BOMB

by Danielle James

  What the hell is wrong with you, Bellamy?

  “There are rules to living in my house though, Bellamy. You must take drug tests as I see fit. I refuse to harbor another addict. I put your mother out when she was fourteen and shooting dope and I’ll do the same to you if need be.”

  My ears warmed at her words. Then the warmth turned into burning. I couldn’t put out the flames if I wanted to. She put my mother out at just fourteen? What the fuck?

  “Why did you put her out? Why didn’t you get her help?” I quizzed. My head flinched back slightly as I stared at her. Joan wore a pinched expression and fine lines that I hadn’t noticed before, fanned out at the corners of her eyes.

  “I tried to help her but she didn’t want to go to church with me. She didn’t want to talk to the pastor so my hands were tied. Now, that’s enough talk about your mother.” She got right back to the rules like she didn’t just admit that she kicked my mother out of the house when she was still a child. “If you stay here you have to get a job and you have to go to church as well as join the youth group and go to bible study. I want all your time taken up by the Lord. Give him your time and you won’t have any left to give to these men out here.

  You will not use profanity and you will stop calling me Joan this instant.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to call you then?” I asked, my arms folded.

  “Grandmother will do. Now, you can feel free to use my car to get to and from work and church if you don’t want to drive that gas guzzling truck but that’s it. I don’t want you on the subway because it’s the devil’s breeding ground,” she shuddered. “No phone after ten and on Saturday’s we clean the house because we have to go to service on Sunday. Got it?”

  My eyes grew wide as I tried my best to hold in the laughter trying to make its way out. I could not laugh in her face. She was taking me in and all I had to do was abide by her stupid ass rules. I could do it.

  “Yes, thank you so much,” I smiled.

  “Oh, and as you make money from your job, I expect for you to buy suitable clothes as well. You dress like a slut.”

  “Aw, you’re so warm and fuzzy. I can’t stand it.” I rolled my eyes and stood to my feet while Joan’s blazing hot gaze tore into my back. “Can I take a shower, Grandmother?” I asked, laying the sarcasm on super thick.

  “Bellamy, watch your tone.” She warned as she showed me upstairs to the guest room. My heart fluttered at the sight of roses on the pink wallpaper. Most people would have thought of it as gaudy but I loved flowers. I had a tattoo of flowers trailing down my spine and another few on my upper thigh. They were colorful reminders that even something that came from the dirt could be beautiful.

  The bed was smaller than the California king I was used to at my condo but it would do. It was better than sleeping in my truck that was for sure. I smiled a little at the patchwork quilt covering the mattress and fingered the soft, worn edge.

  “This was your mother’s room. Keep it tidy, please. The bathroom is over there,” she pointed to a door beside the closet and I nodded my head. The moment she was out of the room I sat on the bed and it whined in protest.

  I wondered if my mother did drugs in here. I was sure even if she did, Joan’s control freak ass probably cleaned the room a million times since then. I picked up the soft pillow at the head of the bed and buried my nose in it. I wasn’t sure what I’d find beyond a pillowcase that smelled of detergent.

  I guess I hoped that I’d be able to smell my mother. Maybe smell her scent from when she was innocent. Before the drugs and before she decided she hated me.

  I sucked in a sharp breath and put the pillow back. I could feel the broken shards of my past scraping and gritting against one another and I hated it. My chest felt like pulp. Like no matter what I did, I’d never be able to fill the void or patch up the holes.

  A wave of nausea hit me as I moved to the bathroom. I was halted by the memories trying to pry their way into my mind. I braced my back against the wall and shut my eyes tight as I could. It worked whenever I was a kid.

  A pained cry struggled to get through my clenched teeth as I fought off the demons from my past. I didn’t want to see my mother’s face, hear her voice, or think about how happy she used to be when she was sober.

  When I was five, I remembered how she would take off from work and get me ice cream. It was only when she was dead broke though. She had enough to get me an ice cream cone at McDonald’s while we waited for her dealer to come. In that brief moment, she was sober and she was mine.

  The sun shined on my face and the flowers bloomed just for me. I had my mommy all to myself and I had ice cream too. Sober moments were what gave me hope that she’d be better one day.

  Sober moments fed me lies.

  My stomach twisted in knots as I sank to the bathroom floor, letting the tears fight their way down my hot cheeks.

  I hated her.

  I hated my mother so fucking much I could scream.

  My breathing was noisy as I turned on the shower. The sound of the rushing water should have calmed me down but it only made my head pound harder. I’d give anything to bang my head against a fucking wall until the pain stopped. Some days it brought me to my knees.

  Why the fuck couldn’t I just punch things and let my pain out? It needed to come out.

  I got in the shower and held my face under the hot spray so I could convince myself that I wasn’t crying and showing weakness. It worked long enough to calm me down and that’s all I needed. A little delusion went a long way.

  When I got out of the steaming hot shower, I found a bag of my clothes sitting on the bed. I looked around the room to see if Joan was still there. I knew she wasn’t but growing up in foster home after foster home made me paranoid beyond belief. Especially when I was switching environments.

  “Thanks, Joan,” I called out loud enough for my voice to carry through the walls. With my skin still dewy, I sat on the bed and pulled out my phone. I had a missed call from Leonard.

  My heart stuttered a few beats. What the hell did he want? Why was he still contacting me if he was trying to work on his marriage with Katie? Maybe he just wanted to take back more of the gifts he’d showered me with. My knee bounced furiously and I felt the headache start to inch back in.

  How could he give me all that time and attention and still be married? I know I wasn’t the easiest person to deal with but I did everything he asked me to do. I should have kept my job working at the hotel. I should have never listened to him when he told me to let him take care of me.

  Now I’m the one assed out while he’s living his best life. It wasn’t fair. I hated how important he made me feel only to snatch it away a year later. I bit into my bottom lip so hard that a splash of metallic-tasting blood coated my tongue.

  It brought me back to reality.

  I called Leonard back and braced myself for the wave of anger that I knew was about to explode in my chest.

  “Belle, where are you? I thought you were staying at The Baccarat.”

  “I had to leave, Leonard. You didn’t think I could stay there forever, did you? Money runs out,” I quipped with major attitude.

  “Where are you?” He asked again.

  “I’m somewhere safe. Don’t fucking worry about me. You weren’t worried last night when I had to sleep in the goddamn truck because I didn’t have anywhere to go.”

  He was silent on the other end. Pussy.

  “You’re an adult, Bellamy. You can’t expect me to fund your life.”

  “You told me to stop working, Leonard! You wanted me to leave my job and not worry about it anymore. Remember that? I should have known you were only out for control. You didn’t really care.” I pressed the pads of my fingers against my temple and exhaled. It didn’t stop my blood from rushing violently through my veins.

  “I’m looking out for your safety, Belle. Katie is on a warpath.”

  “And she should be since you’re out here lying to people about being married. You�
�re just scared. You know what? I don’t care anymore. Why did you call me? You’re the last person I want to talk to right now or ever for that matter.”

  “I’m going to need the truck sooner rather than later, Belle. That’s why I need to know where you’re at.” His words turned to static in my ear as the need to move around swallowed me whole. I got up and paced the floor. My shoulder pinned the phone to my ear and my hands were iron fists at my sides. My entire body was a knot.

  “Fine. You need it? I’ll leave it at the condo.” I envisioned myself ramming the Benz truck into the brick condo and getting out with a smug smile on my face.

  “Don’t.” Leonard almost shouted the word at me. My entire face crashed into a frown.

  “Why not?” I quizzed. I had very little patience for Leonard and now that I had somewhere to stay, he could have his fucking truck and his phone. I’d get another.

  “Katie’s at the condo relaxing…”

  “Why the fuck is she there relaxing at the condo? My fucking condo. You didn’t put it up for sale yet, Leonard? Since you’re so busy erasing me from your life.”

  “It’s our second home. I can’t sell it.” The blood rushing through my veins made it difficult to hear him anymore. My heart began beating to a slow steady song that was full of confusion and rage.

  I couldn’t believe Leonard had me living in a house that he owned with his wife after he told me the condo was mine and he bought it specifically for me. If he lied about the house then maybe the truck was Katie’s too.

  Shit…

  No wonder she was livid.

  “So you never bought me a condo, Leonard? The house belonged to you and Katie the entire time?” I seethed.

  “Listen, tell me where you are. I can get away on my lunch break and we can talk face to face.”

  “What about the truck. Is that Katie’s too?” I needed to know.

  “Where are you, Belle?”

  “Fuck you, Leonard. You can have the truck. You can have everything.” I snatched the ring from my finger that he’d gotten me too. Suddenly all the gifts I thought I’d been spoiled with seemed pointless. I thought I was getting those things because I was special to him. I thought he wanted to lavish me and only me. I had no idea I was getting his wife’s hand-me-downs.

  I ended the call and got dressed in a red Gucci sweater dress—that probably belonged to Katie—and a pair of matching boots. When Joan saw me she turned her nose up and said, “You know, only little girls too fast for their own good wear red.”

  “Or girls who just like the color red. That’s another demographic you’re leaving out, Grandmother.”

  “The only girls I know who like red are up to no good. You’re lucky I don’t have the energy to buy you all new clothes.” Instead of rolling my eyes and tossing another smart-ass remark at her head like a dart, I bit my tongue and made my way to the kitchen. “Bellamy, I want you to go to the church and speak to the youth pastor. He can help you find a job.”

  “No thanks. I’ll look for one on my own.”

  “It’s not an option, little girl. You need your own money to stay here. I’m not about to finance your escapades.”

  “What escapades, Joan?” I anchored my hand to my hip and cocked my head to the side. My neck was a stiff wooden board as annoyance flooded my brain. Between Joan and Leonard, I was going to lose my shit very soon.

  “Do you want to live here? Because I know I gave you the rules. I’m not going to keep warning you. You will find your things outside the next time you mouth off with me or take an attitude.” She sucked in a sharp breath and it seemed like the trigger to a massive migraine.

  The pain ate away at my senses like a termite. First, my hearing went. All I could make out were the fuzzy sounds coming from Joan’s mouth. Next, my vision went in and out like a flickering TV. I swayed to the side and leaned against the fridge for support.

  I could barely stand on my weak and trembling limbs. I felt a pair of hands on me and then I felt myself settle into a chair.

  I’d never had a migraine come on so suddenly.

  “Bellamy.” I finally heard Joan’s voice behind all the fuzz and I focused on her face as it flickered in and out of view. I drank water when she tipped a cool glass up to my lips and after a while, I could open my eyes and actually see.

  “Thank you,” I breathed once my mouth seemed to be in working order again.

  “You need to go to church right now. Now! Lord, you must have demons in you.” Her voice blared to life in my head like sirens shattering glass.

  She yanked me along like a rag doll and shoved me in the passenger side of her very red Toyota. Joan must have been up to no damn good at some point in time.

  When we arrived at Cross Point, I scanned the area to see if Pastor Cyrus was there. I didn’t want to talk to anyone but at least I was familiar with him. I didn’t know anyone else in that damn church.

  Joan locked her fingers with mine and we weaved through the sparse crowd of people until we reached the man from the Thanksgiving dinner that asked Pastor Cyrus to play some music. She stopped in front of the broad man with a wide smile and placed a hand on her chest.

  “Is Pastor Cyrus here?”

  “No, Mrs. Harrison. He won’t be in until later. He’s at work. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I suppose, Pastor Wilson.” Joan slid her gaze to me and when she did, Pastor Wilson let his eyes linger a little too long on my body. I knew exactly what that sleazy look felt like. It was like black oil and grime dripping from my skin.

  When I wanted attention, I had no problem accepting it but unwanted attention worked my nerves. I pressed my teeth together threatening to turn them to white dust in my mouth. When Joan looked up at Pastor Wilson again, he was all smiles like he didn’t just peel my clothes off with his eyes.

  “My granddaughter needs counseling. I want to get her into Pastor Cyrus’ youth group because I’ve seen firsthand the miracles that man works with troubled youth. Bellamy needs all the help she can get.”

  “I don’t need help,” I protested. My headache started to subside and I found my voice again.

  “Well now, young lady it seems to me that you do. That’s not a bad thing though. Quite the opposite. We all fall short of the glory of God and we all need help. Getting it makes you even stronger. Why don’t you come into my office and I’ll get you registered for Pastor Cyrus’ youth group?” Joan was all too happy to let me go with Pastor Wilson. He tried to guide me with his hand on the small of my back but I pulled away and walked beside him instead.

  He let me in his office and waited until I was seated to shut the door and click the lock. I lowered my brows and fixed my stare to his. “Why is the door locked?” I asked.

  “I get so many people barging in here and I want to do this favor for Mrs. Harrison. You know she brought her daughter Crystal in here to see me when she was just a little younger than you.”

  “Okay, you want a cookie or something, Pastor? If you helped my mom then maybe I shouldn’t be sitting here because she’s still strung out somewhere. Clearly, your guidance is trash.” Pastor Wilson’s eyes darted back and forth between me and the door like my mother would come barreling through any second. I knew that shit wasn’t true though.

  “What is hurting you so badly that you have to have that sort of attitude, Bellamy?” His eyes slipped down to my tits and I sighed heavily. “You’re just as beautiful as your name. I’ve never heard it before. Suits you.” He seriously tried to smile at me like he was attractive.

  At least Leonard could boast that he was a sexy ass older man. He had the whole salt and pepper vibe going with a body that let everyone know he stayed in the gym. Pastor Wilson was tall and wide with a gap in his front teeth as big as his face. No way in hell I was interested.

  Besides, after Leonard, I was done with men for a while…especially married men. Pastor Wilson had on a gold wedding band that could be seen from across the damn church.

  “Nothing i
s hurting me. Just sign me up for the stupid ass youth group so I can tell my grandmother you helped me and I can go back home.”

  “Foul language only tells me that you can’t articulate and you have a lot of anger bottled up inside of you. I can—uh help you work through that with personal sessions if you want.” Pastor Wilson reached across his big wooden desk and took my hand in his. I yanked it away promptly because I didn’t want grease marks on my perfect chocolate skin.

  “I don’t need your personal sessions. I can articulate just fine. Just like you can go around misdiagnosing people you don’t know and narcissistically patting yourself on the back for it afterward.” I paused for a beat then said,

  “Let’s break you down, shall we? Did you drop out of college or something? Because I see your high school diploma on the wall and it says you’re class of 1970. Your inkjet degree from community college says you didn’t study theology until 1997. That’s a huge time gap.

  My guess is you tried to get a psychology degree but couldn’t cut it. Probably realized you suffered from pedophilic disorder and narcissistic personality disorder after one look at the DSM. You must have decided to pray on it and turn your life over to God after that and the rest is history. Am I right, Pastor Wilson?”

  Once I was done talking, he no longer had a smile on his wide face. Instead, I was met with eyes that held daggers and poison. Clearly, the man loathed me.

  Wow, that was a new record. I’d only been in his office for five or six minutes. I wanted to high-five myself.

  “No wonder your grandmother wants to get you help. You obviously need it. Where are your adopted mother and father?” Pastor Wilson asked, leaning forward far enough to choke me with his cheap cologne.

  “I don’t have an adopted mother and father.”

  “Someone needs to teach you a lesson and the moment I get a chance, that someone is going to be me.” His eyes drew invisible marks on my breasts through my sweater dress then he dragged the black stains right up my neck and to my eyes. I still didn’t back down. I’d dealt with way worse than him in foster care.