Combative Trilogy

by McLean, Jay

She lets out a sob.

  DeLuca’s movements are slow.

  Or so it seems.

  Then he lifts the pistol, aimed at my head, and takes the final steps to get to me.

  I should move.

  I should do something.

  Anything.

  He’s two feet in front of me now, his gun still pointed.

  His chest heaves with each shaky breath.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Madison releases my shirt, and I feel her move next to me.

  His gaze switches to her.

  He blinks.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Then he speaks.

  “Get in the fucking car, Bailey.”

  Jackson: It’s Madison.

  Jackson: She’s not who she says she is.

  * * *

  I refuse to look at Dr. Aroma when I ask, “You said your parents were on crack?”

  “Yes, I did say that.”

  “Were you serious?”

  “No, Ky. It was a metaphor. They’re just loopy.”

  “My parents were on crack. No metaphor.” I uncross my arms and look around her office, my eyes catching on a framed picture of her in a graduation gown with an older couple. “They your parents?”

  “Yes.”

  “I could have been you,” I mumble.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I found my birth dad. He’s straight edge. I could’ve gone to college, gotten a degree. I could have been you.”

  “And why don’t you think you turned out that way?”

  “Like I said, my parents were on crack.”

  “And it affected you how?”

  “I’m allowed to be bitter, right?” I ask, ignoring her question.

  “You’re allowed to feel however you want to feel, Ky.”

  “As long as it’s not angry?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because it leads me here.”

  “To my office?”

  “No.” I look back at her. “To the edge of destruction.”

  Redemptive

  Chapter 1

  Six Years Earlier

  “Shit,” I whispered, feeling the first drop of rain. It was already freezing out. My jaw had begun to hurt from the effort of trying to force it to shut so my teeth would stop clanking against each other. I stood up, looking for some form of shelter that the dumpster I’d been calling home no longer provided. Pulling my arms into the sleeves of my sweatshirt, I used my body heat to keep me moving, to push me forward.

  A shiver ran up my spine, spreading through the rest of my body. Thunder clapped, and just like that, heavy sheets of rain poured down on me, soaking me from head to toe. My toes were frozen thanks to the giant hole at the tip of the only pair of shoes I owned.

  I cursed under my breath, attempting to run and find shelter. I didn’t get far. I was so weak I could barely stand. I’d given up on trying to remember my last meals, given up on trying to work out time and days.

  I slowed to a stroll, my body fighting against my will to find somewhere warm.

  Somewhere safe.

  The evil lurkers came out at night, especially in the wet, knowing that the sounds of raindrops hitting the pavement would drown out the sounds of yells and screams while they tormented other homeless for their few possessions. The worst was when they’d prey on the elderly. Or the women.

  Because apparently beating and raping aren’t criminal offenses when it came to the homeless vs. the homeless.

  No one cared.

  After slipping my arms through the sleeves, I reached into my bag and fished around for the toy cell phone I’d found and brought it to my ear. I started speaking into it like I was focused on a mission to get home. Saying things like, “Yeah Mom, I’ll be home soon,” just so those who saw me thought I had a purpose in life. Little did they know, my only purpose was shelter, and maybe even a warm drink.

  I don’t know how long I walked before I came to a stop outside an empty diner. I shoved the fake phone back in my bag and looked up.

  The lights above the building flicked on and off, but everywhere else darkness surrounded me. My breaths were short, sharp, tiny spurts of whatever energy I had left. Though barely able to breathe, the sounds of my inhales and exhales amplified in my eardrums. Like a constant, but inconsistent humming.

  I pushed open the doors of the diner, the bright fluorescent lights blinding me immediately. The smell of food overwhelmed my senses and my stomach flipped at the thought of it.

  I pulled the hood off my head and stood for a moment, waiting for my body to stop shivering.

  “Unless you’re here to eat, you need to leave,” I heard. Slowly, my eyes roamed the small space for the voice. A middle-aged man was leaning against the counter, his dirty apron on full display. Dammit. How could he tell? I should have kept the phone to my ear.

  The largeness of his frame was intimidating and the words I wanted to speak caught in my throat.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked.

  It took all my energy to nod. “Bathroom,” I managed to squeak, hoping for working hand dryers to warm me up.

  “Paying customers only,” he said, straightening to full height.

  “I—”

  He pointed to the door. “Out.”

  I wanted to cry.

  Though I knew I couldn’t.

  But what I wanted more was food. Food and warmth.

  “Please—”

  “Out.”

  I turned on my heels, my wet shoes slipping easily on the tiled floor. Then I opened the door and stepped back out into the pouring rain. I rounded the corner of the building and leaned against the wall, using it to shield me from the downpour—if only for a little while.

  Too weak to stand, my body slumped until my ass hit the cold, wet, concrete. I used my arms to cover my head and started the count in my head.

  Two hundred was normally the number I’d get to. It was enough time to give my mind and my body reprieve, and just long enough to get back up and start the same mission again: food, shelter, pretending like I was somebody.

  A door slammed shut, but I didn’t lift my head.

  Twenty-one.

  Twenty-two.

  “Here,” I heard, but I was too afraid to look up. “Take it,” the young male voice said.

  Twenty-three.

  Twenty-four.

  “Just come in. Buy a burger and a drink. Use the bathrooms. Whatever you need.”

  My stomach rumbled on cue, though whoever was speaking to me wouldn’t have heard it over the constant thunder roaring in the skies.

  I felt a hand on my bare knee, exposed by my ripped jeans. “Please,” he said, and the genuine sincerity in his voice gave me the courage to finally look up.

  He smiled around a soaked cigarette. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” He placed the scrunched up bill in my hand as I used the other to wipe the rain away from my eyes. When I could see clearly, I looked down at his hand, now covering mine. He grabbed my wrist and helped me to stand. “I make a mean double cheese. I’ll even throw in some extra fries.”

  I wished I could see him properly. See the eyes of the boy who was opening his heart to me, but it was too dark—the space between us too clouded by the rain.

  “Please?” he said.

  I managed to nod.

  He smiled again, causing the cigarette to fall from his lips. “I’ll see you in there.”

  I walked back into the diner, a stride in my step and a new sense of hope. Marching up to the counter, I eyed the man who had denied me previously. I uncrumpled the cash in my palm—a twenty—and did my best to slam it down on the counter. In the kitchen, a door opened, and my savior entered, his smile widening when he saw me.

  He used his index finger to wipe the wetness off his eyebrows and shook out his arms slightly. He smiled and with a single nod he encouraged me to find my voice.

  My eyes trailed back to the man behind the counter. “I’ll have a co
ffee, a Coke, a double cheeseburger, and fries, please,” I said confidently, pushing the twenty toward him.

  He cleared his throat. Then, over his shoulder, “Steven! Order for—”

  “I heard!” my hero shouted, clearly visible under the diner lights. “I’m on it!”

  He winked at me and my stomach flipped, for a completely different reason than hunger. He gave me a half smile that lit a spark in his eyes while the man in front of me cleared his throat. “Here’s your change,” he said, and then pointed to my left. “Bathroom’s that way.”

  Chapter 2

  The need to find warmth apparently outweighed the need to fill my stomach. This made evident by the fifth push of the hand dryer button and the enormous glee I felt as I dipped my head underneath, combing my fingers through my hair.

  A knock on the door had me jumping out of my skin.

  “Occupied,” I shouted, just as the dryer timed out and switched off.

  A chuckle filtered through from the other side, and without knowing for sure who it was, I opened the door.

  My generous hero smiled wide and then held out a plastic bag in offering. “Found some clothes in my car,” he stated, eyeing me up and down quickly. “They’ll be big on you. But they’re dry.” He motioned his head to the counter. “Your food’s ready.”

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, taking the bag from him.

  He simply nodded once, turned on his heels, and left me to change.

  I’d just taken a seat to start my meal when he approached from the other side of the counter. He placed a set of keys right next to my plate and said, “Take your time, I’ll be done in an hour. You can wait in my car. Put the heat on.”

  I don’t know what I’d done to deserve his generosity, but I sure was grateful for it. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded slowly as his hand reached up and moved my hair behind my ear. His touch was warm. Safe. “Just stay okay? Don’t leave without me.”

  I returned his nod, not knowing what else to do.

  Even though I had a safe, warm place to go after my meal, for some reason I felt safer being in the same room as him—a complete stranger. So, I took my time eating. Occasionally I’d catch him staring at me with a frown that made me squirm in my seat. After an hour, he removed his apron and sat down next to me. “You ready?” he asked, looking down at his phone.

  “Yes,” I said quietly.

  He glanced up then—an almost shy smile on his face. His gaze moved from me to the darkness outside. The rain had stopped but it was windy. The type of crippling, cold wind I hated. When his eyes moved back to mine, his smile got wider. He reached up and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt I was wearing over my head, then reached into his pocket and grabbed a pair of woolen gloves. He started to carefully place them over my hands, and I let him. I even let him hold my hand afterward to guide me down from my seat. He held it all the way to his car while he opened the door and helped me get seated. The entire time I fought to keep the grin off my face.

  It’d been a long time since someone had cared, but Steven did, and I had absolutely no idea why.

  “You’re safe now,” he said as if somehow reading my thoughts. He smiled again before closing my door and making his way around to the driver’s side. Once he was settled, he turned to me. “I’m house-sitting for a friend. They’ll be back in a few days. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I’d like for you to stay there, just until they get back.”

  My heart slammed against my chest. It was then I understood what was happening, and as much as I wanted the warmth and comfort of a roof and a bed, I just couldn’t do it. “I won’t sleep with you,” I mumbled, reaching for the door handle.

  His hand on my forearm squeezed tight and froze me to my spot. A scream threatened in my throat, and I tried to pull out of his hold. He released me quickly and without a fight, his hands going up in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he rushed out. “I didn’t mean to put my hands on you like that. I promise you, that’s not what this is. You can stay at the house. Different beds. Different rooms. Hell, you can take the entire house, I’ll sleep in my damn car.”

  I stared at him, eyes wide in shock.

  His phone rang; cutting off whatever response I was struggling to form. He sighed before answering the phone and lifting it to his ear. “I was working. What happened? Are you okay?” He released a relieved breath. “So what’s up?”

  He waited for a beat. “What kind of help, Ky?” he asked, his eyes moving to mine. Gently, he took my hand in his and squeezed once, as if assuring me of what he’d said earlier. He mouthed a thank you and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one and then offering them to me. I shook my head the same time he said into the phone, “You’re after drugs, aren’t you?”

  I tensed.

  Drugs.

  He was a drug dealer.

  I hated drugs.

  And I hated everything that came with them.

  I made a move to get out again, but he held my hand, his eyes narrowed as he searched my face.

  “No,” he said, and I wasn’t sure if it was meant for me or the person on the phone.

  He turned the car on and cranked up the heat. “Because, Ky, you’re not like that. I’m not going to be responsible for—”

  Whatever the Ky person said must’ve cut him off. He lifted both my hands and placed them in front of the air vents. Covering the phone, he whispered to me, “I’ll be back,” and then stepped out of the car.

  I closed my eyes and rested my head on the seat. What the hell was I going to do? Before I got a moment to think, his door opened, and he sat down again. “I’m sorry,” he told me. “That was my brother. I gotta help him out with something.”

  “You’re a drug dealer?”

  “No,” he said with a laugh. “Not at all. But I’ll be honest with you, I’m going to help my brother get some. There’s this field party happening not far from here, I’ll get him what he wants and then we’ll leave. And I meant what I said, I’ll sleep in my car. You can have the house to yourself. I don’t have any ulterior motives. I promise.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  He sighed. “What’s your name?”

  My voice came out a whisper. “B-Bailey.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Bailey. I’m Steven.”

  “So?” I pressed.

  “So what?”

  “So why are you doing this? You don’t even know me.”

  “Because…” He placed his hands in front of the air vents. “We all need saving at some point, and I’m here to save you.”

  He didn’t get out when a car pulled into the parking lot. We drove to a field in complete silence, neither one of us speaking. But he held my hand—not in an intimate way, but a comforting way—and it worked. He made me feel safe.

  Once we were out of the car, I kept my head lowered, not making eye contact with his brother or the guy who showed up a phone call and a few minutes later to supply the drugs.

  I followed Steven’s lead and sat on the hood of his brother’s car while they talked. “Is this weird?” his brother asked while Steven went to his car for something.

  I shrugged and removed Steven’s gloves, not knowing how else to respond.

  I was all too familiar with the smell of weed, so I knew what they were smoking. At one point, his brother offered me the joint. “No, thank you,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. I didn’t want to show how much I despised what they were doing. They talked for a bit while Steven took my hand in his, and I felt my heart tighten again—just like it did when he placed the gloves over my hands.

  I listened as they spoke about themselves, their lives, their dad, and I realized it then—Steven’s words from earlier held more truth than I knew.

  Steven—he needed saving just as much as I did.

  “You remember what I said the day I told you I was leaving?” Steven asked his brother. He didn’t wait for a response before adding, “You said ‘you shouldn’t let ’em take it.’ I asked you wh
at the hell you were talking about. You said ‘You, Steve, don’t let them own you.’” Steven shifted next to me, and I pretended not to see him wipe at his eyes. “But here I am, Ky, letting them take me. And you know why? Because that pain I feel, it’s inside me. Just like it’s inside you, and no amount of drugs can change that.” He brought my hand up to his mouth and the second his lips pressed against it, my stomach filled with butterflies.

  I found myself leaning into him, trying to find a way to comfort him the way he’d done for me. He cared. And as stupid as it sounds considering we’d only met a few hours ago, I felt connected to him somehow. Like we were both living a lie; hoping that someday we’d mean something.

  We both wanted to matter.

  And we both needed to be saved.

  Steven said to his brother, “Go home, Ky. Go home to your family…” He waved his finger in a circle while I sat confused, wondering why he said your family, and not ours. “…and be better than this. You don’t belong here.”

  His brother sighed. “You don’t have to belong here either, Steve.”

  Steven laughed. “A little late for all that.”

  But maybe he was wrong.

  Maybe it wasn’t too late.

  Maybe we could save each other.

  Chapter 3

  For minutes Steven just stood there, watching the taillights of his brother’s car as it moved farther away from us. “Are you okay?” I asked, stepping beside him.

  He pulled out his phone and looked down at it, lost in a world of his own thoughts. Tapping the phone a few times, he distractedly murmured a “yeah” before lifting it to his ear.

  “Watcha got?” he mumbled, turning away from me. “Yeah,” he continued, his eyes darting to mine quickly. “I know where it is. I’ll meet you there.”

  After hanging up, he looked over at me. It was too dark to make out his expression, but when he took a step forward, I instinctively took a step back. He sighed and took my hands in his, comforting me again. “I need to meet up with a friend real quick.”