by Voss, Deja
“You better can it with the attitude, Goob. Your mom isn’t going to put up with your shit like we do. Hurry up and finish packing.” I’m eight years old. I have no comprehension of time. I don’t know how to pack. I am so confused. I have my book bag with the motorcycles on it and a roller suitcase, and I don’t even know what I’m supposed to put in it. Probably stuff I like.
“Dad, how am I going to grow up and be like you?”
“It’s in your blood, son. It doesn’t matter where you go. You’ll always be my boy. Your mom needs you, though. Her and Uncle Larry want to spend time with you. It’s not forever.”
“Promise?” I ask.
My sister, Esther, comes into my bedroom. She looks like she is crying. I hate when she’s sad. She’s sad all the time now.
“You’re going to need some warm clothes if you want to play in the snow this winter, Goob,” she says. She helps me get some sweaters out of my drawer and stuffs them in my bag.
“I’m taking this for when Gavin comes to get me,” I say, grabbing my motorcycle helmet off the shelf. I put it on my head and I can’t really hear anything going on around me anymore. I don’t care. I’m in my own world. I can see my dad and Esther yelling at each other, but I just squeeze my eyes tight and think about how much fun I’m going to have when Gavin comes back to get me.
The lady standing in the doorway looks nothing like I imagined her to look. She looks way too nice to be my mom. Not by the way my dad talks about her.
She’s crying too now and I take my helmet off so I can tell her it’s going to be ok. I’ll be nice and go with her. Maybe my dad was right. Maybe she does need me. I’m sure Gavin wouldn’t want me to make my mom cry.
“I’ll be good, Mom,” I say. “You don’t have to cry.”
“If one hair on his head is out of place, Mother, I swear,” Esther says in her mean voice.
“I would never hurt this child. He’s the only one your father hasn’t had a chance to ruin yet.”
“Fuck you,” Esther says. “And fuck you too, Dad.”
“In front of your little brother?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I want him to hear exactly how I feel about this.” The way she hugs me makes me feel like she’s trying to kill me. She’s gonna squeeze all the air out of my body.
“Stop, Esther!” I yell. “You’re hurting me!”
Chapter 7
I wake up in a cold sweat, my head pounding and my mouth dry. It looks like I was trying to strangle myself with my sheets, the way they’re balled up in my fists. It’s nothing new. In fact, it’s an improvement if anything. The nightmares might suck, but it’s nowhere near as bad as detoxing.
My cell phone is vibrating on my nightstand and I roll over to see that my sister, Esther, is calling me. It’s only 7 a.m. and she’s definitely not a morning person. It could really be anything with her. Her husband, Brooks, is the president of the Mountain Misfits, and she kind of serves as a matriarch to all of us up here, even if she is the least motherly person I’ve ever met.
“What’s up?” I ask groggily, clearing my throat as I cover the speaker with my hand. “You ok?”
“Sorry to call you so early. You sleeping?”
I needed to get up anyway. I’ve only been back for a few months, but I’m already starting to feel kind of useless, hopping around doing odd jobs for the club. I’ve been working at Tank’s motorcycle shop a lot lately, and I’m hoping he gives me a full-time job soon. I need to get moving so I can get down there and help him open for the day.
“I’m just getting up.”
“Do you know a girl named Delaney?”
“Kind of.” It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that name. She was one of my first ‘friends’ I made in rehab years ago. We were terrible influences on each other and I had to get away from her or I knew I was going to end up dead. I definitely wasn’t ever going to get clean as long as the two of us were sneaking around.
“She’s called my cell phone three times since midnight last night. She’s looking for you. She said I was your emergency contact at the rehab place.”
“What’d you tell her?” I ask. When I closed that chapter in my life, I let everything burn to the ground. Ditched town, changed my phone number, took off running and never turned back.
“Nothing,” she says.
“You’re the best.”
“Don’t you forget it. You want to leave it at that?”
I have no idea why Laney would be reaching out to me after all these years. Honestly, I was hoping I’d never hear that name again. Too much temptation there. She wasn’t especially good-looking, but damn, she was manipulative. She sure loved her drugs, too. Neither one of us could’ve ever had a chance with each other. Heroin was the only thing either of us were truly capable of loving at that point.
“If you don’t mind. I’m sorry she’s bothering you.”
“Relax,” she says. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks.” I swing my feet over the side of the bed and get up with a groan. I walk out into the kitchen and grab a water bottle and start chugging. I don’t know what it is about my sister and I, but we’ve spent more time having silent conversations on the phone throughout our lives than we’ve probably spent time together in person. Something about having her on the line has always been comforting to me.
“You wanna come over for dinner with Brooks and I tonight?” she asks. “You don’t have to.”
“I’m gonna go work at the shop today. I don’t know how late I’m going to be.” I don’t know why I don’t want to go. I like her. Brooks is like a brother to me.
“Okay. I understand,” she says. I can hear the sadness in her voice. I know she just wants to be close to me after all the years we were separated. I know she’s just trying to mend the past. I’m not trying to push her away, I just value my alone time.
“What do you want me to bring? You need me to stop at the store?”
“Nothing at all. I’ll see you at seven?”
“Alright. Go back to bed.”
I start running the water in the shower. I don’t know if there’s ever going to come a point where she forgives herself for the things that have happened to me. Same with Gavin. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to show them that I’m ok. Telling them doesn’t seem to work. I’m pretty sure feeling like an outsider in a group of misfits is something that I’m going to have to deal with for the rest of my life. I don’t think there’s anywhere I really belong in this world, even here, amongst my family.
I step into the shower and let the water run down over my body, wondering what the hell Delaney could possibly want. I remember the night I left her, the night I told her I was serious about getting clean and she laughed in my face and put a needle in my hand. When she slid to the ground, nodding off with a twisted smile on her face, I wasn’t sure if she was dead or alive. I didn’t care. Leaving her that night all alone was the most selfish thing I’d ever done. It was the only thing I could do if I wanted to live to see another day.
Chapter 8
Stacy:
Olive was right. These fake leather leggings must be made of something magical. I check myself out in the dusty full-length mirror, and I almost don’t recognize my own ass. Combined with a bright red low-cut halter top and a pair of high-heeled boots, I feel like a different person. I feel hot. Sloppy Stacy Smith is finally finding her personal style, and she is a siren.
I’ve never really been one to dress this sexy. My dad would probably kill me if he saw me like this. Then again, my dad would probably kill me if he saw me period, so I guess it doesn’t really matter.
“Shit,” I mutter as I start to do my make-up. My roots are coming in really light, and I probably should’ve picked up another box of dye while I was out looking at my future apartment today. I doubt anyone will notice, and even if they do, they probably won’t think anything of it, but I’m getting a little too comfy in my cover. I’m getting a little sloppy.
I definit
ely don’t have time to take care of it tonight before I have to go to work and I definitely definitely do not want to be late. Olive is doing me a serious solid by letting me work a Friday night by myself. If I can come up with three hundred bucks for a security deposit, I’ll be out of this shit hole by the end of the weekend.
I finish fixing my face, smiling in the mirror at what I’m becoming. Who I’m becoming. I throw my boots in my backpack and slip into my sneakers for the long walk to the bar. I swear, seven miles of walking every day, mixed with bartending, is getting me in the best shape of my life. The only thing that sucks about it is that I’m hungry all the time from burning all these calories. It’s going to be so much easier when I have an apartment with a kitchen.
My life here keeps getting better and better. So much so that I’m starting to forget what even brought me here in the first place. So much so that I’m beginning to think I belong here. I take one last glance in the mirror, and there it is, plain as day, staring back at me. Every time my shirt slides up just a little bit, that big old black tattoo with the Debaser patch stares right back at me. I’m gonna need a longer shirt or I’m going to probably have some serious questions to answer.
I quickly change, throw on a bulky sweatshirt so I don’t look like a streetwalker on my commute, and head out the door, locking it behind me. The walk to the bar isn’t bad. I’m only on the highway for about a quarter mile, then I can take the back roads the rest of the way there. I wish I had my phone still, if only to listen to music.
I busy myself humming every song I can remember, singing in my mind so people driving by don’t think I’m some sort of weirdo. I’m trying to lay low, after all.
I swing open the door to the bar and am greeted with mostly familiar faces. Olive follows me back into the kitchen and she squeals when I take off my hoodie.
“Those look awesome on you!” she says. “Oh my God, you look amazing. Not that you looked bad before. Just… holy shit, Stacy; you’re a hottie.”
I can feel myself blushing. “I really appreciate your help. I swear I’ve been meaning to get some new clothes, I just haven’t really had the time yet.”
“Don’t even worry about it. What’d you think about the apartment? I know it’s not much, but it’s a good starter place. Definitely a lot closer to the bar, too.”
“It’s awesome. I think I’m going to move in on Monday.”
“Yes!!” she shouts. “Oh, I am so excited for you.”
I can’t stop smiling. I’m excited for me, too.
“You ready to get that rent money? I got everybody nice and happy drunk for you. They should be ready to whip their wallets out. Although, in those pants, I’m worried they might be ready to whip other stuff out, too if you know what I’m saying.”
“Really?” I cringe.
“I’m just kidding. If anyone ever shows you their dick, you’re allowed to use that billy club stashed underneath the ice bin. It’s house rules.”
“Boy, that’s a relief,” I giggle.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to use a weapon, but it’s not like it was something I enjoyed doing. These guys made me feel safe enough, though. Sure, they were rough around the edges, but if I even had an inclination that a fight was going to go down, usually I could smooth it out with just a whistle and a look of death.
I step out behind the bar, and I feel like I’m naked or something the way everyone is staring at me. Maybe it’s because I feel so good in these clothes that I’m standing a little taller. Maybe it’s because I’m actually smiling, knowing that my life situation is about to dramatically improve. I walk around refilling beers, feeling out the room. Olive was right, everyone is the perfect level of happy drunk.
She takes a shot of moonshine, and just like that, she’s on the same level. Her boyfriend, Tank, is really hot. The way those two are obviously so madly in love makes me feel a little jealous. I wonder if people felt that way when they saw Harold and I?
Another guy I’ve never seen before walks into the bar and everyone starts cheering. He’s obviously a member of the Misfits crew, I can tell by the ink on his arm. He must be this Red character I’ve heard so much about. The way Olive is kissing him on the lips while Tank just stands there and watches kind of has me confused, but it’s not my place to judge.
“What are you staring at?” A voice jostles me out of my observation.
“Holy crap, sorry, do you need another beer?” I ask Goob, grabbing his draft glass from the bar top.
“No hurry.” I don’t know why, but his glare makes me feel self-conscious. I don’t feel like he’s looking through my clothes, but I feel like he’s looking through my skin, into the belly of my soul. It’s very strange. It gives me butterflies in my stomach.
I refill his draft and slide it across the bar to him.
“You gotta tell me, am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” Now Tank and Red are hugging, and Olive is just hanging off Red’s arm like this is a normal day in the life. “Is that like, a thing?”
“Apparently so,” he chuckles.
“How does that work?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Olive has a really big heart, Red’s about as bright as a box of rocks, and Tank won’t say a bad word about anyone, even if he’s beating the piss out of them. I love the hell out of these guys, but they are three peas in a really fucked-up pod.”
“Well I’m definitely intrigued. That’s going to be one hell of a wedding.”
“What about you?” he asks. “Where’s your old man?”
My gut reaction is to get defensive. I’d love to say ‘dead,’ but I don’t feel like going into the specifics. He’s probably just making polite conversation, you jackass, I remind myself. Not everyone is out to get you. He’s so hard to read, though. Usually I can tell if a guy is outright hitting on me. This… doesn’t feel like that.
Suddenly, there’s a whole lot of yelling going on. Buzzy, some old guy who just seems to be always hanging around looking for a fight, is about to get his wish granted. I should probably do something, say something, and for the first time in a long time, I’m paralyzed. Everything is moving so fast, but the screaming, the crying, it’s all in slow motion.
Red is going to kill this guy with his bare hands. I go to reach for the billy club behind the ice machine, but it’s too late. Gavin’s yelling about FBI agents, and Goob is behind the bar with me. I feel him grab my shoulder, but it doesn’t faze me.
It’s chaos, but it’s familiar. It feels like home. Something inside of me snaps. I’ve been here before. I’m good at situations like these. Situations like these were my life for a long time, after all.
I’m not Stacy Smith, right now. I’m Azalea Phoenix, and if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s protecting a patch.
“Goob, take the girls in the office,” Gavin growls. We both hold our ground.
Olive is bawling her eyes out, wailing incomprehensible words about her man going to jail and ruining his life.
“Self-defense,” I say. “He attacked you.” I’ve seen this exact story play out before. I know a thing or two about the law.
“Will it work?” she asks.
I nod. At least it did in Kentucky when my brother shot my ex-boyfriend. I didn’t stick around long enough to find out what happened to him once he got out of jail, but I saw on the internet it was in less than a week. If the DA let my brother, with a rap sheet as long as his arm, out on self-defense, I find it hard to believe that a girl as sweet and kind as Olive would have any difficulty whatsoever.
“Hand me the phone,” she says in a loud whisper. I could be making a fatal mistake, but something in her eyes is crazier than I’ve ever seen before. Something tells me she knows exactly what she needs to do. I expect Goob to try and stop me, but he’s just watching in fascination. I hand her the bar phone.
“Everybody shut the fuck up!” she shouts.
You could hear a pin drop, seeing all these big burly bikers just stare at her, wide-eyed, as she
dialed that number.
“Hi, yes, I need to report a break-in at the Bucktail Saloon. I was here by myself, closing, and I must have left the back door unlocked when I took the trash out. A man broke in and attacked me. I shot him. He’s not breathing. Can you please send someone.”
This bitch is fucking nuts. Crazy and brilliant.
She drops the phone to the ground, and insanity ensues.
“What is wrong with you?” Gavin roars.
“This is the only way,” she says. “You guys need to get out of here real fast.”
“Do you know what’s going to happen to you?” Tank asks, his eyes welling with tears.
“No,” she says.
“I’m not leaving you,” Tank wails. I want to slap him. I can’t believe he’s going to blow it for everyone in this room. Not if I can do something about it.
“You are,” I say, stepping out from behind the bar. “She’s going to be fine.”
“Who the hell are you to say?”
“I’m sorry, Olive,” I say, my hands trembling. “This is for your own good.” I grab a bottle of beer from the bar, and as I swing back, I feel like I’m going to throw up. I feel it connect with her cheekbone, and she drops to her knees.
“Do it again,” she begs. “Make me bleed.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Brooks, the president, shouts, grabbing me by the hair, pulling me off of her.
“It’s called self-defense,” she mumbles, spitting out a tooth in the process. “Now someone hold me back and let this bitch hit me.”
I smash the beer bottle off the ground and jam a piece of jagged glass into her shoulder. The men stand there with their hands over their mouths, like they’ve never seen anyone get stabbed before. Like there’s not a guy with half his skull blown off at their feet.
“That should be good enough. You’re not gonna bleed out, I promise,” I assure her, wiping my fingerprints from the bottle and setting it next to Buzzy’s hand. “I’m assuming you guys have a good lawyer?”