“He was my mom's man,” I interrupted. “He was never my dad. You would know if you ever had anything to do with my life, but you haven't, have you?”
All the anger in me came out at her. People stared, and I didn't even care like I normally would if all eyes were on me.
“You think you can come down here after being a piece of crap sister and aunt all these years and it's going to magically be OK? You think I'm going to jump into your arms and say, 'Oh, Auntie, thank you so much for taking time out of your fancy, rich life to be here with us now that my mom's dead'? It ain't gonna happen. You've never been here. You've never lived our life. You have no right to be here now. Peace! I'm out.”
I looked to Clayton with a nod to let him know I was done mourning and took off out the doors of the funeral home. Justin and Lizzie followed.
“What was that?” Justin asked, pulling me back by the shoulder to slow me down once we were outside.
“What? She's got no right showing up here like that! Did you see how she was dressed? She's got money, and what's she ever done for us? I bet that BMW is hers,” I said, pointing to a sleek black newer model in the parking lot next to Luke's pick-up.
“It's probably a rental, since she flew in to be here,” Lizzie answered. “You should go easy on her.”
“Why? She don't care. She never has.”
“How do you know that?”
“Have you ever seen her in my life? Was she there when we got the power shut off when Clayton was out of work that one winter? Was she there when me and Justin stood in line at the food bank? NO! She was in her million-dollar condo, or wherever she lives, eating turkey!”
“Turkey?” Justin grinned. He was trying to calm me down.
“I don't know. Whatever rich people eat.”
“You just need to chill.”
“How am I supposed to chill? My mom is dead. My mom is dead! How do you chill out about that?”
And then they came; the tears poured out. I finally cried for my mom.
Justin took me in his arms, cradling my head in one hand while the other wrapped around me. Lizzie grabbed onto the both of us and rubbed my back while cooing to me that she was so sorry. She cried too.
It was early spring, the time of year when things come to life, and my mother was dead. It wasn't fair, and I cried out of the unfairness of it all until I was hoarse. It was still cold enough outside that I was uncomfortable without a jacket. For a while it didn't matter. I stood there in their embrace and let the tears fall. But eventually, even with the two of them wrapped around me, I got too cold to stay like that, and I was tired and embarrassed.
“I just want to go home,” I said, and that's where Justin took me.
I didn't see Aunt Aerin after that until I went to live with her two months later.
After the funeral I tried to fill my mom's shoes the best I could. I became the one who opened the blinds in the morning and washed the plates and did the laundry, and I was the one who was drinking way too much. Usually I was drunk by the time Justin and Clayton came home. My mom would have been so proud. I couldn't help it; I had no reason to go on. As soon as I thought about her not being there, I'd hit the bar. In my mind, it was better than crying. I didn't think Clayton would notice, and I didn't bother to tell Justin. I screened the answering machine for calls from my school so neither of them would know I was skipping as much as I was, and I made sure I was in bed before either of them got home for the day.
After that first week and a half off I tried to go back to school, but I was so far behind it was overwhelming. I couldn't keep up—or catch up. Mr. Reyes tried to help me. He would let me come into his room to work on stuff, but I was too behind, and he was too busy to be my personal tutor.
“I'm sorry, Haylee, but I can't do this for you. You have to try.”
“I am trying.”
“I know you think you are, but you've let yourself go since your mother died. What work are you doing at home? This is the same place you finished working yesterday. Is everything OK at home? Is Clayton... hurting you?”
I looked up at him but didn't answer. I didn't want to talk about home. “No, everything's fine. He's cool; Justin keeps him in line.”
It was probably too much to say to a teacher. But the truth was that Clayton wasn't a threat anymore. How he managed to keep his job, I don’t know, but he and I were doing the same thing: waking, drinking, sleeping. We could hear him cry at night, and I really didn't get it. I thought he couldn't stand my mom, but apparently, he loved her and missed her.
Sipe called me into her office a little while after I started going back to school. She wanted to talk about how things were going for me at home. I had nothing to say. “We're fine, considering my mom just died and all.”
“Clayton isn't your father, is he?”
“No, why?”
“I'm trying to figure out the dynamic in your home now that your mother's gone.”
I didn't know what “dynamic in your home” meant.
“Does Justin still live in the house?”
“Yeah, but why do you need to know all this stuff?”
“Because we don't have a legal guardian on file for you anymore. Who takes care of you?”
“Me.”
“When was the last time you went to the doctor, Haylee?”
“I don't know.”
“How about the dentist? When did you go to the dentist last?”
“I have good teeth; I don't need to go.” That was a lie—I had one tooth that hurt when I ate sugar—but I felt like I was being interrogated and something bad was about to happen.
“Has your step-dad ever hit you or Justin?”
Danger sirens were going off in my head. Principals didn't ask that stuff, and kids from bad homes didn't answer those kinds of questions.
“He's not my step-dad. Don't you even listen to your own questions? Is there even a point to this?”
“Yes. We need to have a guardian on file for you, and we don't have one.”
“Then why didn't you ask me that? You were asking me if Clayton hits me. Not even the same thing. I'm out of here.” I stood quickly, shoving the chair back in the process.
I took off out the wooden doors and walked home. That was a really dumb idea because we lived ten miles away. It was after five before I got home.
“Where were you?” Clayton bellowed.
“Does it matter? You're not my dad; what do you care?”
“Who do you think has raised you all these years? You better believe I am!”
“Well then, dad, it's none of your business where I’ve been. How do you like that?”
“Don't tell me it's none of my business! You been whoring around town?”
“Yeah, that's exactly it,” I said.
“I see you, making eyes at everyone, I see.”
“You see nothing, Old Man, nothing, ‘cause that's not what I'm doing.”
“You think I'm a fool?”
I walked over to the bar ignoring him, and grabbed the Johnny Walker—partly to drown the sorrows of another day and partly to divert him to something other than who I was with.
I think at first I enjoyed the argument. It brought back a sense of normalcy that I didn't know I craved. In a sick way, I liked it when he yelled at me—it had been weeks since I felt the warm spray of his spit on my face. It was normal, predictable, and I wanted to get back to real life, none of this crying from Clayton or questioning from Sipe.
“What do you think you're doing? You ain't drinking my liquor; what do you do to contribute around here?”
“I can drink if I want to; you can't do anything about it, Old Man.”
It was a challenge. I stood up to him. Justin might be able to prove he had more power with an arm wrestling match, but I had ways of my own, and I was about to pull them out of my pocket. Clayton came toward me. “Oh, yes I can.” He reached for the bottle to take it from me. All I meant to do was move the bottle out of his reach, but I was too slow, and it h
it him in the face while I tried to keep it from him. Rage and anger flashed on his face. Justin wasn't home to protect me, and my dead mother wouldn't have done anything even if she was still alive. All I had were the words I had rehearsed for years in my head.
“What are you going to do?” I asked coolly. “You gonna hit me? Go ahead, hit me!” I yelled, inching into his face. “One hit and you're in jail, and you know it!”
“And if I go to jail, where you gonna go? You ain't got nowhere to go. You ain't got no one.” I hadn't thought about that. I braced for the impact, but it never came. He pulled the bottle out of my hand and yelled into my face. He had me backed up to the bar as far as I could go and kept pressing into me. He was touching me, his chest to my chest, his legs straddling one of mine, he was so on me that I couldn't think of anything else. I wanted to get away, but I was no match for him. I tried to turn first to the left then to the right to get away, but he held me there and screamed out his rage and suspicions.
He grabbed my neck, squeezing and lifting under my jaw until I felt like my head would pop off—but I could still breathe, so I don't think he meant to kill me. He squeezed and pushed into me harder.
“If it wasn't for me, you'd be on the streets right now! I see you all the time; you think I don't notice, but I do. How many of my buddies you been with? How many of those boys at school?” Then his grip got tighter and I couldn’t breathe. I panicked and grabbed his arm with both of my hands and tried to push him away, but he was too strong; I couldn't move him.
“You got nowhere to go, and you know it, and you think you can tell me what you're going to do in my house? You want to stay here? You want a roof over your head?”
I was frozen. I couldn't breathe. But mostly I couldn't get my mind off the fact that he was touching me—everywhere—and accusing me of things like that, and I couldn't get away. I turned to try to get away, but he kept me pinned beneath his weight. Finally he let go of my neck. His hand slid lower, toward my chest, but he still held me fast against the bar, the edge of it cutting into my back. I breathed in deeply—oxygen had never felt so good going into my lungs. I looked at him, terrified of what would happen next. His hand rested just above my right breast, then inched down a little lower.
“I didn't ask you for nothing after your mom died! I just let you stay. Do you want to stay here?”
I didn't know how to answer. I had nowhere else to go, and we both knew it. If I said yes, I was afraid of what he would ask for. If I said no, I was sure he'd tell me to leave in a heartbeat. I didn't know if Justin had enough for us to leave yet; I didn't know how we could do it. I was frozen with fear.
He smiled a horrible, triumphant smile.
“You ain't got nowhere else to go, do you? Do you?!”
“No, I don't. Is that what you want me to say? Get off me!” I tried to push him away, but he pressed against me harder. I couldn't believe it was possible; I felt like the edge of the bar was going to slice me in half as it was. I was no match for him. We both knew it. I didn't know what he would do with me. He had always called me a whore and a tease, but they were just names he used to call me until that evening. That night he was using them too much—and touching me, moving his hand lower. I was afraid, but surely he wouldn't do anything like that. Justin would be home soon, and he had to know I'd tell if he did. I didn't think he would dare, but that was all I could think about.
I didn't want to, but I started to cry. There were no sobs, only tears that spilled out because I couldn't control them.
He grabbed me by my neck again, I was grateful, I preferred his hand choking the life out of me to the alternative. This time, though, he twisted my face so I had to look at him. He stared at me hard. I saw the thrill he was getting from being in charge of me like that. I felt it too. I didn't look away; I stared right back, hoping my eyes showed him my feelings. I wanted him to know that I hated him.
“I'm gonna let you stay, but you're going to start contributing around here, you understand me?”
I couldn't answer. I didn't know what kind of contributions he expected. He interpreted it as insubordination and squeezed, constricting my airway again. “I said, you're going to do your part around here; you got it?”
“Yes!” The tears were pouring down my cheeks. I was shaking from the adrenaline. Then he shoved me back into the bar, rattling the glass. He stepped back and slapped me hard across my face. Spots danced in front of my eyes. It stung the tears away and split my lip. I tasted my blood; sharp and metallic, and resisted the urge to spit it on him. Relief. He was off of me. At least it wasn't a punch; he could have dropped me with one hit, I'm sure.
The first thing I noticed was that it was cold. He had been up on me for so long that his body heat had consumed me. I was cold when he came off, which did not help my adrenaline shakes.
Clayton must have felt bad about the whole thing because he gave me back the bottle. After all of that, he gave it to me like nothing.
“You owe me,” was all he said as he handed it over by the neck.
I grabbed it and retreated to my room for the rest of the night. I didn't drink the Johnny either; it was evil. If I drank it I would owe Clayton something, and I was afraid I knew what he would expect.
Justin snuck into my room later that night. Since my mom died he had come in several times like that. He would always stay on top of the covers but would pull me into his arms and hold me until I fell asleep. When he came in that night I started crying like a baby. He misunderstood at first.
“Shhhhh, I'm so sorry, baby. I know you miss her.”
He thought I was crying for my mom. He was wrong, maybe for the first time.
“It's not that.”
“What, baby, what?”
“Clayton. He flipped out.” I couldn't keep the tears in, but I tried to whisper, even though my voice squeaked out some of the words. I was safe now; Justin wouldn't let anything bad happen to me. I cried into his chest. He let me.
“What did he do? Did he hit you?”
“I don't want to be here anymore, Justin. I can't. He doesn't want me here.” I didn't answer him directly because I didn't want him to get mad and confront Clayton right then. I needed him to be here with me and keep me safe.
“He kicked you out?”
“No ... ” How did you tell your boyfriend that his father had done something like Clayton had done to me? “He said I owed him ... and he touched me.”
“What?!” He moved to get up right away.
“Not like that,” I said pulling him back to me, “Well, almost ... sort of. I can't stay. Can we get out of here yet?”
Justin was pissed. I could feel his jaw clenching over my head as he held me tighter.
“I'm going to kill him!”
“No, let's just leave! Tomorrow, let's just go!”
“I'll see.”
I was dozing off but startled awake when Justin moved the covers away and got under them with me. I turned so he could scoop me up. His arms wrapped around mine, and he pulled me close to him, nuzzling the top of my head. It was astounding how he could make me feel so safe this close after Clayton made me feel the exact opposite. I wanted to melt into him and disappear forever.
“What did he do to you?”
It didn’t seem like that big of a deal now that the moment was over and I was safe. “He yelled, like always, accused me of sleeping around, like he usually does, then he—”
“Did he rape you?”
“No! Nothing like that.” I turned around to face him in the darkness.
“But he touched you?”
“Yeah.”
“How? Where?”
“Justin, I don't want to say.”
“I need to know, Haylee; tell me.”
I was as humiliated as he was mad, but I had to tell him. I owed him that. Justin's grip around my back tightened but he listened to me recount the whole thing.
“He's a dead man,” he said when I was finished. He moved to get up, but I tried to hold him c
lose to me.
“No, don't! He's not worth it. Stay with me. Let's leave. Tomorrow. Let's go and never come back. We can do it; I know we can.”
“We can try.”
CHAPTER 10
THE NEXT MORNING, Justin called in to work and told Coffee that we and Clayton got into a fight and we had to move right away. Coffee, like always, appreciated Justin's honesty and told him about some cheap apartments up the street from Treadmore's. Justin got a hold of the landlord and rented a small (and when I say small, I mean small) studio apartment about five miles from the tire store on his good word and Coffee's reference. Actually, what happened was Coffee promised the landlord, Adriana Cookson, he would take the rent out of Justin's paycheck if he didn't come through.
Justin didn't tell her about me when he signed the contract. There wasn't much to move, and we weren't going to make Clayton mad by taking anything that wasn't ours. Coffee let Justin use one of the store's trucks, and we packed up our beds, dressers, and the TV Justin had in his room. We did take two plates, two sets of silverware, two cups, and two coffee mugs and hoped he wouldn't even notice those. Oh, and a steak knife—we had so many we were sure he wouldn't notice if it was gone.
It was a good thing we didn't have more to move in because it wouldn't have fit. As it was, we pushed our beds together in one corner farthest from the kitchenette area and put the TV on Justin’s dresser across the room. There was about two feet from the foot of our beds to the dresser on the other wall. We used my dresser, which was longer and lower, as our catch-all.
The first thing we noticed after sitting down on the beds was darkness. There was only one overhead light above the entryway and a light in the shower-only bathroom. The kitchen had a mini-stove with a lighted hood, but it was no brighter than a nightlight. We went to Target and bought a particle board nightstand, a floor lamp, a table lamp for the nightstand, and a hamper—because I always wanted one, and I needed something to haul our laundry to the common wash area in. They had bar stools too, and Justin thought it would be a good idea to get them so we had somewhere else to sit besides our beds.
We didn't have money for anything else but food. Justin was used to paying three hundred dollars a month for rent and was shocked to find out we would only have to pay two hundred-fifty dollars for the apartment, including water and garbage. All we had to spring for was TV and power, which would probably balance out to the same amount, but we had to be careful. He was hopeful we would still have money left over every month so he could keep saving; he liked to save. I felt like we had made the great escape.
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