Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chasing Brittan
A. D. Herrick
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Copyright © 2017 A. D. Herrick
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, events, or locales are coincidental and not intended by the author.
“Sometimes in our lives we all have pain
We all have sorrow
But if we are wise
We know that there's always tomorrow
Lean on me, when you're not strong
And I'll be your friend
I'll help you carry on
For it won't be long
'Til I'm gonna need
Somebody to lean on
Please swallow your pride
If I have faith you need to borrow
For no one can fill those of your needs
That you won't let show
You just call on me brother, when you need a hand
We all need somebody to lean on
I just might have a problem that you'll understand
We all need somebody to lean on”
Bill Withers- Lean on Me
Chapter One
Shelby
The slight sting in the crook of my arm causes the tiny thin hairs on my arm to stand at attention. My vein pulsed in anticipation under the long slender bevel of the barrel, the lumen parting my tender flesh easily. My heart was pounding a heavy staccato in my chest with eagerness and expectation. The rhythmic thump… thump… thump… pounded in my ears. It was like a welcome home party thrown by my senses. Licking my dry cracked lips I pushed the needle further into my awaiting vein. My eyes rolled to the back of my head with relief as the cool liquid entered my veins. I inhaled deeply through my nose, savoring the taste of the poison on the back of my tongue, swallowing down the familiar delicious acidic taste, I exhaled.
Tingling began at the tip of my toes and fingers followed by a wave of warmth as the tingling sensation made its way to my chest. The warmth spread through me like the heat from a fire in the middle of a cold December night, warming me to my core. My eyes drift close with heaviness as I allowed the warmth to ease my tense muscles and wrap around my brain, numbing me. I could feel my lips curl up at the corners. I let the memories I had been chasing wash over me.
“Why don’t you just date him?” My mother says from the driver’s seat of her old beat up Volvo station wagon, pointing to a guy walking down the street in the opposite direction we were driving.
The boy was lofty, probably six feet tall. He was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt, his hands pressed casually into his jean pockets. My mouth went dry as my eyes took in the way his shirt molded to his broad shoulders and thick forearms. He had high cheekbones and bleached white hair. He looked like a beefed up Eminem and just as gorgeous.
“I just moved here, why are you trying to push boys on me?” I groaned not wanting to give my mother the satisfaction of knowing that the boy she pointed out was just my type. I knew she meant it sarcastically when she pointed him out. My eyes followed him as we passed.
“Shelby, I just want you to enjoy living here. I know it’s different than what you’re used to but maybe if you make friends and find a boyfriend you will enjoy it better.” I sighed. My mother had no clue that the only reason I was here, in nowhere Arkansas, was because my father was in trouble and I had no intention of moving back to California.
“Mom, just chill alright? You just picked me up from the airport. Just let me freakin’ get my bearings before you start shoving guys and friends at me.”
“You may as well say fuckin’. It’s the same thing.” My mother spat out angrily. Everything was always an argument with her. I hated that she had been my last resort but I had nowhere else to go.
“No, it really isn’t.” I sighed in exasperation. I could feel the headache blooming behind my lids. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the cracked leather headrest of my mother’s old Volvo station wagon. The past few weeks flashed behind my lids.
I had never gotten along with my mother. That was the whole reason I lived with my dad. My parents had split when I was two years old and my mother had decided she didn’t want to be tied down with a kid. I started visiting her once I was seven but the visits were always tense. Once she left the state when I was nine the visits ceased. I was never good enough for her. Never said the right things, wore the right clothes or acted the way she thought I should.
I couldn’t believe that my dad had gone off the deep end leaving me no other choice. I had told my mother he had started drinking. The truth was he was into more than drinking. I had seen two guys force him out of the house at gunpoint as I stood frozen in fear watching from my neighbor’s yard. He showed up two days later covered in bruises and silent. He never said a word about what had happened.
I had no idea what kind of trouble he was in and he didn’t volunteer. The fun man that took me fishing played catch with me, and took me out hiking, the man I had known all of my life was gone, replaced by a hollow man who never spoke and disappeared for days at a time.
My carefree life had been turned on its head. I had no idea what to expect from one day to the next. I had no family that lived near us and I didn’t feel comfortable talking to my friends about what was going on at home. How do you explain to your friends that your white collar lifestyle had become scenes from a horror flick? How do you tell your friends that your Silicon giant father had given up his pressed suits and martinis for tattooed thugs that brandished weapons?
After that night there had been several attempts by strange men to get me into their car promising to take me to my dad. I knew I had had enough. I wasn’t sure what my father was into but I knew that it was no longer safe for me to be around him.
I packed my bags and hailed a cab to the airport. I almost felt bad for giving my mom a few hours’ notice about my arrival but thought better of it. It was about time she took responsibility for her child, for me. I had left my dad a note letting him know I was safe and that I would contact him soon. I didn’t want to leave too much information in case the note fell into the wrong hands. I had no idea what my father was into but I knew that staying silent would keep me safe.
The wheels of the old beat up silver Volvo squealed as my mother turned into the small parking lot of her apartment complex, pulling me out of my thoughts. I opened my eyes, blinking several times as my brain registered where we were. I felt a moment of panic as real
ity set in. I was no longer living the life of luxury in a beautiful Mediterranean home in a gated community. I was now living in a tiny rural town in an old dilapidated apartment complex. The white paint, gray with age, was peeling in sheets off the rows of tiny apartments. The doors were made of old weathered wood with visible gaps on display. Home sweet home I thought.
“What’s wrong princess? You too good to get out of the car?” My mother snarled bitterly as she took in my stunned appearance.
I closed my eyes and took a deep steadying breath before exiting the vehicle. I refused to respond. I knew it would only lead to an argument.
“Grab your stuff. I have plans tonight and I need to get ready.” She slammed the car door and strode off toward the row of apartments.
I scrambled to get my bag and hurry after her, catching up with her as she swung open the door to her apartment, 11B. My face immediately scrunched up against the putrid smell that emanated from the open door. The smell of old garbage mingled with the dank smell of mildew cloaked around the nauseating stench of an ashtray. I had forgotten that my mother was a heavy smoker. I had been so wrapped up in the mess with my father that it completely slipped my brain.
“Put your stuff in that room on the left. I’m going to go get ready. I don’t want you making a mess while I’m gone.” She snarled as she walked toward the back of the apartment. Looking around the place I let out a sarcastic laugh. An atomic bomb going off in this place couldn’t mess this up. The house was littered with old garbage, dirty clothes, and dirty dishes.
I watched her slim frame walk through the dark room and enter the doorway across from where she had directed me to put my things. I had only taken several steps into the apartment and I could already feel my lungs protesting. If I didn’t have asthma now, I would surely develop it before I graduated in a few short years.
The apartment was tiny, probably 700 square feet. A tiny galley kitchen was off to the left of the front door covered in old trash and a sink piled high with dirty dishes that had probably been there for months. The living room was small and held a tiny love seat and a small black and white television with aluminum foil wadded up in balls arching up toward the sky around the antenna that was tacked to the wall.
I slowly made my way toward the room that was dubbed mine, passing a small bathroom that was just off the living room, separating the kitchen from my room. I was afraid to turn on the light to see what type of disarray it would be in. Already I felt my skin itching with the need to take a hot shower to wash off the grime from the place.
I turned the handle to the room that was christened mine and was shocked to find an empty room that was moderately clean. There was nothing in the room, no bed, dresser, nothing. It was simply an empty room and undoubtedly the cleanest room in the house.
“Here take these. I guess they will do until I can see if Betsy has any others that she can give up.” My mother’s voice startled me. I spun around to face her in time for her to shove an old rag like blanket and mustard yellow pillow into my chest.
“Those are my good ones, don’t be getting attached.” She huffed and turned to leave.
I stood there in shock. My hands full of filthy stinking linens as she walked out the door. I couldn’t believe she had just left me like that. Wait a minute, who was I kidding. She stuck around longer than I had expected.
I went through the tiny apartment flipping on lights and opening windows. I hoped that the natural light and fresh air would help clear the place of the putrid funk smell that permeated the place. The harsh lighting of the place and natural light that streamed in through the dull dirty windows proudly displayed the disheveled pigsty that was to be my home. The walls were stained yellow with nicotine. Everything needed to be washed and scrubbed. My skin crawled just looking around the place. There were cobwebs in every corner and strung along the juncture between the ceiling and walls that were caked in nicotine and dust.
I rolled up my sleeves and decided to start cleaning the apartment. I knew it was the only way I would be able to function. Already my anxiety had reached near breaking point sending my heart into unsteady palpations and my nerves on end. My hands shook of their own accord.
I spent my day doing laundry and cleaning the house. I washed and scrubbed in a state of shock. How could anyone live like this? I had opened all of the windows to allow the place to air out despite the thick balmy humidity. Anything was better than the closed up cesspool. I carted ten bags of garbage out of the kitchen and washed the blanket and pillow she gave me three times before I was satisfied enough to sleep on it.
The sun had set by the time the house had some semblance of clean and smelled less like an ash tray. After removing the garbage and washing the dishes the only smell that had remained was the weak yet present stench of nicotine and cigarette smoke. Thankfully it no longer smelled like old garbage and mildew, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could have stomached the putrid smell before heaving the contents of my stomach. Hopefully, after a few more days of scrubbing even the ashtray smell would be gone.
I went over the carpets one last time with the carpet shampooer before calling it quits. I was exhausted and starving. I had cleaned out the refrigerator before I took out the trash and found that after removing all of the expired and molded food there was nothing left. Not even butter. How long did you have to have butter before it expired, I wondered.
I remembered spotting a diner down the street and decided to hoof it over. There’s nothing like asking Pat and Bend to give you a life, Pat your feet and bend your knees. The air outside through hot and humid was a stark improvement. I hadn’t realized how bad I had been wheezing in the apartment. Between the harsh chemicals and the thick layer of filth and tobacco, my lungs were on the verge of collapsing until I walked outside. I definitely needed to figure out my next move. I couldn’t stay in this hell hole for long. I would have probably been safer with my dad. A bullet would kill me instantly. Living with my mother was going to be a slow torturous death that lasted ages.
I woke up in a cold sweat to the pounding of fist on the front door. “Just a minute,” I called out through dry parched lips. The words came out strangled and barely audible. The pounding continued. “Just a minute,” I tried again. My voice was slightly fuller, though my throat and lips were still as dry as the Sahara.
I shook off the effects of my drug induced dream. It was one of the worst ones. Of all the memories I buried, that was not one I wanted to resurface. Small price to pay, I guess. I stretched out my limbs, shaking them back to life. I had passed out on the floor in front of the couch once again. This was beginning to be a habit. I couldn’t remember the last time I slept in my bed.
“Hurry up Shelby,” Janet’s rich throaty voice called out, muffled by the thick wood door.
I quickly hid my party favors in the small wooden box I used for storage and shoved it deep under the couch, hiding it from prying eyes. I downed the glass of water I had left on the coffee table to quench my parched throat. My Sahara dry throat protested causing me to cough and sputter much of the lukewarm water out. My throat already felt ten times better with the small bit of water I was able to choke down. Janet continued to pound on the door begging entrance.
I adjusted the long sleeve of my shirt to cover the track marks left behind from my recent habit then gave myself a once over in the mirror. My hair long brown hair was greasy and limp against my pale complexion. My hazel eyes took on a dull brown hue. I shook my head in shame, turning away from my reflection. I couldn’t quit now. I had just got him back, if even just in memory. I quickly threw my hair up into a messy bun hoping to disguise its lackluster appearance. Janet’s fist began pounding on the door again, reminding me she was still out there waiting.
Plastering on a fake smile I swung the door open widely.
“Holy hell, Shelb, you look like shit! What took you so long?” Janet’s nose drew up in distaste at my appearance as she breezed past me into the condo.
“Thanks, Janz, way to m
ake a girl feel loved.” I rolled my eyes swinging the door closed behind her.
“Dude, you get a weeks’ vacation and spend the first night vegged out, phone off, and looking like something the cat dragged in. What gives?” She asked sauntering over to the wine chiller.
“I just fell out, man.” I tried for nonchalance giving her a reassuring smile.
“Well hurry up and shower, we have plans, remember?” Her shiny bright blue eyes grew wide with excitement over the rim of the glass of Stag’s Leap in her hand before shooing me out of the room with the wave of her free hand.
I reluctantly gave in. I needed a shower to wash away the horrible memories that had resurfaced. Sometimes it was like that, a roll of the dice. At least I got to see his face again, if only for a moment. A sad smile tugged at the edge of my lips.
An hour later I was showered, dressed and ready to hit the club. Janet had called an Uber and was waiting on me when I walked out of the bedroom.
“You know I hate you, right?” Janet said, her face scrunched up with disfavor as we walked out to the waiting car.
My brows drew up in confusion. “What the hell did I do now?” I asked genuinely perplexed sliding in beside her in the backseat.
“You can go from road kill homeless to knockout diva in less than an hour and no one is the wiser, while it takes me three to four hours to pull off half way human.” She scowled in mock anger
I laughed her off. “Dude, I just threw this on.” I motioned toward the short black dress I was wearing with three-quarter sleeves and deep V-neck, that proudly displayed my perk double D’s.
Arching an eyebrow at me she gave me a firm once over. “That’s exactly my point. It took me ages to decide what to wear.” She waved her hands wildly indicating the silky electric blue dress that wrapped around her neck in a halter style and dipped low between her breasts to her navel. Her milky white skin glowed under the bold color.
“And you look like a million bucks, what’s the problem?”
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