moment, I am not.
Chapter Nine
Families of Leather Stick Together
“Damn, I’ve missed my sexy bitch.” My face is buried in Brooklyn’s neck and has been for the last five minutes while she tells me she misses me over and over. “It’s been too damn long since I’ve seen you. I just hate it has to be like this.” Brooklyn is the wife of Ronnie, Devil’s Renegades President, Lake Charles chapter. She stands nose to nose with me at about five foot seven, is covered in tattoos and has lips that are always painted some shade of red.
Brooklyn is the mother I never had. She is the friend I can call anytime to confide in. And she is the MC sister that has my back-always. I’ve done a pretty good job of making a mess out of life over the years and she has always been there to pick me back up when I fell. Today is no different. But, not only is Brooklyn my confidant, she is the one who has no problem telling me to get my life together. She has a way of making me feel like shit when she lectures me, but she is the one who gets through to me when no one else can. And it might take me days or weeks, but I always call her to thank her for the advice, which is always exactly what I need.
I pat her on the back to keep my hands busy. She still has me held tight to her as if she’s afraid I might run away. Which is exactly what I want to do. I want to claw at my skin. Pull out my teeth. Chew the paint off the walls-anything to give me just a hint of relief from the shit I’m feeling right now. My need for a line has never been greater. And I know it’s fixing to get worse.
“I’ll make you some coffee,” I tell Brooklyn, pulling from her embrace so I can try something else in hopes of scratching this itch I have.
I wander off to the kitchen that is, thankfully, empty. Pacing back and forth, I wait for the coffee to brew. I wipe down the counters, rearrange the glasses in the cabinet, clean out the sink and then pace again. Nothing seems to be working.
The wooden door swings open and Ronnie walks in, beaming at me as if I’m the reason the sun shines every morning. Or why Vance and Hines pipes sound better than any other on Harleys. Or why sliced bread is now an option. But in reality, he is part of my family. And today, regardless of my short comings, my family is very happy to see me.
“Hey sugar,” he drawls, leaning his long frame down to give me a peck on the lips. The chains of his wallet jingle as he makes his way across the kitchen to the coffee. The scent of leather and man invades the kitchen and it doesn’t take me long to realize that Ronnie isn’t the only biker in the room. The whole damn space is now filled with leather cuts, filled with brothers, filled with the desire to tell me hello.
Possum is here. His incredible laugh has always brought a smile to my face, but in this moment, I can’t appreciate it. I find the strength to say hello and even ask about Punkin, his ol’ lady. She is still doing time for killing her ex-husband, but he assures me she will be out soon.
Big Al, aka the ‘gangsta’ of the club, always has some joke about me dancing for him. But this time, he tells me the same shit they all will-‘I’m here if you need me.’ The words make me want to take that chain that dangles from his neck and choke him with it. I can actually see myself doing it, but thankfully Mary interrupts.
She’s a little thing. Not even five feet tall and her head hits me right in the chest. I feel like I’m smothering her with my tits, but she swears they are a lot smaller than they once were. I want to say, ‘no shit, Mary. It’s because I’m a heroin addict and I like it better than food.’ But, somehow I find the willpower to not say anything.
And they just keep coming. Kyle and Katina-the quiet one and the goofy one. Bryce-the massive one that hardly says
anything, other than today of course. Shark and Chi-Chi-the mean, ‘I’ll break your fucking neck with my bare hands’ one, and the ‘I think I’m hot shit and nobody fucks with me’ one. More and more keep finding me. And the more they talk, the more fidgety I get. The more I want to scream or pull my hair out. I don’t even associate them with who they are and what they mean to me. Only what I hate about them in this moment. And I hate all of them. I want them to leave. Everything they say is heroin. Everything they wear is heroin. Everything I desire is heroin, and heroin is the only thing in this moment that I don’t have.
Everyone has a breaking point, and I’ve already snapped before I realize that I’ve reached mine.
Throwing shit feels good. It’s only a coffee cup, but when the shattered pieces silence the room, I feel like I can think a little clearer. Too bad it did nothing to calm me down.
“I can’t do this shit!” I scream, to whoever in the hell is listening. Which is probably the whole damn house considering they are all in the kitchen. In my space. Aggravating the hell outta me. When I reach the front door, I hear Regg coming to my defense against someone. I hear him tell them to just give me some time. I also hear him say that there is nowhere I can go. But, that is a lie. I know exactly where to go. The hell away from here.
With my county issued slippers and my trusty cigarettes, I hit the road. Or driveway. Or fucking field. Whatever you want to call it. And when I get to the end of it, I have the option to go left or right. So, I ‘eenie meenie miney mo’ it and go right. The only thing around me is trees. Lots and lots of never ending tress. Then, I come to an open field with round hay bales sitting sparingly across it. It’s beautiful, but I can’t really appreciate it because I only have one thought on my brain.
Heroin. A fine, white line of powder that would take me less than two seconds to snort and less than twenty seconds to feel normal again.
